I go until then I am dumped back where I started, legs wobbly and my mind, wherever it has been.
At least I could look at them, listen to them, see their faces. Persons in their own dreams. Those dreams about one another.
Important issues arise from that. We have to consider them. We have to. Me too. Even though tired, I was tired, very very, so tired. A true and authentic exhaustion. Although I once believed this kind of exhaustion begins from the intellect and must begin from the intellect. But perhaps not, this one anyway; it doesnt.
We can have this case and that case and this one had laid me out. I didnt think I could rise from the seat. Perhaps the big heavy fellow would help. But was it my stop? Outside the night was a block of black paint without a single shard of light, not one. He could hold my arm and pull me up out my seat. But could I ask him. Yes. Of course I could. I would. He was staring away to the front of the bus, watching the driver. The driver was a sorry individual and all knew that he was. I was sorry for persons like him; typically I pitied them. But not this night; this was not a typical night. I wished the busdriver would stop behaving so badly. If
It applies to the mind, if the mind
conditional thoughts
Such is physical. I was unable to move. It wasnt the brain telling me something it was my body. Brains do not talk. Bodies do not listen. My brain was powerless. It was part of my body and could not be otherwise. I asked my daughter ‘where does the thinking take place?’ She said, ‘Everywhere.’
Ethereality. In political or campaigning work the condition has a name, we call it burn-out. It is a good word for a bad condition. It stops us and we can no longer, can no longer
So that even people and persons of whom we may wish not
I can say we, and I am glad I said we. We call it burn-out. Ones who speak about burn-out with personal authority know more is meant than mind and body. This is because we embrace the emotional and what in older terminology is called ‘the passions’. So it isnt just mind and body.
What are the passions? What else but the qualities of humanity. Who are we and what are we. We persons are human beings. Such are our qualities, we are the summation. Yet they may leave us. The qualities of humanity identify
This big guy - it had become difficult for me to move. I considered moving. His left thigh jammed me down, to get out the seat how to get out the seat, if it was my stop I could not get out the seat and would be my stop, and to press the button, reaching the button, I would press the button.
The qualities of humanity identify us and one difficult truth is how those too might disappear. Not forever. Not necessarily. It is true that for some persons they do. They never return, they are wrecks. We see them beached.
The woman sitting in front of myself past her stop. I knew she was. This was an effect of the long dark hair that I so loved to brush, straggling the collar of her red coat. I would offer support. I would lean to her and whisper not to worry, come the terminus and I would be there for her. I would never abandon her. It is the expectation of humanity. I never would abandon her, nor indeed the big fellow.
Persons are vessels, having emptied, become washed-up. They are unable to lift themselves, raise themselves to dry out. The sap in the body evaporates, breath dying, their very breath.
Persons dragging themselves across the sand toward the river and that quick flow of water, getting themselves close enough that the pull of the current might operate on them too, and why not, why not. I saw them cross the sand. They attempt this and I was glad to see it. I call this ‘activity’. We watch the healthy, fit and strong. We notice their limbs threshing, tongues lolling. That is not healthy. Persons gasping, indicative of what is to come, the want of oxygen, them requiring more, a wee bit more, a wee wee bit. Those within the current pull, pull. Ahead is the sea, if only they can drag themselves, moving, and so forward, moving forward, to drag themselves, if they can. But there is the lack, it is our lack, that weariness, overwhelming, it is, enveloping us, how can we move, be expected to move, we are always expected to move and we cannot cannot do it. We cannot move. Even us, if we are returning. And that was me, supposedly, on this bus and the bridge over the river. The woman in the red coat and the long dark hair. If this is returning. I dont think it is. I wouldnt think we can return. Perhaps never. Water is infinite and so are we. Only we become stranded. Fit and healthy, mind and body, missing something, for between these two is an absence and it is this absence which we cannot name, cannot name if I could but I could not and it was this, this is where it began. I was without it, and knew that I was, and without it there is nothing.
The big fellow was self-conscious. I was aware of his flesh. I smiled. Do you mind, I have something to say.
Pardon? he said.
Look around, look at the faces and bodies, the intelligences. I see elderly folk spin like tops.
I dont know what you’re talking about, he said.
Are you sure about that?
The man frowned. I smiled. Listen to me, I said, individuals who suffer or grasp fully the nature of burn-out rarely commit murder and do you know why?
But that word ‘rarely’ is wrong, completely wrong. I mean never, never never never, never never ever ever ever do they commit murder for that understanding implies a unity of the qualities, and murder cannot surmount unity, it can never do that. For that is to end, that is inserting an end, that is putting an end to it and how can that be, it cannot be because unity because unity, including the end.
People must only be destroyed.
The big guy, the heavy fellow, the man sitting next to me; I smiled because I knew it already. He would rise from beside me and I would touch the coldness his absence would bring. I did. He struggled along the aisle. He did not look back. He must have wondered what I was doing, was I following? He may have been fearful. When I communicate thus the lieges are so.
I see faces in profile. I look at them. Human beings. I might shiver. Certainly one shivers. In their own dreams, uniquely singular dreams, inhuman dreams, as anything uniquely singular must be. They stagger along.
The bus stops. The big fellow. The busdriver allows him an extra five seconds: one, two, three, four, five. He alights safely.
This returning, to have returned, one more time, picking oneself up, up off the floor, a remnant of strength, continuing the struggle, enduring. That was him. Every day of his life, picking himself up and staggering along; lifting himself up, easing himself along. His wife at the door: ‘You made it?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well done.’
Movement alone, ourselves alone. Support is rarely forthcoming. Those closest to us are ill-equipped. They know nothing of escape. Yet each of us has the need.
always returning, attempting to, dragging ourselves. What is our condition? We cannot recognise our condition.
First the understanding. Unplanned events relax us. Moments of calm are vital. The calm allows us to remain in the prime, the prime, and to recognise what it means, if this be a moment. We use the bus. We travel to a destination. A bus is community.
Persons escape to a destination. They hold out their hands. They do not smile. They cannot be distinguished easily. They were in and they were out. I could be amongst them. And our collective head! nodding, aware that we are.
I had to turn my own head, I was needing to cry out. It was a need I could not perform. Needs have a requirement, implementation. This
