The Delphic oracle has spoken quite a bit lately. I have shared many a thing and now I suspect an intense silence is to follow. It’s been oh-so-amazing! But for now, one last effort at thoughtfulness.
These past few days have been excellent. I have come to the realization that my departure from Santa Fe is a matter of time. I owe this place no allegiance, no love. My home is San Francisco and to this wonderful place I must in due time return like the phoenix to his ashes. So I take one more breath and soon it shall be my last. The distant future draws near and I shall exile myself one more time beyond the reach of everything and everyone. And it will not be the last. My most fantastic exile will be the one that returns me to the world of my imagination and dreams.
College lies in the placid horizon, before the storm unleashes her fury. I can feel myself torn asunder by my assailants; I was never the toast of the town. But I am a despondent and fierce bitch. My tolerance for the insipid and innate simplicity of some is my onus but it only feeds my contempt for mankind. Forever I shall be a Red … one more disciple of that plague: socialism. But my hostility for mankind is amusingly salutary, helping to clear my head from the idealistic Marxist prattle. Fiction and reality always mix together in the most fantastic ways. Means and ends are interconnected more than we suspect.
The quiet I shall pierce with screams from my nightmarish dreams.
My birthday lies in the horizon and this time I pretend to bestow upon myself the greatest gift: privacy intoxicated with solitude. But only and after this last apostrophe, for there is a desire to fulminate against the onerous silent disposition I possess. Sometimes I wonder if I am in competition with the Basque! My Catalonian-like obdurateness is all-too-me, and to extirpate it from my being is to kill me.
I have isolated myself much too long. I have remained unkempt and too self-involved. It has been pointed that I think too much but worse, I also analyze myself in excess. In effect, I know who I am. Do you?
But this is the end. I am breaking out of this madness, freeing myself from the shadows. My face, image of God, is adorned with the internal joy I have begun to feel and quietly pierces through my flesh. I am burning up, a febrile state produced by this bizarre felicity. Soon, it shall spill forth through my very pores. I too shall spill forth and evaporate rapidly on contact, turning into air.
But this joy is tempered with a contempt for everything that happened to me in the last year. I am responsible for it. I cannot blame anyone save myself. I positioned myself for the fall and how I fell. My depression is of my own doing. No god had anything to do; fate was not involved, only sublime faith. But it was a lack thereof. I lost faith in myself, in my essence. I became an empty vessel, mere substance; a hunched shadow.
I was told that hatred and anger should be channeled, making one productive. Fortunately, I had no anger or hatred. I was simply in awe and utterly confused. I had forgotten my humanity; I had sinned, believing that I was free from the vacillations of man, from the vicissitudes of Fortuna.
So I let my sadness consume in order to reestablish my humanity, my essence.
And now, “I feel wonderful, I could skydive from the moon, sail and ocean in my fingertips.” I am back where I started in August ‘03; full circle.
Thus, it is from the past that a voice comes screaming through an e-mail:
I still love you too. I am sure I always will. I’m sorry. – S.
Simple, short, to wit: insignificant. I don’t see the point, at least in how this declaration concerns me. But that’s just it, it does not concern me! It concerns him! So you fucked me over, so? I let you fuck me over. I am responsible. I am guilty. I accept my punishment. And I revel in it. I have become Utilitarian. I am stronger, I am more jaded but still I have the sweet satisfaction in realizing that I am able to love in ways that will forever be foreign to you. But it doesn’t matter at all.
A sorry means nothing, it is one of those perfunctory babbles man is taught to utter. But a sorry means nothing to me, I was never taught to succumb to its force. It is meaningless and worthless like broken promises. But it no longer matters, it no longer affects me. I am free. I am happy. I now I say, “I believe in love, but no love for an entire lifetime.” Herein lies the fine distinction between cynicism and realism.
I am happy, once more, I am the mellowed-out hippie that I have been from birth that covers his nakedness in the superfluous glamour of stylish stoicness. But as the Spanish saying goes, “Aunque la mona se vista de seda, mona se queda.” Essence is forever there, no matter how much filth, how much dirt we place over it, the essence remains. I am not empty, I am not in pain. I know heaven is open to me and I will go soon … but I don’t care for you to kiss me one last time before I cross the threshhold.
I returned to Santa Fe and my Johnnies took me, embraced me and bestowed upon me my forgotten identity, myself. In their eyes I saw myself. Your boy died, kaputt. “Perat mundus, fiat philosphia, fiat phiosophus, fiam!” escaped from my bowels. The filth was wiped off and the soul burst forth. Wonderful magic trick!
I feel so much! This citadel of ivory is inundated with feeling and joy! Oooh I don’t need to be touched to recognize myself anymore. No. Ah I now recognize myself! Hah.
And so it is in that Spanish tongue of mine, a rustic Latin tempered by the simplicty and charm of the provincial, elevated to the sublimeness of an aria by the amalgamation with the sonorous Arabic tongue, though deficient in words is endowed with a beauty that surpasses the bladness of English, that I say: “Leeme los labios, me vale madre.”
Again, “I feel wonderful, I could skydive from the moon, sail and ocean in my fingertips.” I am no longer afraid, I have jumped out of the darkness and I feel fantastic. I am transported to my bed in thoughts and I see that face with the sad eyes watching me intently, those strong arms embracing me as I foolishly attempted to speak on love. And I feel no sadness, nor regret. I am transported to this sad moment in my life and smile at the realization that I was once idealistic to such idiotic proportions! That I loved as I did, being young and cynical as I was.
Thank you. Now, the promised silence. I let go now, I am safe.