Equations: 2018 Ed. (Dialectic Form)


 

The second edition of Equations is in print on Lulu here. Many thanks to Raymond Farr.

from Equations: "Antithesis"


#49

Here's the complicated equation: if there isn't much reality in human relationships, but you have to have them, you must embrace the responsibility of making them as realistic as possible. There can be no I am just this, you are just that: the realistic approach is one that fastens and binds to nothing. Jade will be over in a few hours and, as I prepare myself, I realize that to not-fasten leaves one perpetually unequipped. But somehow it doesn't matter- the clench of dissolution is so sweet that no one ever recovers from it. This clench has its own transcendental reality, and if what dissolution really is remains permanently out of our grasp, authoritative judgments must be suspended. Jade is smallish, about 5'2, with long, straight brown hair that falls down her back, delicate Virgo features, and a mien brought to level pitch by many wounds. When we make love, I am forced to be gentler- gone are the thrashings and poundings, and I find myself in a new position, playing a new role. Jade is an actress, and every gesture she makes is nuanced, deliberate, complex.


#50

Jade keeps pulling surprises. I'm stunned because she does this with a certain amount of levity, as though anything that startles goes up. The drugs she ingests take her to a realm of crystallized perfection, in which she cuts through open spaces like a human blade. Because I am willing to follow her, she initiates me into the mysteries of this realm. I find that my edge is blunted, because in many ways it is a false edge- artificially produced, unstable, past any form of measurement. Nevertheless, when we meet in the middle our edges coalesce. Alright, so this is artificial, she says; what and who gets to define the natural? Can you even tell me what natural is? I admit that I can't, and this admission transpires at a moment of maximum vulnerability for both of us. Are we razors or mirrors? Jade inhabits a world of hollow forms, which she hovers above- my role in her life is to contradict her thesis, that we might create a dialectic. As we move towards synthesis, Jade places one of her hands on my face, puts her forehead to mine. She knows that there is a sting in her hollowness for me, who would prefer to see fullness. But we go on like this for hours without knowing what or who we are. The depth of this place eats into my eyes, but (as Jade is learning) I enjoy being eaten- chewed, swallowed, digested.

Mary Harju: Montreal, Quebec: 2003


The Posit Trilogy on Doc Player


The Posit Trilogy, the original Argotist Online pdf, on Doc Player, and embedded from Doc Player.

From Under the Knife


Inelegant

Her money, she repeats to herself, connects her
to the whole world. She still sashays into
Joan Shepp on Walnut, even if she can't
buy anything. The fabrics, the cuts of the
dresses- this is who she is.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she
knows she's been tossed like a rogue piece
of fabric, & the hands that cut her have made
her inelegant. To handle this cloth with dishrag
hands, is to wade knee-deep into the darkness
of the suburbs, frozen like jell-o around her.


Under the Knife

A razor was placed on a table outside-
someone handed it in. From that moment
forward, everyone at this Starbucks (the
staff) were considered under the knife.
They were all young enough to be my
kids, and they all got hit before we could
make any arrests. I still get my coffee there
every day- the replacements are (as usual)
the same kids all over again. The point (for
me) is that this is a far uglier world than most
people believe it to be. The older you get, the harder it is to take.




Mary Harju: West Philadelphia: Early Aughts


Frozen Warnings (Heller-Burnham)


Black Box


When Terry trooped down that staircase
into the bowels of the Theater Building,
on the fringes of North Halls, I noticed
he (it seemed) felt nothing. For me, it was like
a plunge into empty nothingness, some
infernal realm of inversions; several
times I almost fainted. The Black Box
theater space was always crowded on
those Thursday nights, not far from
midnight, where Terry reigned as secret
Outlaw Playwrights king- officious, daring,
beneficent or malign, as the mood took him;
& as Justine Caskey traipsed past me in the line,
vulpine teeth glistening in the fluorescence-