A Song Without Music

(as I never got around to writing it):

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I believe text can perform, in so much as text acts as a valence of meaning.  Text has past/future potentialities; it bristles, expands, sings, and remains, leaving impressions in the mind of what is and was.  And in that, the what is and what was fall in on each other, becoming one, ever complicating each other. 

 

I can still conjure the memories of the what was here.  And it hurts me to think that things ever have to change.  Desire - like performance, like text – stretches back/through towards something here and there.  It’s a double wanting for the thing and the wanting.  Always itself and yet always, in some way, incomplete.

 

I stopped calling your name when I realized that I would soon be done writing this play.  Is that a gift? 

 

Desire, performance, text – these are all exorcisms of a type.  Cast off my demons, as I walk in my mind, through the great churches of Deerfield and Amherst and Florence that I longed to enter this summer.  I am a child always in that I will always find ways to hurt my heart. 

 

I am not sure there is anything more meaningful than forgetting why you ever fell in love in the first place. 

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