All the things I do not know.
Of all the
things I do not know, I do not know the least, if such a thing as you exists.
(I'm talking to myself as usual, O God, garlic tea, garlic tea.) But the
synchronicities which appreciate themselves upon me belie these mushy
emanations of thought. Only my children seem absolutely real to me because they
are magnified fragments of my soul. At other times I see light dancing before
my eyes, like particles of ambience, or mischievous
little sprites. To me these flashing whisps seem like Botticelli cherubs
defending the gateway to countless other dimensions, the garden of paradise
included. You are the dream within a dream the meta-role of the universal
actor, the mythological being who haunts my ardant wanderlust and extols to faint
my struggle and glee.
There is a
legendary Japanese exam with just one question and an unlimited amount of time,
paper and ink with which to provide an answer. The question? "What do you
know?"
I always wanted to try and be clever and write: “I
know nothing.” But I can't put myself on a par with Socrates and it would be a
stupid thing to reply if you were being asked to sum up three years of an engineering
degree. Besides I think I know a lot, even whilst suspecting myself of being an
impostor all along. So I have to come at the question from a different
perspective. Of all the things I do not know, the thing I do not know the most
is that I think I'm sure I know I do not know myself. So, how can I know you,
mirror image of my sordid languor? Are you the horned antithesis baying through
my glass? Put on a dolphin please. I need to be titivated and pacified. (That’s
the second time the devil came to get me I seem to remember – but when did we
sign our contract?)
Anyhow, I’m
clever enough to know that I’m confused. Look, said Dylan Thomas, that’ll
confuse the fuckers! So it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
It is useless
then isn’t it to say: I’m miserable. I’m living a half life. I’m not in love
with my life. It’s useless, as the philosopher said, useless all useless, but
at least it’s the beginning of an answer to a question which dare not raise its
head. “Who are you?” I am the actor who forgot his lines, the foolish one said.
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