Talking can be excessive, we are called to speak of that which is shared with no one and shared with us from someone not known. It is unclear who doesn’t know, the “I” being addressed is not the same “I” of yesterday because “I” don’t know what was shared without the addresser. The addresser however finds the same “I” in me, meaning the “I” expected to be addressed from the addresser is no longer here. The addresser knew however “I” had something to share which is not theirs nor the “I” of yesterday, that is why they ask for something that couldn’t have been ours yesterday.
People wander without us in life, turning into memories of themselves after asking questions we wouldn’t have expected them to ask. They fail to follow the memory we had of them, tracing lines we cannot see behind ourselves and who once having reached us redouble. A memory is created without any reciprocity as they become the person of yesterday, an old face arises for the first time today who sees mine young as if it were yesterday’s. A surprising appearance, what they’d given us yesterday does not resemble today nor does today resemble yesterday, it’s as if yesterday has caught up to us without today catching up with them. But this is not true, it is now that something else stands between us, what always had. I repeat to myself what I had wished you already said and haven’t yet, and I no longer have to wait for what I never knew I was waiting for.
We forget how close we are to objects and how the being of others constitute our choices and desires. I read something only knowing what I wanted to read and then go to tell my brother what I read. I know my brother but my brother doesn’t know what I’ve read and what I’ve become because of what I read, I come to my brother partially because of what I read. However, I never read it with my brother in mind but for my own interest. My brother never knew he’d never read it and never knew I’d have read it until what I’ve told him and yet still he has never read it, only now do I know my brother has never read it. And as I tell him I remember knowing my brother before what I had read because I had never gone to my brother before with the specifics of what I’ve read, I wanted to show I was no longer the same. Even though I know so much more about my brother than what I have read and many other things in my life bring me to him, today it was a couple of pages. I had to relay them to him as if he would understand or even know I am different now because of some words that I can’t recite in the exactitude that brought me to him. The book in fact took me away from myself because I wanted to read the book initially for itself and yet in my enjoyment realised the memory of my brother forced me to put it down and retrieve him to tell. Objects completely alter us, it becomes so apparent when time is split between those who we are surrounded by and our objects, which can be the split itself. Or possibly something in people splits us and forces us to dive into those objects to return anew.
Maybe the desire to talk and tell is attributable to all of this because it is not necessarily the voices of others which make us talk, they make us do other things. It is the objects we are with alone talking through us to reach them, so it is their very words which unknowingly brings us to those objects.
ARGO 