12 10 20

The tears are automatic. They drip down the cheeks, dampen books, keyboards, dinner plates, postcards, steering wheels. I don’t weep from sorrow. I weep as a symptom. I don’t want to cry, but I do because of a medicine. It is as if my body weeps on its own behalf.

My body has reason to weep – more reason than I do – but there are times I join my tears in their crying, adding to the tears of side effet the tears of cause. Disease has bullied me into Cartesianism, but the mixed tears undo division through liquification.

Can the tears of sadness, once shed, be extracted from the general waters ? I said, something else, « it is a mechanical problem and not a metabolic one. » I said to one friend, about the loss of another : I miss this person more than I will miss [the important body parts I will miss]. I intended this to be dramatic but of course it was matter of fact : of course the loss of a friend is worse than losing organs, limbs, or skin.

Can any particular loss be extracted from the general sorrow ? All of the losing (of body parts, capacities, people or relations between them) compounds now into one elixir of loss, fumy and irrevocable. It’s as if in all its crying my body know something about sorrow that I refuse.

The only thing sadder than existing is not existing, anyway, and everyone should have known already how impossibly sad existing is. I’d say « all that can go wrong » but the sadness of existing isn’t anything gone wrong about it, only what is definitional : first we exist, then we don’t.

« The season of Cartesian weeping »
A handbook of disappointed fate
Ugly Duckling Press 2019
p. 169–170
american anglais boyer english états-unis lames pleurer pleurs poetry sanglots