Che Vuoi?

What do you really want?

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998) by Terry Gilliam

Che Vuoi? was originally published by Cicada

When asked, you replied with a dismissive shrug of the shoulders. I noticed a ray of light perpendicular to your temple but as to the source of the tape, I was in the dark, the gloomy Sunday. Your tongue comes forth as the emissary to the face, and to the amalgam of flesh, cells, and molecules behind it. The debate takes place behind closed mouths, with cameras gathered at the pupils to take a peek inside—but what must one do about the blinds? While you exercise your charisma and absorb the attention emanating from the subjects around you, I forms a question mark, soon to undulate to that familiar subtle wave of the hand, but I’ve grown numb to the sting of the fangs, and the venom now manifests as a mere frown. The bouquet of microphones in front of you are symbolic of every propaganda agent’s pandering in the world to capture a bold word, one whose ability to thwart and distort far surpasses that of a Shakespearean quote. You bestow on them empty phrases, weightless sentences and a handful of common idiomatic expressions. You know to be better than X, y, and King you need never utter the procession of letters expected of you. The trick lies in the maintenance of the expectation, in the keeping of them behind closed doors. The sun has a way of slanting possibility forward. When at last they’re gone and it’s only us, will you indulge me with a silence pregnant with what they really, really, really want?

Sharing a thought

A dear student of mine told the class that what they feared most was death, to which I said that, perhaps strangely, I have never had that fear for myself. She laughed and said it was strange, since “I believe in God and I’m afraid to die, and you don’t and …, you know?”

It made me wonder whether there is a strong correlation between a fear of death and the belief in a higher power.

Afterword

In the nightmare, I was shackled by the night, surrounded by rough contours and dull edges, afloat, grappling with the impossibility of making decisions in dreams, only having to accept them, and perhaps that was what made it a nightmare. I was in the midst of a journey that, in my waking hours, I would consider immoral and incredibly painful to my loved ones.