We Are Our Demons

It was windy outside and the ashes have hardened, trails on a deck where I silently sat, resting my head on my arms, waiting for six full minutes, kite overhead.

Being masters of reiteration, I disappoint myself by speaking. But because I do not own these words, I know nothing yet feel everything.

How to repulse a demon? The demons, especially if they are demons of language (and what else could they be?) are fought by language. Hence I can hope to exorcise the demonic word which is breathed into my ears (by myself) if I substitute for it another, calmer word (I yield to euphemism). Thus: I imagined I had escaped at last, when behold- favoured by a long car trip- a flood of language sweeps me away, and I add to these wounds the discouragement of having to acknowledge that I am falling back, relapsing. No, this is not a relapse, only a last soubresaut, a final convulsion of the previous demon.

In fact, my only consolation is knowing these specificities of thought, and feeling that I don’t need to know any further than what you already are next to me, like this.

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