Flat Description

I love you has been said before by somebody else. Someone else could be me or it could be someone else. I can speak in my own language without having my own voice. The human animal recognizes her cry as her own and not her. This is community. How rooms are occupied and what is left afterwards is a proper subject for the imagination. No one will ever know, first hand, if the scent spread by the lovers remains in the room after they have walked away. Guessing is easy but not knowing. We can't be where we aren't. My thoughts of you do not produce you. I think they do. How much of my own voice is my own imagination. How much do I want to love you. How much do I. Wanting and being I take imagination for my own. Is that community. The walls of a building divide in and out. Popular faith keeps them standing. The way I gaze across the room alone is not the way I look at you. Thoughts generated in the room alone are given over. Sheets, the air itself, can be exchanged. How I am remains in the room. The infant's first realization takes place in the room alone. Popular faith sometimes replaces the experience. As a child I may or may not have wondered if I cried in my own voice. Now I do. Is thought aroused from a center in me, a heated winze slowly dispersing the shrapnel. Do I think because I am alone, without you now. I am not alone. There is thought of you. I think because I am half in and half out. Reptiles are the greatest thinkers. Schopenhauer was a crocodile. Out in the fields the women carry octopi. They strangle on each syllable. I want to be very quiet and talk on and on.