Why is it constantly so Tremulous
BY GREGORY DUKE
Why is it constantly so tremulous, in an emotional sense, a constant wavering, a quiver, no physicality, why is it constantly so tremulous, I have so much to say and so much to do but it all stays in my head and then it all dissipates, it all dissipates because I forget to write it down, I always do, it scares me how often it happens, does that make me neurotic, why is it constantly so tremulous, I have so many thoughts, so much to share, so much to keep within me, there is a whole person within my person and no one sees them except for my small intestine, Ella Fitzgerald scats as he talks to me, Kurosawa projects as he tells me, Sontag speaks as he affects me, I sometimes just hear a looping 180bpm 3⁄4 jazzy drum smack in my head and no one else does, how can no one else hear me, I speak up in class and my professor just nods and moves on, why can’t I move on after all this time, “How High the Moon,” “’How High the Moon,’ Don,” sometimes I like to imagine screaming and clawing at the people at my table, what would they do, they would probably think I’m an animal, a beast, a monster, but all I am is someone who wants to be heard, but what do I have to say, I’ve always had a soft spot for jazz balladry and pop music but not jazz music and pop balladry, sometimes I struggle to breathe and I think I’m dying and all it is is shortness of breath, all it is is a fake, a fake death, I wonder why it isn’t real, why is it constantly so tremulous, I hate to think I shake when people talk to me, I hate to think my roommate hates me, not actual hate, just a serenely mild antipathy, we used to be close but now there’s distance and he just doesn’t think of me, no more me in his person, no more me in general, who else can be me when I’m gone, I doubt it’ll be that hard, I’ll never know, c’est la vie, sad to think I’m just an animal, can that dissipate, it never does, I’m just an animal, but why does he think me so, so poor and foul and am I just making it all up or is it all true, truest truth, there’s something so infuriating about Rashomon, all of that subjectivity, nobody is ever truly true, nothing is real and every perspective is real and yet all of it is as unreal as can be, can it ever just be real, can I ever feel secure in my assumptions and observations and decisions, simply infuriating, I don’t care, I simply do not care at this point, he must hate that about me, a while ago we had dinner regularly, we haven’t had dinner in months, months without dinner, conversation is so grand with two plates in between, sometimes we talk in our room and laugh amongst ourselves, a figment of the past brought to the surface of the present, it feels so real and it can’t be but it feels so and it’s not but my feeling feels like such a real feeling that it simply must be real and yet it’s not, I went to an event he led to support him, a few other people came up to him after, who were they, they were chit chatting and schmoozing, they were actually friends, had never seen them before, they were congratulatory, so was I, he looked at them, I made a few jokes conversationally, he slightly chuckled as his gaze moved to them, they talked and talked and talked and talked and talked and I stood and stood and stood and stood and stood, I thought we could grab a late dinner and all he said was that he would be doing work with one of the strangers for a while, so that’s just a long way of saying no, no to dinner, it’s been a few dinnerless months, no to dinner, yes to work, why is it constantly so tremulous, in an emotional sense, a constant wavering, a quiver, no physicality, why is it constantly so tremulous, I have so much to say and so much to do but it all stays in my head and then it all dissipates, it all dissipates because I forget to write it down, I hope to change that, but that’ll probably dissipate, hopefully this whole dilemma dissipates, ignorance is sort of bliss, let it all dissipate, except my happy thoughts, let those be taped to my synapses and let me be happy, just once, let it all dissipate, let me be happy just for once.