de bene esse

but who knows, or better yet, who cares? you are dead. dead. i can not and will not comprehend any of it. just about a week ago we held hands for the last time and neither of us knew that it would be the last time. each time that i walked out the door, i did wonder if i would ever return. after all, i reasoned, anything could happen to me and make me a statistic in a natural catastrophe or of a technical mishap. we have all been waiting for your death, and nobody ever dared to ask how long it would take until you were relieved from feeling your fast decaying body yield to disfunction. remember when your diagnosis came and we discussed suicide? you were afraid of the pain and the suffering; morphine helped. you never read what i wrote, and that was just fine with me; i liked this foreignness in our relationship. i brought you books written by my favorite authors and you read them. i shared with you a bit of my world, or at least i tried.

just about six months ago i showed you a corner of my life that i had never shared before, we had tea. i took you to a corner of my world, a world that was very foreign to you, and a world that disoriented you. we shared a room on occasions, and on others i made you endure my culinary diversions, you gave frank comment and pointed critic, and often we laughed about my experimentation. now one thing stands for sure, and that is that that picnic we had planned is just not going to take place.

what i wonder now is how quickly you resigned to your ill fate, you knew that you did not have much longer to live, you were paralyzed, you could barely speak, and you did not loose your sense of humour. there was no rage and anger in you, you just endured the suffering, rejoiced at the pretty faces of the medical staff, and you held my hand.

thank you for holding my hand, and sharing my world.

when

when will this old fool learn?

just a while ago the old fool called in desperation, the kind of desperation that emotion untamed brings, the fool called a brother. that brother is a gentle soul, one of the many best of friends. a brother that gives a hug and the hug is just a hug and it means nothing more than just that the brother cares.

when will this old fool learn?

just yesterday the old fool walked along the lake on a sunny promise of spring and returned today to find itself so very touched by all of another, and so very tempted to get itself so very entangled in another. the fool feels safe when that another is in turn entangled elsewhere as then there is no danger of their own entanglement. another, that other, is another open book.

when will this old fool learn?

just now the fool took action about on a promise of a few days. the action was overdue like many actions in this fool's cabinet are overdue. then the fool is reminded that it always forgets. this fool forgets, and this fool does not promise.

when will the old fool learn?

just today the fool confessed that now that the loneliness is gone, the desire is to be alone. these are the choices of the fool. in the confessions the fool never confesses, not all, not even in fiction does the fool confess. the fool never confesses. the fool is greedy for its own thoughts and the fool does not share.

this fool does not know.

the love and the enemy

thoughtful. these days i am thoughtful. i am humbled too. i write fragments of sentences as i am tired of the incomplete syntax. i cut one incompleteness with another and hope that somehow you will understand even when what your fear is to understand. there are the long hours of silence which we share, and those are the best, then the most gets said, and we never misunderstand each other.

i have been distracted, i am distracted. today i was even irritated and furious. i wondered what held me from piercing through all the conventions and do something explosive and violent. i watched myself. how is it that i return to that place so quickly?

vertigo

flirting is to me a wonderful gift, it is respectful, it soothes the ego and it promises absolutely nothing while opening up a world of possibilities and exciting the imagination. for the storyteller whom i am, you were more than a loving and dedicated teacher last week, you are a gift of the universe. the right one at the right time, at the right place. how can i thank the universe? i thank you. flirting is like going to the museum, you admire the art, you imagine what it would be like to have a Rembrandt in your living room, and then you don't touch, you don't take it home, and you do not possess. beings, human beings are art. the philosopher in me would love to expound on being human and being art, and the human being in me has had its curiosity aroused: what is it like to explore experiencing that being who calls himself by an angel's name? and the other wrote: "he, now the third man in this one episode, he is neither swiss nor japanese, he has neither blue eyes nor a long time relationship with me, he is also not the man of my dreams. he entered my radar a few years ago although i can not quite recall the exact time and date. the first time i saw him on the tatami, i knew that i had more than just another technically brilliant human in front of me. he impressed me then, and then i proceeded to forget his existence until last week. he shows up last week, more through my own utter oblivion than any sort of fathomable intentionality or rationality. last week, he shows up with several faces, the one of the master, another the loving teacher, and still another of the flirt. my ego has been ever so enthralled with the flirt, any flirt, and i am left with the answer to all my questions: i don't know. nothing has to happen, anything is possible, be ready for all, do nothing." being myself is doing nothing.

i never thought

i never thought that it would be this way. i never thought that i would risk it all, and then in one split second of madness decide it all. decide now, at this point, take a stand, make a commitment, and then not think. think nothing at all.

i have struggled in the past months with the voice of one character. sometimes i have it, it is a loud and clear voice. each time that i hear it, i want to hang on to it, however more often than not, i go back to it, and i do not find its thread again.

i never thought that it would be this way. i never thought that i would embrace it all, and then in one split second of madness decide it all. decide now, at this point, embrace it and close my eyes, and then think nothing at all.

i have struggled in the past months with the very presence of your existence. sometimes i have it, it is a radiant and smooth being. each time that i sense it, i want to hang on to it, however more often than not, i go back to it, and i do not find its thread again.

i never thought that it would be this way. i never thought that i would end it all, and then in one spit second of madness decide it all. decide now, at this point, end it and run away, and then think nothing at all.