is waif
RESEARCH ON BEGINNINGS
The attic.
Lucille is doing her presentation for nobody at night. Behind her the window and the stars are close by.
We’ve begun to think only briefly about the beginning of things. The beginning is the key
to the all. In our research it has been revealed to us that things can only be apprehended in their summation, or rather in their completion, their totalization, which is to say the providential or fortuitous coming together of all of their parts, whether from the mold or scale model or from the spring, in which the fluid takes shape mid air without previous conception or formation in mind. Things are thus apprehended only in the moment of their annihilation, because to come into being is to cease to exist unassumingly, naturally, unabashedly, without cause or consequence, and to begin existing digressively. It is in the very moment of communion that we begin to (passionately) hurtle once again towards separation,
(Please
Undo
My
Shattered
parts.)
yearning once again to be unloved.
Yellow living room. Soft elevator jazz is playing. Maude and Christine sit in a moment like a bubble, here everything is warm and outside everything is dark. Everything, everywhere is war.
issue 04
I don’t know I think it’s just a sign of the times. Not the times of the world, but the times of my life, of today, of my life today, of the air in my brain recently and the air in the brains of the people all around me. It’s the look we all give each other when we pass one another on the street. Something is elevated, bigger, quieter, more at the back of things. Things are happening behind the curtain, I know it.
Lucille is upstairs and she is drilling a hole in the roof again.
Maude and Christine sigh because they are tired of Lucille.
Drill in hand:
We all search for the world other to this one. One in which reality itself is encased in the soft fabric of a teleological origin. We all dream of course of this world, with the beginning and the end so deftly united, or in fact never separated.
But to separate is the essence of being, and to be un-separate is inconceivable unless being is wider than we had previously thought and maybe to think that way is useless.
ay
ay
ay me duele
But still the question persists and despite our best efforts we ask: how can we want what we have ever known? Not why but in what way, how can such a thing be possible?
And what we say to that is, well perhaps it isn’t. Maybe imagination is a fallacy. What we think we have imagined, we have in fact simply remembered. Underneath the permafrost of subjective consciousness, there is still the hard, cold earth of the way all things once were.
Maude and Christine are now drunker than parrots and they hold each other’s forearms as they dance.
The world continues to oscillate in nocturnal speed and no one is surprised that everything is always changing.
And when they return home the next evening, the moon is nowhere to be seen yet everything is electric-blue transparent. The trees like round, secret loaves seem to sigh with contentment and they realize with a decisive shiver that in this night there is room for all things.
This time when they re-enter the apartment Lucille is quiet and they think perhaps her excavational anxiety has eased just for this one night that glows without need of question. And they are right. Lucille knows that tonight cannot be asked because it only answers and it fills the negative curve in her with something soft and bright like neon plum pie filling.
Lucille knows of course that the serenity is temporary and that the questions (why?
will resume tomorrow but for now she simply exhales, a wide porqué?
y
que?)
que rico!