My Own Darkness

It annoys me when people talk about ‘the limits to discursive thinking’. ‘For God’s sake, you pretentious asshole!’ I want to say, ‘Can you not actually just cop on to yourself and hear the absolute nonsense that you keep coming out with?’ It annoys me, it annoys me when people talk. I lost track of something there and I don’t know what it was – it came and went, came and went. It came so easily and it went so very easily too, you’d hardly see it coming and you certainly wouldn’t see it go either. You wouldn’t see it go. I’m here but I’m not here – how often that someone said that to you? How often has that been said that to you? How often? How often? I was standing right there, standing right there beside myself. ‘There’s no need for that, there’s no need for that,’ I told myself. I was confessing my sins and I didn’t know where to begin. I was babbling like a fool. I was babbling like a big-headed babbler. I was spilling the beans – they were going everywhere. My hands were shaking so much it was a wonder that I had any beans left in the pan. Shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking. Shaking so much. ‘There’s no need for that, there’s no need for that’, I told myself. I was beside myself but for some reason I couldn’t see my own face. I couldn’t see my own face but I knew that it was me. I recognised the darkness that was seeping out from me, ebbing out in all directions like a stain on the carpet. ‘Can we ever truly escape our own darkness’, I asked myself sadly. Can we ever, can we ever. I couldn’t see my face that I knew it was me. I was trapped in my own idea of myself. I recognised the darkness. I was telling my story, babbling it to everyone I met. I was spilling the beans. I was confessing my sins. I was running down the road my arms and legs pumping like pistons. I was running like the Gingerbread Man. I was running like billy-o. The countryside was flashing past, my arms and legs pumping so fast it was as if they didn’t even belong to me. I was in a dream and everything had been speeded up so very much. I was having six different conversations all at the same time and none of them made any sense. I was spilling the beans, spilling the beans, spilling the beans. I was talking nine to the dozen. I was talking too fast. My whole life flashed by but I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t recognise it. I had never paid much heed to it the first time round so how was I to know it when I saw it the second time? How was I to know? How was I to know?  I wished I could slow down but it was too late for that now…

 

 

 

 

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