Errata (9 page)

What if the notebook might remain buried, never found, if I could merge with it and make Raymond unnecessary?  The two of us as one.  Never found.  Raymond Errata, Errata Raymond, alloyed for language.  Language that no longer communicates.  This our mutual devotion.  Would that it could be done, but I must bury the notebook, Raymond Errata.  Its importance will have been served by doing so, both as a self-imposed drying-up of my counterfeit encounter with the pen and to bear the original purpose of an incrimination remedy.  Yes, Raymond Errata must be buried.  Though it’s obvious that I’m of mixed mind about this, follow through is necessary.  If my pilfered books can serve two purposes, aesthetic and pragmatic, as literature and as bricks, then why not bury this notebook as mutual tribute to text and a righting of the record? 
C, t, b, d, r.

But what does it mean to bury a book of this sort?  And what does it also mean that solitude, insomnia, and a corpse as subjects by themselves, much less as an unbridled triumvirate, are considered well-
worn?  Despite being in my sunrise years, I’m quickly learning that clichés only exist until they first become personal, then possessive.  My solitude, my insomnia, the dead body I buried (believe otherwise at the moment, but wait until your strength withers and you recant your confidence).  There are no clichés of life, only in language, which is no more than lazy language, folksy homilies of sloganed familiarity.  Life, on the other hand, surprises when an individual’s gathered fragments gain the coherency of strength, and startles when its unpredictability permits or is unable to prevent the occasional chance clustering of those who lean toward common tribes, these endlessly rippling constellations linking naturally to the unnatural, and it’s more so surprising when any two or more individual’s imbalances allow for any sustained sharing of the echoing fabric of peace and madness, tragedy and triumph that presents itself, cleaving us like a written word, goaded, pillaged, and occasionally restored.  Flux stars fall into the internal laws of syntax.

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Copyright Information

Errata

Copyright © 2012 by Michael Allen Zell

All rites reserved.  No part of this work may be reproduced without the express permission etc.

Print edition ISBN: 978-1-935084-14-3

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-935084-15-0

Lavender Ink, New Orleans

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