she sits aloof ten yards fifteen yards she looks up looks at me says at last to herself all is well he is working
my head where is my head it rests on the table my hand trembles on the table she sees I am not sleeping the wind blows tempestuous the little clouds drive before it the table glides from light to darkness darkness to light
that’s not all she stoops to her work again the needle stops in midstitch she straightens up and looks at me again she has only to call me by my name get up come and feel me but no
I don’t move her anxiety grows she suddenly leaves the house and runs to friends
that’s all it wasn’t a dream I didn’t dream that nor a memory I haven’t been given memories this time it was an image the kind I see sometimes see in the mud part one sometimes saw
with the gesture of one dealing cards and also to be observed among certain sowers of seed I throw away the empty tins they fall without a sound
fall if I may believe those I sometimes find on my way and then make haste to throw away again
warmth of primeval mud impenetrable dark
suddenly like all that was not then is I go not because of the shit and vomit something else not known not said whence preparatives sudden series subject object subject object quick succession and away
take the cord from the sack there’s another object tie the neck of the sack hang it from my neck knowing I’ll need both hands or else instinct it’s one or the other and away right leg right arm push pull ten yards fifteen yards halt
in the sack then up to now the tins the opener the cord but the wish for something else no that doesn’t seem to have been given to me this time the image of other things with me there in the mud the dark in the sack within reach no that doesn’t seem to have been put in my life this time
useful things a cloth to wipe me that family or beautiful to the feel
which having sought in vain among the tins now one now another in obedience to the wish the image of the moment which when weary of seeking thus I could promise myself to seek again a little later when less weary a little less or try and banish from my thoughts saying true true think no more about it
no the wish to be less wretched a little less the wish for a little beauty no when the panting stops I hear nothing of the kind that’s not how I’m told this time
nor callers in my life this time no wish for callers hastening from all sides all sorts to talk to me about themselves life too and death as though nothing had happened me perhaps too in the end to help me last then goodbye till we meet again each back the way he came
all sorts old men how they had dandled me on their knees little bundle of swaddle and lace then followed in my career
others knowing nothing of my beginnings save what they could glean by hearsay or in public records nothing of my beginnings in life
others who had always known me here in my last place they talk to me of themselves of me perhaps too in the end of fleeting joys and of sorrows of empires that are born and die as though nothing had happened
others finally who do not know me yet they pass with heavy tread murmuring to themselves they have sought refuge in a desert place to be alone at last and vent their sorrows unheard
if they see me I am a monster of the solitudes he sees man for the first time and does not flee before him explorers bring home his skin among their trophies
suddenly afar the step the voice nothing then suddenly something something then suddenly nothing suddenly afar the silence
life then without callers present formulation no callers this time no stories but mine no silence but the silence I must break when I can bear it no more it’s with that I have to last
question if other inhabitants here with me yes or no obviously all-important most important and thereupon long wrangle so minute that moments when yes to be feared till finally conclusion no me sole elect the panting stops and that is all I hear barely hear the question the answer barely audible if other inhabitants besides me here with me for good in the dark the mud long wrangle all lost and finally conclusion no me sole elect
and yet a dream I am given a dream like someone having tasted of love of a little woman within my reach and dreaming too it’s in the dream too of a little man within hers I have that in my life this time sometimes part one as I journey
or failing kindred meat a llama emergency dream an alpaca llama the history I knew my God the natural
she would not come to me I would go to her huddle in her fleece but they add no a beast here no the soul is de rigueur the mind too a minimum of each otherwise too great an honour
I turn to the hand that is free draw it to my face it’s a resource when all fails images dreams sleep food for thought something wrong there
when the great needs fail the need to move on the need to shit and vomit and the other great needs all my great categories of being
then to my hand that is free rather than some other part I say it as I hear it brief movements of the lower face with murmur to the mud
it comes close to my eyes I don’t see it I close my eyes something is lacking whereas normally closed or open my eyes
if that is not enough I flutter it my hand we’re talking of my hand ten seconds fifteen seconds close my eyes a curtain falls
if that is not enough I lay it on my face it covers it entirely but I don’t like to touch myself they haven’t left me that this time
I call it it doesn’t come I can’t live without it I call it with all my strength it’s not strong enough I grow mortal again
my memory obviously the panting stops and question of my memory obviously that too all-important too most important this voice is truly changeable of which so little left in me bits and scraps barely audible when the panting stops so little so faint not the millionth part I say it as I hear it murmur it to the mud every word always
what about it my memory we’re talking of my memory not much that it’s getting better that it’s getting worse that things are coming back to me nothing is coming back to me but to conclude from that
to conclude from that that no one will ever come again and shine his light on me and nothing ever again of other days other nights no
next another image yet another so soon again the third perhaps they’ll soon cease it’s me all of me and my mother’s face I see it from below it’s like nothing I ever saw
we are on a veranda smothered in verbena the scented sun dapples the red tiles yes I assure you
the huge head hatted with birds and flowers is bowed down over my curls the eyes burn with severe love I offer her mine pale upcast to the sky whence cometh our help and which I know perhaps even then with time shall pass away
in a word bolt upright on a cushion on my knees whelmed in a nightshirt I pray according to her instructions
that’s not all she closes her eyes and drones a snatch of the so-called Apostles’ Creed I steal a look at her lips
she stops her eyes burn down on me again I cast up mine in haste and repeat awry
the air thrills with the hum of insects
that’s all it goes out like a lamp blown out
the space of a moment the passing moment that’s all my past little rat at my heels the rest false
false that old time part one how it was before Pim vast stretch of time when I drag myself and drag myself astonished to be able the cord sawing my neck the sack jolting at my side one hand flung forward towards the wall the ditch that never come something wrong there
and Pim part two what I did to him what he said to me
false like that dead head the hand alive still the little table tossing in the clouds the woman jumping to her feet and rushing out into the wind
no matter I don’t say any more I quote on is it me is it me I’m not like that any more they have taken that away from me this time all I say is how last how last
part one before Pim before the discovery of Pim have done with that leaving only part two with Pim how it was then leaving only part three after P
im how it was then how it is vast tracts of time
my sack sole variable my days my nights my seasons and my feasts it says Lent everlasting then of a sudden Hallowmas no summer that year if it is the same not much real spring my sack thanks to my sack that I keep dying in a dying age
my tins all sorts dwindling but not so fast as appetite different shapes no preference but the fingers know no sooner fastened at random
dwindling in what strange wise but what is strange here undiminished for years then of a sudden half as many
these words of those for whom and under whom and all about the earth turns and all turns these words here again days nights years seasons that family
the fingers deceived the mouth resigned to an olive and given a cherry but no preference no searching not even for a language meet for me meet for here no more searching
the sack when it’s empty my sack a possession this word faintly hissing brief void and finally apposition anomaly anomaly a sack here my sack when it’s empty bah I’ve lashings of time centuries of time
centuries I can see me quite tiny the same as now more or less only tinier quite tiny no more objects no more food and I live the air sustains me the mud I live on
the sack again other connexions I take it in my arms talk to it put my head in it rub my cheek on it lay my lips on it turn my back on it turn to it again clasp it to me again say to it thou thou
say say part one no sound the syllables move my lips and all around all the lower that helps me understand
that’s the speech I’ve been given part one before Pim question do I use it freely it’s not said or I don’t hear it’s one or the other all I hear is that a witness I’d need a witness
he lives bent over me that’s the life he has been given all my visible surface bathing in the light of his lamps when I go he follows me bent in two
his aid sits a little aloof he announces brief movements of the lower face the aid enters it in his ledger
my hand won’t come words won’t come no word not even soundless I’m in need of a word of my hand dire need I can’t they won’t that too
deterioration of the sense of humour fewer tears too that too they are failing too and there another image yet another a boy sitting on a bed in the dark or a small old man I can’t see with his head be it young or be it old his head in his hands I appropriate that heart
question am I happy in the present still such ancient things a little happy on and off part one before Pim brief void and barely audible no no I would feel it and brief apostil barely audible not made not really for happiness unhappiness peace of mind
rats no no rats this time I’ve sickened them what else at this period part one before Pim vast stretch of time
the hand dips clawing for the take instead of the familiar slime an arse on his belly he too before that what else that’s enough I’m going
not the shit not the vomit something else I’m going the sack tied to my neck I’m ready first thing free play for the leg which leg brief void and barely audible the right it’s preferable
I turn on my side which side the left it’s preferable throw the right hand forward bend the right knee these joints are working the fingers sink the toes sink in the slime these are my holds too strong slime is too strong holds is too strong I say it as I hear it
push pull the leg straightens the arm bends all these joints are working the head arrives alongside the hand flat on the face and rest
the other side left leg left arm push pull the head and upper trunk rise clear reducing friction correspondingly fall back I crawl in an amble ten yards fifteen yards halt
sleep duration of sleep I wake how much nearer the last
a fancy I am given a fancy the panting stops and a breath-clock breath of life head in the bag oxygen for half an hour wake when you choke repeat five times six times that’s enough now I know I’m rested my strength restored the day can begin these scraps barely audible of a fantasy
always sleepy little sleep that’s how they’re trying to tell me this time sucked down spewed up yawning yawning always sleepy little sleep
this voice once quaqua then in me when the panting stops part three after Pim not before not with I have journeyed found Pim lost Pim it is over I am in part three after Pim how it was how it is I say it as I hear it natural order more or less bits and scraps in the mud my life murmur it to the mud
I learn it natural order more or less before Pim with Pim vast tracts of time how it was my vanished life then after then now after Pim how it is my life bits and scraps
I say it my life as it comes natural order my lips move I can feel them it comes out in the mud my life what remains ill-said ill-recaptured when the panting stops ill-murmured to the mud in the present all that things so ancient natural order the journey the couple the abandon all that in the present barely audible bits and scraps
I have journeyed found Pim lost Pim it’s over that life those periods of that life first second now third pant pant the panting stops and I hear barely audible how I journey with my sack my tins in the dark the mud crawl in an amble towards Pim unwitting bits and scraps in the present things so ancient hear them murmur them as they come barely audible to the mud
part one before Pim the journey it can’t last it lasts I’m calm calmer you think you’re calm and you’re not in the lowest depths and you’re on the edge I say it as I hear it and that death death if it ever comes that’s all it dies
it dies and I see a crocus in a pot in an area in a basement a saffron the sun creeps up the wall a hand keeps it in the sun this yellow flower with a string I see the hand long image hours long the sun goes the pot goes down lights on the ground the hand goes the wall goes
rags of life in the light I hear and don’t deny don’t believe don’t say any more who is speaking that’s not said any more it must have ceased to be of interest but words like now before Pim no no that’s not said only mine my words mine alone one or two soundless brief movements all the lower no sound when I can that’s the difference great confusion
I see all sizes life included if that’s mine the light goes on in the mud the prayer the head on the table the crocus the old man in tears the tears behind the hands skies all sorts different sorts on land and sea blue of a sudden gold and green of the earth of a sudden in the mud
but words like now words not mine before Pim no no that’s not said that’s the difference I hear it between then and now one of the differences among the similarities
the words of Pim his extorted voice he stops I step in all the needful he starts again I could listen to him for ever but mine have done with mine natural order before Pim the little I say no sound the little I see of a life I don’t deny don’t believe but what believe the sack perhaps the dark the mud death perhaps to wind up with after so much life there are moments
how I got here if it’s me no question too weak no interest but here this place where I begin this time present formulation part one my life clutch the sack it drips first sign this place a few scraps
you are there somewhere alive somewhere vast stretch of time then it’s over you are there no more alive no more then again you are there again alive again it wasn’t over an error you begin again all over more or less in the same place or in another as when another image above in the light you come to in hospital in the dark
the same as which which place it’s not said or I don’t hear it’s one or the other the same more or less more humid fewer gleams no gleam what does that mean that I was once somewhere where there were gleams I say it as I hear it every word always
more humid fewer gleams no gleam and hushed the dear sounds pretext for speculation I must have slipped you are in the depths it’s the end you have ceased you slip you continue
another age yet another familiar in spite of its strangenesses this sack this slime the mild air the black dark the coloured images the power to crawl all these strangenesses
but progress properly so called ruins in prospect as in the dear te
nth century the dear twentieth that you might say to yourself to a dream greenhorn ah if you had seen it four hundred years ago what upheavals
ah my young friend this sack if you had seen it I could hardly drag it and now look my vertex touches the bottom
and I not a wrinkle not one
at the end of the myriads of hours an hour mine a quarter of an hour there are moments it’s because I have suffered must have suffered morally hoped more than once despaired to match your heart bleeds you lose your heart drop by drop weep even an odd tear inward no sound no more images no more journeys no more hunger or thirst the heart is going you’ll soon be there I hear it there are moments they are good moments
paradise before the hoping from sleep I come to sleep return between the two there is all all the doing suffering failing bungling achieving until the mud yawns again that’s how they’re trying to tell me this time part one before Pim from one sleep to the next
then Pim the lost tins the groping hand the arse the two cries mine mute the birth of hope on with it get it over have it behind me feel the heart going hear it said you’re nearly there
be with Pim have been with Pim have him behind me hear it said he’ll come back another will come better than Pim he’s coming right leg right arm push pull ten yards fifteen yards you stay quiet where you are in the dark the mud and on you suddenly a hand like yours on Pim two cries his mute
you will have a little voice it will be barely audible you will whisper in his ear you will have a little life you will whisper it in his ear it will be different quite different quite a different music you’ll see a little like Pim a little life music but in your mouth it will be new to you
then go for good and no goodbyes that age will be over all the ages or merely you no more journeys no more couples no more abandons ever again anywhere hear that
how it was before Pim first say that natural order the same things the same things say them as I hear them murmur them to the mud divide into three a single eternity for the sake of clarity I wake and off I go all life part one before Pim how it was leaving only with Pim how it was leaving only after Pim how it was how it is when the panting stops bits and scraps I wake off I go my day my life part one bits and scraps
How It Is Page 3