Antipodal Species

“Just being weird.” Jack said.
Jack imagined he’d say … as he stood in his room … before his desk, before beginning to write.
When Jill asked what he was doing,
Jack said, “Just being weird.”
… hiding out, standing before the desk … Jack thought this would lead somewhere but jack didn’t know Jack so it lead nowhere. Jill just walked away. The saga remains ... nothing happened.
“So it goes.” Jack said,
as he shook then nodded his head. Didn’t matter anyway, Jack didn’t know jack, jack doesn’t know Jack. He wasn’t brilliant or anything, though mostly he thought himself a genius, the originator of dreams, at least his own. Jack wasn’t brilliant; in fact, he was quite stupid, dim in this and that, at this particular moment, dimly lit, at this moment stupid. Impatient. Yet reticent.
Jack never said,
“Just being weird.”
He didn’t. He didn’t say jack – he didn't get the chance.
Jill remained silent, didn’t even see him standing there, awkwardly waiting for the chance to say,
“Just being weird.”
Jill didn’t care, Jill didn’t care for Jack, really, and only put up with him because she mostly thought he was mostly brilliant, though also mostly stupid. It depended upon the subject. In the matter of certain very specific things Jill thought he knew quite a lot, but in more common matters Jill thought he didn’t know jack.
He didn’t even know Jack.
None of this meant anything to either Jack or her, Jill. They were in some mysterious way using each other. Neither knew quite how the self was using the other but they were both quite certain that the other knew how they were using the other and in time would reveal this mystery. Jack reveals jack to her, Jill … Jill reveals jack to Jack. And so the affair was sustained by avoiding the subject, by remaining in anticipation of a hopeless revelation.
“Just being weird.” is a provocation.
Only. For Jack only. To Jill it doesn’t mean jack. Jill didn’t get it, not even the gesture -- Jack standing awkwardly in the darkened room uttering the words,
“Just being weird.”
… which meant just being Jack, just wanting, just feeling hurt, just feeling what should not be felt, not feeling anything since they had never really touched … Which meant just being the jack-ass that Jill though Jack was, just being what Jack thought Jill thought of him, just being weak. Jack was weak – in the knees mostly, but in the heart as well.

Nothing will be revealed, not even in time, not even over time. Rather, the tale of Jack is one of jack recurrence. The moment of anticipation for hopeless revelation will recur, though the exact phrase -- hopeless revelation -- will most likely not be repeated. Any revelation is an offering, a gift, a climax, a punchline with a rimshot and this tale is about becoming, or remaining at the point of Jack becoming something other than jack, Jack. This becoming will lead to nothing. Nothing will become of it … nothing good, at least. If not puzzling, these tedious affairs are at least a puzzle, to be resolved if not solved. And, even then nothing is offered in either regard. Nothing that will satisfy.

The puzzle, Jack requires a cure rather than a solution.