I am therefore precisely nothing
but a thinking thing; that is, a mind…

…it is certain that I am really distinct
from my body, and can exist without it.
—Descartes,
Meditations on First Philosophy

reading lots
of Nietzsche lately:
Collected Works from
the public library.
today,

a man

followed me.

sat down,

asked:
what’s that you’re reading?

Genealogy of Morals,
i said.

he’d never never heard of it,
he’d have to read it,
bring it
to the beach, perhaps?

age: deceptively difficult
to predict. skeletally
thin beneath Affliction
tee; affinity for
drone photography.
i am working, i said.

i understand,
he told me:
completely, but
this weekend,

what about it?

this weekend,
what is it you’re
doing?

. . .

well
once you leave,

i’m going to read—
🩸

sometimes i worry that the same men whose books i read are the men who sometimes follow me
to the library, or call me
tiny or
angel, or the most
scathing: beautiful.

& this makes me never want to read again.
🩸

i discovered philosophy
the summer i turned 16.

1. Plato’s Dialogues
2. Kant’s Critiques
3. Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus

little came from this.

do you actually read any of that,
or do you just carry those books
around to look smart—

nights, i prayed to God for
wisdom—i wanted to be like
Solomon with his long beard,
his proverbs. i wanted to tell

riddles to mothers who kis-
sed their children with tears.

in short, i wanted to save

someone—

of course
,
i read
everything.

🩸

professor gave me
a collection of Spinoza

you’re very beautiful,

he said, i could go
far with his

advice.

thank you, i
said i’d like
to be

a writer?

yes.
he thought this

very nice—

he said i should

take a seat

in his reclining chair

just be careful of
your dress.

🩸

everything i write: plagiarized.

mother said,

no it is not—
that’s all in your head.
want to die 3 times, same day for first time, i fear CIA, knock at door, say they found me
finally—the little plagiarist. pretty little? at least? they found me, so no longer do i need to live
with all this, this: shit guilt. shit! turned essay in, 56 citations, forgot the comma between the
shit! forgot to cite the man who came up with idea about brain, or do i? brain can’t tell. shit! door
goes to the knockknockknock, CIA sound? yes? open only mother. what are you doing here? she

so sad sad, little dog, so sad sad sad sad. tears make my fingertips all wet. oh sweetheart, come
here—hughughug, CIA send her? cannot trust no matter what—no one trust. sweetie, where are
you going? bathroom, lllooooooooooooooockk. now safe with the—Elle?—safe with the—Elle?
come on sweetheart—safe with the—Elle? come on sweetie, won’t you open up?

🩸
the premises to your conclusion are—

undoubtedly false / /

/ mary’s room: she sees

no red, ever again! OR does she, does she, does she ?

argument for the soul?
yes

do you need one,
yes
an argument, that is?

yes

are you going to come?

where? physicalism is

to see the movie?

yes

undoubtedly false

in a certain sense

i will come
yes

your home?

yes best idea in the whole class
everyone. but this could be
you. i helped you elle, didn’t i?

yes

the premises to your conclusion are :

undoubtedly wrong.

🩸

therapists tell me to go for little walk when feel like this, little burst/explode/do you understand
this? essays should not take so long, they said—challenge your thoughts. is this really

plagiarism? what is plagiarism? copy word/word. yes? & & something else. accidental
plagiarism exists too, you know? yes, but what are the odds? slim. yes. when the deep plunge
happens, you need—go for walk. yes. watch the dogs, the sea, yes. & so, the likelihood of you
committing any kind of plagiarism is very low. how know? don’t, that is. sweet dog, face like
porcelain, roadkill. yes. kill in front of car, throw self? no, cannot, will not. not now at least, little
bit left. now worst case scenario issssss : get thrown out of school, expelled, never go again. &
yet, you will still live.

🩸

i like to please everybody.
a child, i learned to restrain the metaphysics of moment is
myself in everything: mostly
speech
professor with hair like shoestrings that’s right
lectures profusely on the metaphysics
the precepts of mind. sit in back—
raise hand only once; speak:

asked teacher if i could yes & according
stay inside during recess, to the precepts
put everyone’s lunch of materialism
boxes in place yes
yes
yes yes—

premises undoubtedly false
i’m gonna get you to laugh someday

what if i don’t want to laugh?

why not?

i don’t find

anything funny—

no?

no.

nothing at all.

🩸

you have a future in this.

in what?

philosophy—

what makes you say that?

grins small; hair,
bird’s nest
come here,

he says
&
i do

are you attracted to me?

breath edged when i:

yes.
🩸

must i cite the word ‘soul?’ concept around so long. do not know. the soul i know does not
belong to anyone, but perhaps the version to which this essay refers is not ‘soul’ generic, but
‘soul’ particular. as in: this version of ‘soul’ belongs to Augustine or Plato or Pythagoras;
whereas, ‘soul’ usually belongs to no one. or did i get my generic ‘soul’ from their particular
‘souls’ and have been plagiarizing everytime i think the word ‘soul’ as i do not attribute it to
anyone but myself and the insides of my skull. came from someone else’s though. came to
someone else’s. everything comes from another thing. everything comes to another. everything
always coming from one thing into another as the other comes into the other. i am the wrong
other though. pregnant with the west. yes. consciousness: a duplicate of his.

🩸

i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone

i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not—

old professor says: welcome
hello, sister. we’re so glad you’ve
come. all the men stare; i am alone
as usual. in here, i am ‘woman’
& they are just:

themselves.
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not—
now, how about this young
man, sister. he’s polite AND
handsome. you should make
a note. young man laughs,
shakes his head. i: smile po-
lite. show no evidence of
dissent
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not—
ah now, how about
that

young man you’re sit-
ting next to. you like

him? young man #2
turns red; i: smile
apologetically at
him
i’m not looking for anyone

i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not—
eat sandwich alone
by mangroves where
no one sees me; when
i return, the boys

invite me to frisbee.
i say:
no
i’m not looking for anyone
i’m not—

way in the back,
i sit so no one will see.
old professor morose,
he asks asks: where
did sister go?

no one knows.

i am not—
anyone at all

🩸

to be a God-fearing woman means to be a God-fearing woman means to be a God-fearing
woman i call
mother asks:

now what is wrong?

my professor—i think he’s hitting on me.

impossible.

why?

he told you he’s married, right?

what does that matter?

if he’s hitting on you,
he wouldn’t let you know.

🩸

sometimes i see someone :

in the mirror

i don’t know

/ if she is me

the thing is: i think i might be plagiarizing
he looks as if i’ve said nothing;
he puts his hand to his chest,

no wedding ring—

see?

what do you mean?

you put your hand
on your heart when something
means something
to

you.

so?

i notice things.

his shoes move very
close to me—

and the plagiarizing?

tuck my ankles under
hard , Elle
don’t worry
about
anything—
🩸

he said not to worry i told my mother he said not to worry and she said well then, don’t worry
about anything. perhaps though, he didn’t understand me. what if i write something that someone
else believes and credit it as coming from me, such as: the existence of the soul. well, i think
that’s something in which many people believe. well then, well then, well then i think that settles
it. no. i mean: what if my particular understanding of the soul comes from someone else and i
don’t even know? well then: how could you ever know? & then if i accidentally, purposefully take
someone’s idea, then God sends me to hell? that’s highly doubtful. i don’t think God sends
anyone to hell for plagiarism. but if it’s not accidental? i think he might. you don’t know for
certain, after all.

🩸

substance dualism is an outdated mode
for understanding

the soul did descartes know
that sometimes
the self

splits; as in
the bathroom mirror
in which

you :

stare,
seeing

nothing at all

somewhere in the body
goes the soul—
or so: they say

descartes called this
the pineal gland

little pin-prick of a spot
where your face is meant
to go. is that my soul then?
empty, old soup can—
the kind from which
cowboys eat beans, yes i do believe i could
be possessed

that is ridiculous

yes—

well
&
how so?

🩸

this paper could be something,
if you come & see me
everyday.

yes?

yes—
that is: if you do what i tell
you, he said

or: was this
only subtext? well,
you know best.

🩸

my first boyfriend
takes me to the beach,
he holds my hand—
as if it’s nothing. he calls
me: lovely.
before everything, i thought i wanted
to be wanted like this, like

your body makes me:

an object solely. the first boy
who held my hand just wanted to
—

please?
the cops found us on the beach,
innocent still, just holding hands.
we told them we did not know
this beach is

private property

& then we left & nothing
happened beyond
a stale kiss.

🩸

not many philosophers are interested
in the things you’re interested in—

like what?

feelings. emotions.

they probably don’t have them.

or they don’t notice.

he does not sit behind his desk
today. he says it’s

too formal lately.

he wants to be

close to your body
as if : it’s an idea—

as if : it’s not.
the first time / he put

his hands
on my waist
i thought he was kidding.

is this okay?

his lips
on my neck,

breathing,
pushing hard
against my legs.

i could not say anything.

i was—

a ghost

already.
🩸

an email, he sent:

i heard you left

as if a secret

i need to tell you
that you should not
have done what you
did—dropped out,
that is.

i keep thinking

you have a mind
for philosophy.

his teeth

the way his

eyes

we were only just getting

somewhere, my fault

weren’t we? clung to
me

did i?

how they felt on my tongue

nails in my skin

is it inappropriate
to ask:
everything is pale now

come back?

you were meant to be here,
after all, isn’t that what

God said when you
asked?
plagiarizing everything

yes

in any case,

i have a feeling
this has more to do with appointment w/ new of
course
your writing than therapist i understand
it does with me, @ 3

writing is difficult

i cannot say :

there is a future in it—for you,
i walk long now— at least
try not to think

write nonsense
i have experience in the morning

something i can help you write
worth with my advice you might write
reading

how will you do it?

i cannot say this is something
you can do on your own.

yes, perhaps this is correct—

some part thinks
i’ve done wrong

do let me know

who is

the honest one

when you write

?
your great American novel—

i reply: thank
you, but i’
d rather not.