I could not help but cry out.
I wanted, seems I needed.
(They say infants cannot live more than…without…)
What did I want? Or possibly need?
What did I expect crying out would do?
The “I” the “cry” the “out”
the “need” the “want.”
All questions. All words.
A “perhaps” pre-conscious being, wee and wriggling in a tiny bed, flexing and stretching,
stuttering jittery gestures “out” from the red oval of its thick little torso, its weight of being, center of
gravity, almost grasping…face flushed and agitated, “cries” – wails, screes,
…tiny vibrating thing struggling and shaking…
…at nothing…at absence…
Does the cry begin an “I”? Introduce an inside, an outside?
freedom all And what was the noise like in the cranium that produced it?
to be lords
of our own
tiny skull- Was it crashingly brash and mind-shivering after months of deeply muffled sounds
muddled in its own enclosed sea? Or did it remain beneath and vague, dull rumblings like far sky-
alone at the thunder?
center of all
David Foster and it’s clearly a catastrophe, an apocalypse, you should hear it in here – suffocated or
cymballically resounding – either way these are the tremors and explosions of great wars going on in
this miniature cranial kingdom,
pressures and reverberations and gigantic signal and noise because “I,” yes “I” - this
organic squealing seed of an alien, purpled red and trembling - WANT!
I don’t know what, but it seems readily evident that it involves a “you” already, or where
is the point of the urge to make it known? To ex-press? And the “you” must already also be a “who” to
have the possibility of volition to respond.
and what’s to prevent “you” from wailing your very own “I cry out” into your hands with
such volume, crumpled there on your bed, that my announcements go unheard?
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Who will help us? Isn’t everyone a victim, ultimately?
“But who is When my skin hammers the edge of the next concrete step, flays open and begins
pulsing its expression down my leg, getting the inside out, some ancient Greek concept of signifier and
Death signified (of which these terms being written are still further removed) my lungs huff, throat tightens,
awaits us jaw loosens, tongue darts out of the way and vibrations burst through my teeth like a massive tree trunk
all…” – “out of my
Rosemarie popping, giving way, natural
Where or to whom is this invocation aimed, if not simply to “you” my imaginary ghost- setting of
friend from preschool dark nights and solitary playgrounds, my lack of siblingy sinew and absence of uniquely,
likeminded peers in the farmlands, my unreliable (or perhaps not) pet dog, or even to create an echo in completely,
the vacuum of my own head, imperially
alone day in
“Mother - !!!” out…the
Whether or not the infant’s cry is answered, garners a response, (perhaps there is/was no gnawing
“mother” to perceive the demented shrieks) isn’t really the point, point being, the point of being, that “I sense of
(you) cry out.” and lost,
We vomit, bleed, piss and shit. infinite
It gets out. We “get” out. Wallace
I imagine a two-button anthropological theory where my being is some double-sided
pressure system that when squeezed forcefully enough emits, makes us sound.
And to whom or wherefore the emission?
For years I practiced a quiet and concentrated, superior and servile engagement in sexual
activity. Duly warned of orgasm’s greed with distorted names like “premature,” “slam-bam,”
“selfishness” and “sin.” I would neither “give in” to the little deaths, nor agree to “go first,” but would
manipulate the other body’s addiction and preferences, a kind of preemptive strike, thus pushing the
button for sighs and moans without knowledge (understanding?)
for when I laid off the fear and became fully participant in these escapades – I would
grown and huff and deeply growl as overcome
and the suspicion is that what might be called speaking, these signifiers, sounds, say
language, intended more than some biologically stomped-foot-pump gush of air over variant tensings of
wires and a rippling palate…
I cried out
Which, I’m inferring, implies direction.
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Another way of saying the skull-sized kingdom is not large enough to account for…
I recall climbing a mountain way above treeline, rocky, windy, solitary and well, fearsome,
awe-full. I must have been around twelve years old, had encountered a grizzly bear (diverted just long
enough by a crushed can of tuna and a potently electrical thunderstorm) everything only increasing my
determination to scrape, pull, slide and scruff my way to the pointy pinnacle of this beast
After hours of effort for a few hundred feet of thinly oxygenated ground, I laid flat at a
height I’d never risen to of my own power before. I looked out. Around. Up (only sky). Down
(everything that was). I spun as if in flight. I stripped to nakedness – the cold hard wind helped the
Sometimes both buttons are compressed fully, at once.
And what happened did not fit into my cranium.
I bellowed. I yawped. I sang, giggled, cried.
And here I am, cradling a tiny thing I had some magical part in creating, both buttons at
once, and again I cry, and the tears are rolling in one direction only – out.
And this woman that I am coming to know (who introduced me to “crying out” in orgasm)
says something to me that supports and sustains me in my forty-year-old intimate understanding of
limitations and of feeling resisted by the world, and I stare, I listen, and I gaze at her eyes, these
tumultuous blue-grey windows to something that seems for all the world infinite and incomprehensible
to me, both buttons at once, and I look and I look, and I hear whisping about the walls of the castle in
the kingdom of my skull this something she just said, and I can’t quite believe it, and sometimes as it
circles around I can’t believe it at all, it seems preposterous even, but some, some turns of the phrase
slip through really old cracks in the walls in there and slither leak down somewhere and begin settling in
in there, in a there I could not draw a map to if my life depended on it, and it does, and I keep looking
into a similar there I am thinking hoping and I’m hearing whatever it is she has said to me, and, at least
partially it is becoming a part of me, and, in spite of myself, then, there, now, I find that, in the midst of
all of this, all this here there in now…
…I could not help but cry out…
“Formally stated, ‘I’ am one term in the relation ‘You’ and ‘I’ which constitutes both the ‘I’ and the ‘You’”
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