Disambiguation

Achilles: I proclaim victory! I believe! I believe in death.

Tortoise: You are a rich bastard and a foul bitch! You elude all, at least half the time! Your mind is a dark labyrinth full of incense and scathe.  The Veda that you are reading has overwritten your foul mind, it is even fouler now. Last night you got ridiculously drenched in the rain, came in and did not utter a word. You walked dripping into his room and trammelled him, then you just watched. You watched!

Achilles: My dear dearest of them all, you know all my virtues and desires! You understand me. You know how I despise the ordinary average of contentment, and you know where I find ecstasy. You are right about the Veda that I have been reading, but I have no mind, and what is not, can not be, either written or overwritten!

Tortoise: Waiting. You wait in the rain, and you wait in the storm. You watch, you torture. This is not Lisbon, and you will always have Oxford, but we have not been there for a while. You toss them and litter the trash, and you start on a new page each time that I look at you. It is all the reality that there is, the one in your mind. Nothing. Still, here you return, and you return again and again.

Achilles: You are a presumptuous little half of nothing! You are an orphan picked up from the gutter. You despise me and you can not live without me. Yet, time come, you will enter the darkness of my dungeon. You do not walk with me in the rain. You do not know the flesh that satiates me. You understand me?

Tortoise: You dance and you curse the words. It is just the words. You do not see the people, and you will never care to see the people. You gut them just for the words. Do you ever really touch them? Do you know touch? I know you do not love. If you would love, I would be the one that you love. Oh! Not love again, not this silly song and dance of sense and sensibility, promise and adultery! I understand you.

Achilles: Doubt you, I do not. I chose to ignore, and do. You are clear and irrational. You are my insanity. If I could love, I would need to know what love is before I were to choose. You, you were stripped of doubts in the gutter, and you refused to pick them up along with all the other rubbish. Your body is not spent…

Tortoise: You are coming around. Corners, bends, tempests and torments, and you are coming around! You blinding fool! You are coming around! You still leave them in pain. You still leave them to rot in their flesh, but you are coming around.

Achilles: You see me. I can not blind you. I close my eyes and recall the gold diggers of the past. Gold digging always serves aesthetics, and those gold diggers have been inspiring. Words, more words, and then again words.

Tortoise: You believe. I wonder who is the old fool now, you or me? Death does not do us part, does it? You could blind me with your belief.

Achilles: I killed a man once. Twice. Tried it again, and I believed in death. He laid there slain, I watched.

Tortoise: Serry up to the epistemic of turmoil. We are not finished yet.

 

Still mindless

 Achilles: I am mad. I wish them dead. All of them. There are already a few million dead, but they were the wrong ones. Why is it that only the wrong ones get massacred?

Tortoise: The Veda that you are reading is souring your mind, I told you this before. You have a ridiculously early morning flight tomorrow that takes you from your paradise to the entrails of that province in the north hat you do not want to call home. You can not escape! Stop trying! Go to sleep!

Achilles: Have I lost it all this time? You are harassing me! You are tormenting me! I do not know if I am holding my breath and waiting for you to disappear, or if I am just waiting for you to croak over and encounter death. And it is true that here I feel at home, and there I feel foreign. It is true that here I am embraced by adored muses. I do not like perfection and manicured cobble stones over there, I like rot and decay here. You, I never cared for you!

Tortoise: Your care or lack thereof has never impressed me, much less even if it is about me that you do not care. What blessing to not be cared for by you! You can not even care for yourself! I am here, you have nobody else, and that flight will go with or without you. This is not Lisbon, and you know it. You just chose to ignore the truth, and reality is never a thing that impressed you or made a dent in your thinking. Should I ask you the hard questions?

Achilles: Genius! You are here to ask me the hard questions! You are here to keep me company! I am mad, you know that. Was I born mad? Tell me! Will somebody tell me if I was already mad when I screamed at the stench of air in my lungs for the first time? Air, how can animals breathe the stuff? Fish suffocate on it! Do you remember when I was born? Where you there already then? Now I am just furious. Furious. That is all, furious. Thank you and that flight is going to be awfully early tomorrow and sleep is for the dead.

Tortoise: I remember you from way back when. I know your gentle fury better than you can imagine that anybody may know you. I have watched you dancing at night. I have seen you seduce the innocent and then at the last minute, you smile, and leave them to their innocence. You leave the innocent in pain. Most would have rather have had the abuse of your insolence, than the pain of your abandonment.

Achilles: If I listen to you I would think that you are describing a monster. Are you describing a human monster. Am I that monster that you describe? I know to know you, and I know where you came from. But that you would speak of me now so, I do wonder if you do not have me confused with some other…

Tortoise: Love is a possibility that you have considered. Still, you are the one who leaves them aroused and wanting. You control it all, you even control their breath, and then you just ignore it all. I do not understand your pleasure, and I do not understand your love. I have seen you. I have seen your pain. I have seen you laugh in pain.

Achilles: Pathetic! I have no love. I will not love. I refuse, I do not believe in love. One has to believe in it, if it is going to be happening. I do not believe. Not in death either.

Tortoise: There is no fear in you. Where have you lost your fear? You have nothing that you believe in, do you?

Achilles: Fear. Death. Love. Tell me you old fool, tell me… why would I want to believe?

Tortoise: Heuristics, you old tattle! Return to your heuristics, then learn fear. Tomorrow is here.

 

sortie

sortie, originally uploaded by TommyOshima.