PROSE GROUP 1 Text 6 (Short Story): "Substance"

1. Substance

SVBSTANCE

I

With objects now resting and all in its place here, and all that has been so and all that would be, he now saw the images 'round him now flowing and 'round him abiding by laws not their own but of other strange forces, and flew they together and flew they apart now, and showed they their faces so fused and distorted, so strangely askew and still horribly known and so desp'rately woven together and nothing but separate and nothing in unison and nothing no nothing no nothing at all would now come here together and come here to show but the truth at its center what's truth here what's truth but what's anything, tell me, what's right and what's wrong and what's epic what's not and what's metric, distorted or just out of phase here and break now and break what must break now it shall - - -

II

Was there light? Didn't it seem like light? There had been light. And everything had seemed lighter then, brighter somehow, too bright almost, hurtful to the eyes it now would have been. Yet he had trespassed, there was no doubt about it, at least no serious doubt to his knowledge. What knowledge? Was he already that preposterous to claim any kind of knowledge again? What did he know? What could he possibly have known then? It had been him, the one in his memories, he was sure of that. Was he? A strange day this had been, or night, whatever. He remembered it to have been dark, so it should have been night. Agreed then, night. The image in his mind was wandering around, walking the streets, stalking them almost, that's what he was seeing now. He was following someone. A girl. Had seen her some blocks ago, at a restaurant maybe, no, it had been a bar. Couple of drinks, but not too much, and he had been sitting somewhere in a corner, watching her as soon as she had entered, she seemed distant, he only could see her in part. Yes, that was it. There was agreement, the other voices joined in this assessment. Next step then, but not without taking a deep breath. The street was lonely, and dark, as noted above already. Some lights, some smoke rising from deep down, from the sewers, the gothic setting per se, he chuckled. The streetlights were broken with just a few exceptions, those left alive only shed a marginal light unto the scene, just enough for him to not lose his aim, to not get lost in his pursuits. He didn't even know what he was doing, he was moving almost mechanically. Did he have too many drinks after all? Probably. Maybe not. And everything, of course, depending on whether he wanted to accept the images in his head as memories in the first place. Anyhoo.

Step by step. What stance to take on that still was left unclear, and he seemed content with this right now. Why bother yourself unnecessarily, he was just in the beginning of reconstruction, deconstruction would follow further down the road eventually, he knew himself too well. So why not for a short moment resist the temptation to look too far ahead. One step at a time. No need to worry now. Oh boy, he was far beyond that already. He was past worrying, for there was that gut feeling deep down in his bowels that there was ample need not only to worry but to castigate himself over and over and over again. Why not, sweetest Dionysos, for a moment revel in the god-given gift of blissful ignorance? Why at all try to remember, why not stick to the experience and keep it up and not go back there? He not only knew but rather felt there was something wrong, something better left alone, something better not to be approached, something howling and craving and whining that would hit him so hard that insanity and madness must appear as heaven. Open your eyes. He did. Look around. He did. Don't look around. He didn't. Close your eyes. He did. He screamed, he howled, and he grasped his face but didn't grasp it at first, his eyes were closed and yet wide open, having opened inside of him. Stop the voices. Yes, you too. And open the eyes. Open wide. It was dark, but there was light coming in. Fast. It was warm, comfortably warm somehow, and bright. His hands grasped sand, sand in his eyes and on the ground. The desert. He was out in the desert, how the fuck did I get here? Close your eyes again, and he did. It was easier this way, but he would eventually reopen them, slowly, adjusting to the stark light of the high noon sun. There was silence. Deadly silence. No noise at all, nothing. He touched his ears, covering and releasing them again. No change. He swallowed, and hit his ears gently. No change. It really was that silent. What a joke, there was an orchestra of sounds inside his head, but he could hear nothing outside of it. He remembered a place once back in Colorado, he believed, there had been such a spot too, absolute silence. But that had been different, something was off now. The light was too bright, the sand appeared almost white. Some brushes were near him, nothing else. No, a cactus was there too, but that was all. There was noise now. But it didn't come from outside, it came from within. He screamed, for it was too loud. Or was it from outside, and inside there was nothing? He closed his eyes, but it remained bright, was it dark outside? He felt hot inside, was it cold outside? He didn't stop screaming.

III

What's light here what's darkness what's anything, tell me, what's wrong and what's right and what's broken what's not and what say you what is it what want you what did I what are these these fragments now pushing just in and now crushing all things and now trembling and making me tremble and making me stop and just making me - - -

IV

Music. There was music, rap possibly. He could hear the hexameters. He was almost fading out, but something held him back. Music in the desert? Come on now. But something felt wet, something felt strange. Was it water? It felt comfortably warm, was he swimming? It felt comfortable. He felt like swimming, or maybe snorkeling. He liked snorkeling better, but only if circumstances allowed for it: No use snorkeling in an indoor pool, no use staring at the bottom of things when there was just bottom and nothing else, bottom for its own sake is of no use, you need substance, you need something material to look at, be it a fish or a coral or something else on the ground of the sea. An old tire, a good old shoe, a body disposed of by the local family, a body, was there a body? Why was the water that warm? And that sticky? He opened his eyes and turned around. Blood. There was blood. It was lying there, just lying around, not moving. Whose blood was it? Was it his? Was he dying? Lying here at the end of his days? He would have to get up to safely determine the cause of the blood. What if it wasn't his? Would he want to find out? What had happened? He remembered the street, he remembered following her, following that image of her. Sure, it wasn't her, it was a different girl, but still there was something about her that reminded him, made him shudder and let the haunting begin all new. Something was triggered by the sight of her, like a ghost standing in front of him, mimicking that small little gesture that meant the world to him, be it a smile, a shrug, or something else, something so genuinely hers that discovering it in others brought him not just towards the brink of insanity but rather right deep into it. His substance was destroyed in mere fractions of a second, a substance he had tried to rebuild for so long a time, dwarfed and ridiculed by such a vision straight from hell, bringing him utter turmoil and torment whilst in the past it brought him everything he ever wanted. He had to chase that ghost, had to make sure. The haunting had to stop.

He turned around, he didn't want to remember. Just stay in the moment. Or better, stay back there in a place of nevermore, of neverwhen, of neverwhere, of never any thing and never, never, never, saying ever again. He was through. He had to be, he had discovered that anything else would destroy him. There was no peace, no quietness, no silence any more, he was caught and couldn't get off it, off whatever it was than now seemed to make him surge again, resurface and shine. Fuck it, let's do it. He opened his eyes wide, and this time he knew it was for real. He was ready, ready not only to face his memories but to accept and follow them. Why live in the past when you can't change it anyway. There was a change, he felt it, something manifest, something real, some genuine turn. He sat up, closing his eyes for a short moment in order to wipe them, then reopening them, and looking around in disbelief. He was alone. But he wasn't the only body in the room. The strength inside of him, he now realized, came from somewhere. He had read about this, thought about it, but never would have believed it to be true. From the smoke in the back, a voice arose, strangely filled with harmony, strangely not at odds with what he was feeling inside now. One haunting had ended, another would begin.

V

And now that you know it and now that you see it now rise you and shine now and grasp what you're holding now take what was given and take it and make it and throw it now out into all of those places and all of those temples of brightness and happiness, fakest all dreamers and fakest believers, thou now shalt not bow once but drunk now you have and once felt you the strength that just flows all beneath us and makes us and don't just forget who the first but has been yes whose blood it has been that was given to you, it was her, don't you see it, ain't that what you wanted, she's yours now for ever and stays now inside you, won't flee any more, in all that has been so and all that will be.

December 1st/2nd, 2002