i, of the blind

As before. It is as before, as always been, as always will be. Nothing. Always been nothing. Always will be nothing. That’s all. Everything comes to nothing. Amounts to nothing. All that we hold. All that we embrace. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Sometimes i wish the light to go out. Wish just to sit, lonely in the dark, among my walls and flowers. They’re real you know, that much i am certain of. I am quite certain of what exists and what doesn’t, within the walls. Well, at least, within the walls. Everything that sits here, keeping me company, within my walls.

I collect things. Don’t go out of my room much though. Can’t say that. Can’t say i ever go out of my room. Not really. No, i can’t honestly say that. Can’t honestly say to you, looking you straight in the eye, as i am just now, can’t up and say something that’s just not right. No, i never leave here. I just sit here, in the dark, with my things. All alone in the dark. Just as before.

Sometimes i remember things. Always remembering the damnedest things. A cap i used to have. Somehow misplaced it, but it’s here somewhere. It’s around here somewhere. Or the old dog before she got straddled and splayed. Fine bitch too. She threw a litter or two. But not now. We won’t go into that now.

Staring at the walls. Damn shadows. Cracks and stains. Can’t bear to look out the window. Hate to think that there’s something outside the window. Really i prefer it here. Prefer it in here, nice and cozy with my dreams and things. You know wandering around, staring at the walls, remembering things. The damnedest things one remembers.

Sometimes, when i close my eyes, i can feel myself lying down among the grass. A patch of weeds among the grass. It’s a good feeling. Nice to feel something soft beneath the skin. It used to be that way too, once, before. But can’t really remember that, can’t hold on to that, but it’s there. Know it’s there. Somewhere. Can feel it under the skin. The softness. Sometimes it’s even moist, that’s the way i feel it now. As before. But i don’t remember, not exactly. Just the skin. How it felt under the skin. But that was before. Now it’s just memories. Close my eyes and lie under the sky, lie like a patch of weeds among the grass, like before, like it’s always been. Now i don’t know so much anymore. I’m not so sure. Not anymore.

Other times i get up, get up and go real close to the dark. Right there in the dark, there there’s something darker, something can be leaned against, rested against. It’s there in the dark. Always has been, as far as i can figure. Can’t see it though, too damn dark, so much so doesn’t even matter if the ol’ eyes are open or closed. Don’t even know for sure anymore. Could be blind for all i know. No matter. Little difference in this light. Only thing eyes are good for is seeing, looking out the window, and i don’t do that anymore. Can’t stand looking out the window, not out there, not since i’m in here, isn’t any need. Don’t need to be looking somewhere you aren’t, somewhere you’ll never be. Nobody ever said eyes were a blessing. Not in here. Not a helluva lot to look at in here. Damn eyes. Damn tired. These eyes are so goddamned tired. Too much looking. Always looking. And what do they see?

Before i thought it will be. Later. As always. it would come. As before. As always had. Same for me. Had to be the same for me. Later. But that was before too. Now it’s different. Not the same at all. Not here. Not now. Now it’s just as it always was. Always will be. The same now as ever. No difference. Little difference. Not here. Here it’ll always be the same. Always has. Always will be. Now, and forever.

I pick my ass, scratch my balls, squeeze me eyes real tight, lie down, stand up, move around, shuffle among my things, rearrange my things, count them, stack them, throw them about, even smash them against the walls. Doesn’t matter. Not here. Not when i wake up. Always seem to be waking up. Never fall asleep. Never seem to fall asleep. But always waking up. Always find i’ve been sleeping. It’s the same now as it’s always been. Waking up to find everything just the same. Always will be. That’s the way it is. Turn out the light. Now and forever. No matter. It’s just the same. Always will be. Always waking up. Always sleeping then waking up. Doesn’t matter. Not in this light. In this light it’s all the same.

Sing to myself. Sometimes i sing to myself. Or just talk to myself. Little matter. No difference. Not here. Not now. Or hear the singing. Sitting in the dark. All alone. In the dark. Can hear the singing. No words. Just singing. Soft and low in the dark. Against the skin. Can hear it soft, against the skin. Here in the dark. A song like there used to be. Just as then. Singing without words. Here in the dark. Dark then too. Always was. Always will be. Can’t say i know much anymore though. Not now. Just like then. Didn’t know much then either. Little changes. Not here. Not now. Never will.

Did i mention the flowers. No matter. Will again. Got lots of flowers. All kinds of flowers. Here in the dark. What kinds can’t say. Can’t rightly say. Not here. Not in the dark. But there’s flowers. Lots of them. All around. I sit here surrounded by flowers, ‘cause i always liked flowers. Always will, even though i can’t see them. Never could. Not then. Not now. Not ever. Never will see them. But i enjoy them just the same. Just like before. Always will. Eyes are for looking. Looking out the window. There’s nothing to see in here. Not here in the dark. Not even flowers.

Sometimes find myself crying. Always the same. Sitting alone, crying in the dark. Other times laughing. All doubled up, belly aching, wishing it would stop. Same as the crying, wishing it would stop. But most of the time just sitting. Sitting and staring into the dark. If that’s what you want to call it. Eyes open or closed. No matter, staring just the same. Just sitting here, alone in the dark, staring at what’s to be stared at. Up close to a wall, in a corner, on the floor, in the middle of the room. No difference. It’s all the same. Here in the dark. Sitting. Just as before. Always will be. Just as i am now. Sitting in the dark. Or standing. No difference. Waking or sleeping. Eyes open or shut. Laughing or crying. Singing or listening. Flowers or not. Don’t know anymore. Not now. Never did. Never will. Not now.

As before. As always been. As always will be. Nothing. Always been nothing. Always will be nothing. That’s everything. That’s all. Everything comes to nothing. Amounts to nothing. All that we hold. All that we embrace. Nothing. Not a damn thing. Here in the dark.

for S.P.
Paris, December 1988