The Madness of a Cloud: Canto VII

 Canto VII

New Co-Op Cashier False Doppelganger Arguments

1227:1739 .706

Cloud just at that moment 

had begun to recapitulate, 

this time to the two of them—

Aerith and Tifa—

how it wasn’t actually the case 

that he’d seen the being, 

no, there wasn’t in fact 

an actual physical being 

in that sense of the phrase—

it wasn’t like the men in the black 

cloaks they’d be following in Rebirth 

(were either of them 

familiar with that plotline yet?). 

He’d just began to explain this 

to the both of them, 

and Cloud didn’t feel any different 

about it necessarily—

the fact that he was telling 

the both of them—Tifa was behind the bar 

and Aerith just happened to be there. 

It was fine. Were they familiar 

with Rebirth yet? Probably not, right? 

But no, in this case Cloud had been 

fucking, you know, just sitting 

on this carpet in Wutai at the time—

he sat on the carpet cross-legged, 

and then he suddenly intuited 

a "purely divine being" emanating 

in the triangle head encapsulated 

in the perfectly square design 

that repeated endlessly 

throughout the entire carpet. 

This triangle head was what 

Cloud could only describe 

as a "laughing Allah", 

that’s how it struck him—

there wasn’t really a question about it 

in Cloud’s mind, and it was actually beautiful. 

Yes, a "laughing Allah" 

was the only way he could describe the divine being, 

which certainly "communicated with him" 

as he sat cross-legged in Wutai 

in a somewhat mystical manner, 

albeit not quite verbally, 

but the being certainly 

communicated in a way 

that caused Cloud to smile. 

Cloud—smile?! The two women 

found that totally hilarious! 

Tifa nearly fucked up 

the beer she was pouring 

she was so surprised to hear 

Cloud of all people 

talking about himself "smiling", 

but neither Tifa nor Aerith 

found this anecdote of Cloud’s 

to be disingenuous in any way—

in fact they both fully supported 

Cloud’s confessions and more often 

than not even found them 

legitimately intriguing 

(but there were, of course, 

some exceptions!), 

albeit they generally 

found the anecdotes intriguing 

in a one-on-one setting, 

as opposed to this FFM arrangement. 

But that was clearly fine! 

It just so happened Aerith 

was around and she popped in the bar. 

No big deal at all! 

Yet, while contemplating whether or not 

another Moscow Mule 

was advisable or not, 

Cloud expressed quite vigorously 

that he wanted to relay 

a subsequent anecdote 

that he viewed apropos 

of the carpet encounter, 

if that was okay? Of course! 

Well, specifically 

it was that when 

he popped into his local co-op 

grocery store that morning, 

for just a few minor items, 

a couple hand fruits really, 

and the new cashier asked him—

right as he shifted his headphones 

up off of his ears 

to start the formalized sales transaction—

if his "brother or something" 

went there sometimes?—

to the grocery store? 

Did Cloud "have a brother" by any chance? 

Because she, the new cashier, 

felt like she’d seen him before? 

Well, 

Cloud said to the cashier, 

thinking about it for a second, 

he found it quite possible 

that this alleged 

doppelganger was actually 

fucking just him!—Cloud himself!—

that the cashier was 

in that particular instance 

confusing Cloud "for his actual self", 

that this cashier 

"only believed she’d seen" 

someone who looked "just like Cloud" before 

because she’d, in fact, 

seen Cloud before. 

He walked away just momentarily, 

he told Tifa and Aerith, 

just to toss his basket back 

into the stack of baskets 

behind the automatic 

doors. Yeah, he’d take one more 

Mule, please Tifa? 

The new cashier was chuckling 

when Cloud arrived back 

at the checkout counter 

ready to pay for his shit—

she was in the process of entering 

the item number for his red quinoa, 

chuckling alone—

"it could’ve been you" she repeated, 

chuckling, but then, 

Cloud relayed 

to Tifa and Aerith, 

she actually came around to Cloud’s particular hypothesis. 

The new cashier, 

after thinking about it, 

came to agree with Cloud, 

that she actually probably had seen him 

in the grocery store before, 

and that she’d just now erroneously 

figured he had a brother, 

when in fact this hypothetical brother 

was "actually just Cloud himself". 

Tifa considered, 

after she’d ingested the full anecdote 

and served Cloud 

his refreshed Moscow Mule, 

that it was somewhat likely 

that the cashier wanted to 

quote-unquote suck his cock, 

and Cloud didn’t necessarily 

disagree with the notion!—

he certainly considered it 

possible, that this cashier 

may have been amenable 

to something like that, 

but that wasn’t quite the point! 

There was a type of wisdom 

latent in the exchange, 

wasn’t there?—

regardless of whether or not 

the cashier wanted to 

"perform fellatio" on Cloud? 

Aerith, by contrast, 

took a more philosophical angle 

to her analysis 

of the encounter, 

because she agreed with Cloud 

that the cashier exhibited 

a certain spiritual insight, 

even if it was inadvertent. 

Aerith, for her part, 

didn’t put much of any stock 

into the cashier’s intentions, 

whether or not they were sordid, 

benign, or simply indifferent. 

Upon acknowledging this 

Tifa noted that she recognized 

Aerith’s point of view as valid, 

that it was probably 

the "right way to take it in", 

even if she, Tifa, 

wasn’t personally at the point 

of participating in quite that level 

of objectivity 

(if they could, in fact, call it that). 

Cloud noted that, 

at the end of the day, 

he couldn’t help it if 

a "certain person felt an urge" 

to suck his cock—that whether or not 

someone wanted to suck anyone’s cock 

is something ultimately unknowable, 

that he couldn’t simply 

toss potential spiritual encounters 

to the wayside purely because 

of a purported sordid subtext 

or intention. Both women 

agreed with this, 

yet perhaps Aerith 

just a tad more than Tifa?—

not to say Tifa was somehow 

beside herself with jealousy 

in any material way—no, 

this distinction between Tifa and Aerith 

was probably rooted more so 

in Aerith’s basically absurd ability 

to remain philosophically 

undeterred about other women 

while steeped in an obvious love triangle. 

Did she even like Cloud, really? 

Because it was really quite evident 

that Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith 

were "collectively entwined 

in a sort of love triangle", 

but Aerith, for her part, 

maintained quite the unique ability 

to remain essentially 

philosophical about it all—

she didn’t seem to allow feelings of jealousy 

to overcome her in the least 

when Cloud relayed anecdotes 

about cashiers that, 

if the three were being honest, 

clearly wanted to whip 

the guy’s cock out and suck on it 

for an extended interval of time. 

Did she even really like Cloud? 

His individual feelings on the situation 

were a little ambiguous, 

even when he was all alone—

Cloud was of course incapable 

of assessing his own feelings 

for somewhat obvious reasons. 

The Madness of a Cloud: Canto I

 Canto I

“The Nice Man with his Wife’s Last Name’s Form of Annihilation”

1859:2546 

.730

(3rd edition: block-as-line macrotonal)

Cloud was sitting at Seventh Heaven 

drinking a Fernet on the rocks 

engaging in light conversation 

with a cocksucker he’d never even met 

about a Queen’s Blood play-in game 

that he’d—this particular cocksucker—

requested to be put on the TV at the bar. 

Well, actually Cloud corrected, 

for the record, 

that he’d actually been reading 

a few pages of Timaeus 

prior to all this, 

making a few disparate notes, 

finding himself puzzled at 

the sensory information 

that continued to be relayed into his brain. 

Cloud basically alleged he was flummoxed 

about the sensory information that became, 

in some way, relayed 

to what he guessed was his brain?—

how any of that was corroborated, 

but more so Cloud contemplated 

the static nature of said images—

that’s what he was specifically contemplating 

when a guy with a round-ass face 

leaned onto the bar, 

seeking to close his tab, 

obviously excited to tell the bartender 

that he may need to show her his ID, 

just because he took his wife’s last name 

and hadn’t had a chance to change 

his license yet? 

The patron with the round-ass face 

noted how nice the bartender was (Tifa!), 

but what was her name again? 

He could definitely display his ID 

if she really needed, 

just because, again, 

his last name was different now—

taking his wife’s name and all! 

Of course, Cloud noted, 

that it was clear that no one gave a fuck 

about the printed name on a credit card in that bar, 

and Tifa, for her part, 

didn’t exactly seem like she was ramping up 

to suck this dude off 

just because he was a radical feminist. 

For Cloud’s part he was still, you know, 

attempting to get behind the blunt sensations 

being smuggled relentlessly 

into his so-called conscious existence. 

Everything was an image to some extent, 

right Aerith? 

Touch itself was a fucking sensory image. 

It was a quaint Spring evening 

where Cloud felt more or less 

destined to philosophize, 

having started drinking wine 

in preparation for a Friday night dinner, 

only to have Tifa bail last minute, 

because she needed to pick up a bar shift—

leaving him completely free 

to continue this wine drinking 

in a ritualistic way 

that would be conducive 

to philosophical ideas. 

Yes, Cloud continued to Aerith, 

it was basically only via drinking alone, 

but in a ritualistic fashion, 

that he’d achieved any sort 

of philosophical inquiry. 

You couldn’t just sit at a desk 

and "become philosophical", 

at least not for Cloud! 

Maybe some people could! 

But, no, not Cloud. 

He’d imagine that there were probably 

a litany of possible ways 

of becoming philosophical—

like, for instance, 

for the round-faced albino chap, 

perhaps telling Tifa 

that he’d taken his wife’s last name, 

maybe that could be seen 

as possibly ritualistic in a way, 

a gateway to some sort of 

becoming philosophical. 

This was "actually science", 

Cloud told her he thought at the bar, 

successfully avoiding making any eye contact 

with the round-faced man. 

Was it necessarily strange at all 

that once the Greeks went extinct 

philosophy went more or less 

completely and utterly downhill 

and never looked back in the least, 

that the last group to really reach 

much of any philosophical success 

made a sincere effort to conjoin 

getting fucked up with 

contemplating intelligible phenomena?—

that these Greeks attempted 

to marry inebriation and rigorous dialectic? 

That all thought since—

to paraphrase North Whitehead—

had been a minor footnote to Plato or whatever? 

The thing was, according to Cloud, 

you just couldn’t willy nilly 

"delve into metaphysics" 

completely sober! 

But that wasn’t to say a person 

should necessarily become some 

degenerate alcoholic either, 

because a degenerate drunk 

would in no way make a great meta-physicist either—

that was basically impossible, because, 

like Cloud said, 

the solo mode of inebriation 

should be done ritualistically, 

in spurts, at certain times. 

You couldn’t just be like 

hitting the bottle 

as soon as you woke from a slumber!—

after said inebriation sessions 

you’d require sobriety 

to parse through whatever it was 

that came to you 

via said contemplation, no? 

In fact, the actual science 

was nothing beyond this parsing through 

of inebriation sessions 

of rigorous contemplation! 

That was it—

what laid behind logic and metaphysics, 

in Cloud’s mind at least! 

But inebriation could be anything really—

Cloud could enter a state of inebriation 

in a car alone on a Tuesday AM, 

without consuming a damn thing. 

Aerith more or less agreed, 

adding that on the one hand 

a philosophical mind 

should be able to analyze, 

interpret, extrapolate, 

all of that scientific stuff—but, 

on the other, 

if you fail to place yourself 

in a position to receive anything to analyze, 

interpret, or extrapolate 

then you were basically screwed! 

Cloud more or less agreed 

but added that—sans this type of 

“inspiration,” so to speak—

they’d be stuck sitting 

at a table just noodling 

around nonsensically, 

vacillating back and forth 

between two types of nothingness, 

and then just probably knocking off 

someone else’s work by accident. 

But none of this was new! 

It wasn’t like Cloud was breaking news 

in any way. 

At this point Aerith asked—you know, 

was this albino douche bag, 

he was an element of this analysis? 

No, not really—according to Cloud—

maybe the guy was trying a tad too hard?—

to present himself 

as a specific archetype 

to the general public, 

as a guy who decided 

to spit in the face 

of his own chromosome count, 

which was something Cloud 

"personally endorsed!" 

Granted Cloud probably 

wouldn’t do it by taking his wife’s last name, 

because Cloud personally 

was obviously more prone 

to a type of isolated 

and overly dramatic 

self-annihilation 

than a subservient 

and disingenuously muted 

feminist annihilation, 

but he wasn’t ipso facto 

opposed to either! 

Aerith agreed 

one hundred percent! 

But Cloud still would go 

a little further, 

noting that in the intelligible sphere, 

as someone like, 

say, Proclus would note, 

that so-called forms 

were somehow able 

to participate in one another 

without mixing, 

whereas within the sensible realm 

they participated in things 

and subsequently got dirty. 

But Cloud thought that it was worth 

going one step further—

since they were discussing 

annihilation and stuff anyway, 

that the perceived mixing 

between forms that took place 

in the sensible arena 

was itself just a projection 

of mixture but not actual mixture. 

The intelligible sphere, 

being purely emanated, 

participated within itself 

without mixing itself, 

while in the sensible sphere 

it didn’t seem like that was possible, 

that by participating 

within sensible things 

they became essentially mixed 

with them, 

assuming they were categorically sensible. 

Essentially nature was tainted, 

which of course 

Cloud and Aerith knew all too well! 

Way too well! 

Hence their shared acquiescence 

toward occasional annihilation! 

But even this sensible filth, 

so to speak, 

Cloud thought, 

this perceived mixing up 

in the participation of sensible things, 

wasn’t it also a projection?—

an emanation, 

just as the participation 

of the intelligible sphere 

was also an emanation 

of the primary unity of all things? 

Which, yeah, brought Cloud back 

to that albino round-faced fuck 

at the bar, 

taking his wife’s last name—

because ultimately 

the albino’s vantage point 

wasn’t remarkably divergent 

from Cloud’s or Aerith’s, 

Cloud thought. 

This albino was promoting 

a certain type of annihilation 

of their cultural-sensible realm, 

thinking that the patriarchal lineage 

of their society was basically 

something objectionable, 

something essentially tainted, 

that should be annihilated 

in the service of something more pure. 

Okay, well, Cloud thought 

that made a modicum of sense! 

Maybe taking his wife’s last name 

was in a sense a greater form 

of purity than locking a woman 

in a kitchen and expecting 

a blowjob every other evening, 

Cloud thought. 

Just as Proclus and Socrates 

sensed that the intelligible sphere 

participated with itself 

yet not in a way 

where it mixed with itself, 

that this was distinct 

from our further descended, 

sensible sphere 

where things participated with 

one another but got mixed up 

in the process—well, 

maybe this albino man 

was noting that the patriarchy 

was a participatory mixing 

that left unseemly cum stains—

"for lack of a better phrase!"—

on human experience. 

Patriarchy, in the albino man’s mind, 

should be annihilated 

because of this sensible mixing up, 

this putrid tainting 

of what would be better off pure. 

And taking your nice wife’s name 

was a proper mode 

of annihilation in response. 

Aerith remarked that she knew 

Cloud would inevitably bring 

the discourse back to this poor chap 

closing his tab, 

but, just to be clear, 

what Cloud was saying was that 

this mixing that occurred 

in the sensible realm was itself 

just a separate projection—

just a lesser mode of projecting! 

So while the material world 

may have disgusted them, 

perhaps moving the two toward 

some sort of all-encompassing 

conceptual annihilation, 

and as much as the patriarchy 

might have seemed putrid 

to the albino husband at the bar 

who looked to annihilate himself 

by taking his nice wife’s last name, 

it could be wise to consider 

that these disgusting aggregates 

were themselves simply derivative projections, 

that they weren’t actual mixtures, 

that they were just derivative emanations 

as opposed to tattoos 

of what they thought they despised. 

Aerith was aware—

she wasn’t distressed about it, 

but she knew this poor albino guy 

would in time 

take the brunt of it from Cloud. 

Cloud questioned whether he didn’t deserve it? 

Plus like they’d already implied—

they must to proceed 

from the immanent 

to the transcendent, no?