Sierz and me
Thursday 1st August 2024
The other one, the one called Sierz, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of London and stop for a moment, perhaps out of habit now, to look at a Victorian façade and the metalwork on a gate; I know about Sierz from the emails and see his name on some theatre reviews or in a book. I like stuffed toys, paperbacks, crime series, the taste of Illy coffee and the prose of Oscar Wilde; he shares these preferences, but in a pretentious way that turns them into an affected performance. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I’m alive, I continue to live so that Sierz may continue to write, and this writing justifies my existence. It is no problem for me to admit that he has written some readable stuff, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to everyone. Besides, I will one day die, for sure, and only some fragment of me can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving him everything, even though I’m quite aware of the stupid way he fabricates things. Philosophers have long known that all things desire to remain what they already are: the rock wants to be a rock for ever, and the dog a dog. I shall remain in Sierz, not in myself (if it is true that I am actually someone), but I don’t recognize myself in his articles and books. Rather more in books by others and in pop songs. Years ago I tried to free myself from him, but that didn’t really work. Still, I think my life is all about running away, but somehow I’m always returning to him.
I don’t know which of us has written this blog.
• With apologies to Jorge Luis Borges.
© Aleks Sierz
