Not I - part II

till now, i know not,
what not is,
that negates
and negotiates what is
first positive,
first mine;
or is it?

till now, I know not,
if you, are, referring to
who?
that negates,
who are 'I's.
but still within one.
divided.

even so,
if I may, if I could,
dance with my body,
I would, not, be able to be outside my body
except, to conceive a body,
(immediately a body that is not mine and I'm constantly learning how to move with it)
[still, my body]
and dance that meaningless dance.
and somehow,
express that which are spiritual.

and so, if I may guess, egoistically,
then I shall say,
no, write,
that 'you' was me,
not,
that I am, neither,
there, nor here,
but always belated,
always that is left behind,
untamed by chance,
tamed by dogma.
simply, something that I can, not determine,
alone.

leaving
nothing, un-negated,
that positively speaking,
no, writing,
I am doing neither.
I am divided, always,
into colours, no,
sounds that are
horrible, peaceful, mysterious, childish, noisy, grand and silent,
which you should, not, mixed, in a generalised way,
but they
like trumpets, guitars, pianos, saxophones, violins, drums and mute
either make sense, or not.
either produced
by me,
or not.
in the mind, it fades; they fade.
my voice, so quiet
I can't hear myself too.

which leaves me,
with nothing much to see.
to say, no, to write. no, to hear.
so you will be blind,
if you look with my eyes.
insane, angry, sad, very sad, happy, very happy
if you read my mind
but most of all, I am, but a child,
trapped in a body that is mine, wholly mine.
and to sense,
is but, to negate everything that can be sensed
and to imagine
is but, to negate everything that can be imagined

somewhere then, you wish you know nothing
about,
the things I despise
the things I envy
the things I sin
the things I am, am not.
but most of all,
who I am

and not.
it is not 'I', is it?

but it is still 'I'
capable of imagining that 'I'.
whose I?

not.
read.



everything (bad) happened
when the EYE, opened, and saw each other's nakedness
Words, naked, bare naked,
with only, leaves, to cover, like cover pages,
paper, to deceive,
but unable to resist, that of imagination,
of lustrous desires
that which Eros, tainted, can devour
violence repeated,
and so,
voices, of them, of Him,
they hid, we hid, from.
forgotten,
not forgotten,
the Word, became,
seen,
as performances,
repeated
divisible,
visible,
but never do we, quite get it.
if we, not,
f
a
l
l,

plunged into a certain threshold
attended to like a sparrow,
cushioned,
after,
but before, not.
it is the irrevocable end, that judges us,
but it is the beginning, already begun,
that spins us,
into a leap,
throws us,
into a perception never before experienced,
(remembered)
so reading kills (to my detriment)
as I have discovered
black comes to the fore
and white,
as backdrops,
that screams back as absence
only more evident.

suspend this for a moment
and think of spirit, if possible
not spirit,
but spirit.
then the fall
is no longer a human fall
but a floating sensation,
a limbo,
a suspension
perhaps, still a punishing gravitational pull
somewhere in between space and Earth
between Evil and Good
but it's not dialectics
it is aurora,
it is rainbow
it is an experience no metaphor can fully represent
it is in between your flesh and the air you breathe, (a thorn?)
it is nebula,
it is falling through a cliff deep inside a ocean
it is pressure,
profound pressure
of love
that drives you insane, supposedly
as if you are a sparrow metamorphosing into an eagle.
only not quite, not Enoch yet,
always not yet, perhaps already is,
but not, not what you think, not what I wrote,
not what we think or write
it is that which always eludes us
that is why
it is so compelling, so heart-wrenching,
that drives us to tears and secret smiles
that pulls us from certain disaster
and only nothing, nothing in its most powerful way,
can seperate us from this experience
precisely by making us go through it
from beginning to end
in the end,
it is not,
never what you imagined, thought, read, etc.
it is 70 % water, 30 % land, like bodies
evaporated and condensed,
multilated, pierced, bloody mess, till none left as water
perpetually.
or not.
it is an ascension,
we cannot even dare to imagine.
it is trembling...
every night, i tremble.
every sin, I tremble.

it is not,
so easy.
to see with my Eye.
or dance
my dance.
i bleed each night, when I write.

I is not i.
(that is my key doctrine. or was it Beckett's? or Paul? or?)

---

Was 'You' referring to 'I'? in a literal way?
or is it not?
it is puzzling.