I FIND MYSELF DRIFITNG

227. I FIND MYSELF DRIFTING:

"The wind on my forehead the small breeze on my brow the breath on my face - something I tell you just like that woke me up last night - not once not twice but three different times and I swear I can remember talking back to someone whomever it may have been emanation apparition beats the crap out of me but this motion of air on my forehead somehow felt holy felt reverent or something and inside myself or some part of me INSIDE I realized it was a somewhat privileged situation I was in YET I awoke never really knowing what actually had transpired nor the why nor how and all I'd like to know in essence is WHAT the hell was happening to me what sort of transport am I involved in and where is it to take me ? but there aren't really any answers to any of that just a big elongated silence which I finally find myself slipping into like it was some 'space' for this or that some place of exile some weird retreat and it seems that every Holden Caulfield look-alike poser street-tramp starts at will ranting and raving about 'sincerity' or 'fakery' or whatever and I can't relate I FIND MYSELF DRIFTING and the only cover left to me - far beyond sincerity - is the cover of dream fantasy some faraway island of some new relativity - where the sky is auburn and the stars are dark green and the planets as they whiz by manage to speak words which are really just sounds anyway and the deep dark majesty of outer space meets the direct intensity of inner space and before we ANY OF US know it a whole entire other realm of space is opened up : so anyway does anyone follow me?" - and I looked back to see Malcom Henry Foster sitting alone on the edge of the pier holding a mirror to the sun and I said "Malcolm what the heck are you up to?" and he looked back to me strangely enough and said "I'm trying to cook my supper" just like that - and I was of course confused for nothing was there neither to eat nor to cook and so I simply wondered what was going on and told him so and he answered: "it's me it's all about me I can't go on and I don't want to live so I'm thinking of concentrating reflected light onto my own flesh enough to cook it and consume myself and if we ARE what we eat really enough than shouldn't we just eat ourselves?" and I wanted to call the space police I wanted to hold his head down I thought of a million things but all I could say was "no no don't do any of that at least until you've read Deuteronomy at least until you've visited the Space Needle read all of Moby Dick sent letters to each world leader tried your hand at a new religion ate something different each day and do you know DO YOU that they've unearthed a ten foot wall in Battery Park which is the original battlement of the old settlement fort of Nieuw Amsterdam and they're already wrecking it with backhoes and cranes DO YOU KNOW THAT at least and what do feel about that - the ruination of some heritage the disembowelment of historical evidences the ritual death of the original world by the advanced whoredom of greed and frenzied Jew money and everything that goes with it - and all you can do is sit here farting on about cooking yourself and eating your own sorry fucked-up self TELL ME someone TELL ME what gives ! are you horny are you sex-starved what the fuck goes on?" and I quoted Blake to him 'what is it men in women do require? the lineaments of gratified desire - and what is it women do in men require? the lineaments of gratified desire' which is the least of Blake of course but it's the most satisfying sexual bit I could think of for this fool about to eat himself and it's called 'The Question Answered' as if all mankind had no other questions on their mind but the one about fucking and what it means - a crapshoot of nothing I'd say and this from a guy (Blake) who remained childless and had an idiot wife SO 'go figure' as any other idiot would say and I started to tell him other things but I forget really what they were I dropped names I lit a match I talked about Joe McCarthy and the drunken hearings I even read him passages about torture - so as to help him figure out maybe what it was what twisted and perverse logic it was in the human mind which could allow for the evil enough to harm and hurt other people maliciously : but there were NO answers forthcoming and no other issues either and the entire four-square and solid device of passing time on the way to death meant anything and then right then I remembered one last final quote to throw at him - which I always thought was a cool one and quite correct (by someone named I think DeCherval) 'every book is a suicide postponed'.