some said that at root life was essentially pain and suffering
others came down on the side of bliss
such distinctions however were no longer of any concern to him
.
wealth seemed far easier to attain
than the required destitution
.
he was left searching
for the meaningless through meaning
.
he remained coiled about the loneliest part
.
to allow words to undo themselves
for inevitably they always do
.
even when he maintained complete silence
he still found that he talked too much
.
after many conversations
he thought what a worthy task it would be
to free all those who had been snared by hope
.
somewhere a plant needed water,
but first he too must wither...
.
picking up his razor he stood transfixed watching
the face in the mirror become gradually denuded
when it was stripped clean he set down the razor
and stroked his cheek only to discover that not
a single whisker had been touched.
.
to leave oneself behind...
.
even the crumpled tissue
that he tossed into a wastebasket
seemed deserving of his respect
.
by way of personal history
all that he could come up with
were a used band-aid
and a few nail clippings...
.
he sliced some bread
so as to linger among the crumbs
.
sitting there
bundled up against the cold
he muttered a few words
and then fell silent
until overcome
by something akin to gratitude
.
all his saviours
were broken.
.
one evening, sensing a peculiar stillness,
he suddenly hurled himself forward
in a not-so-vain attempt to leave his impression
in the air.
.
purity, unity, truth...
he could no longer be fooled.
mastery was just another cop-out.
.
some days
each breath found
its wailing wall
.
some, whose presence was most real,
were never more than a voice.
.
for the most part conversation had become difficult, if not impossible.
there were no longer points to be made nor understood,
instead it was simply a matter of crumbling.
.
like all disquietudes
uncertainty was its own perfection
.
it was important not to confuse
time with the eternal
for even time tended to wear out
.
stay beneath thingsbut when humility was needed most
there was nothing to be found
.
he swallowed a flame
but by doing so only
managed to snuff it out
.
one shelf was always kept free of books
silence and emptiness were waiting to be read too
.
there was a time when words perhaps
provided a certain nourishment
but over the years he had developed
something akin to a verbal bulimia
.
hoping to rediscover something of infancy
he raised a book to his lips
stuck out his tongue and gave it a lick
only to discover his own blandness
.
each speck of dander
a tiny memento mori
.
taking stock he noted that
the bulk of his life went unused
.
each morning he awoke
to the impossibility of the world
.
a continual return to beginnings
.
aim and shoot...
take a photograph...
capture an image...
so many traps
but holding the camera
he felt that he was the one
who had become ensnared
.
Unable to exterminate his vices,
he simply no longer had the heart to do the deed,
he wound up living among them
like an old lady surrounded by strays.
.
he kept a lamp without a light bulb
confident that one day
he would turn it on
and all would go dark
.
the gentle ruthless
.
he began to wonder if we were perhaps
naught but the ullage of being
.
memories were no longer viewed as vestiges
but rather as eruptions
.
He rubbed his eyes.
Yet what needed to be extirpated
was not any obstruction to sight,
but rather the very habit of seeing.
.
too often he feared that he had been misunderstood
others seemed prone to confusing his honesty
with kindness
.
it was simply a matter of entering
a space that one had never left
.
it was as if the tiniest of birds
fluttered at the end of each breath
.
some days no matter how far
nor how fast he travelled
he remained unmoving
.
"imagine peace"
he tried
repeatedly
but could only manage
a lull
.
obviously an apology could be proffered before or after;
but it occurred to him that the best recourse
might simply be for each word, gesture or action
to arise from an unformed yet no less acute regret.
.
he sought his cave
found it
without ever rising
from his couch
.
the most glorious light
was usually the one denied
.
pulling on his socks
it came to him that sometimes
this was all one could do
to avert disaster
.
Someone said, "What name is not diminishment?"
He couldn't help but agree. Yet as he began to recite,
one name after the other, both mentally and out loud,
he came to realize that this was rather as a door
which both framed and opened vaster spaces.
.
some thought
that certain geometries
could lead to greater perfection
he however believed
just the opposite
.
more often than not
any attempt to avoid confusing
innocence and ignorance
was futile
.
Just so you know...
all images and text © Michael Tweed
