Close encounters of the third kind.
Of course this will be of interest to only one person, I think, but I have found THE pivotal diary there among my things, (and started re-reading in a defiant act of procrastination) the one that actually marks the distillation of my silence, spanning from, December 24, 1998 to September 11, 2001. A testament to my “tragic vocation” (Jan 4,1998, April 3, 1999) It begins with a drowning on the beach and ends with, well, that’s an obvious one.
First page begins: “ It’s Christmas eve and things are going decidedly better than a few days ago. I am ok – not going to die.
Last page ends: “”Yes, I suppose life goes on, and I can be happy, as long as I allow the destruction to linger, just a little in the back of my mind. Death seems so small held up to those massive constructions; a snapping twig, a light goes out. But not one, not one-hundred not even a thousand points of light flicker out. A day closes and darkness falls on an uncertain tomorrow.”
Fitting that I should find that particular story, the one that in the back of my mind I had the intention of finding and posting, stuck surreptitiously among its pages. It is another take on the “perros de la calle” (previous by more than a year) to “Calle” the story about the anorexic woman who spontaneously (but not accidentally) aborts and her lesbian lover that holds her as she hemorrhages (posted here this last October, but written in 1998)…
Also, there was this imaginary dialogue with imagined (or foreshadowed?) interlocutor, which some of you might find amusing for various reasons.
August 25 2001
W: Don’t you ever feel like you’re just wandering along the surface of your life? Like this whole orb of a planet is just a microcosm of the emptiness inside –
M: You mean macrocosm
W: No, microcosm. The emptiness inside of one person alone exceeds the surface of the entire earth.
M: Oh, please, now you are being melodramatic. What’s getting at you anyway?
W: Don’t you see? We float along, without ever submerging ourselves in our lives. Isn’t it strange to you how you remember all of the people from your childhood so much more than the people you meet now? Why do their faces keep coming back to haunt? It seems like our relationships as a child were so much, I don’t know, not deeper in affect, or maybe, but, well, deeper in terms of how we ourselves experienced them?
M: Well, I for one am still traumatized by the smell of Kelly Brahm’s hair…
W: Shut up! You are not taking me seriously.
M: No, you are taking yourself too seriously…
W: You don’t get anything. I don’t even know why I am discussing this with you.
M: Maybe because you have no one else who will listen to you ramble endlessly and not have their eyes glaze over.
W: Oh, thanks. But honestly, don’t you wonder why that is?
M: What?
W: Why everything we remember seems so much more relevant than what we are currently experiencing.
M: Like this conversation, you mean.
W: Oh, you know what I mean.
M: Well, I guess I could give you my theory that our perception of time, and therefore cosmic relevance, is inversely proportional to its relationship with the percentage of time that has transpired in our lifetime. For example – when you were five, that 2 hour drive to Harrisburg felt like an eternity, but now the same two hours, to go from one side of this city to the other, is an insignificant blip on the screen of your life. Obviously 2 hours represented a much greater percentage of your life, so you experienced it much more slowly.
W: Thank you, Mr. Science. My soul is now assuaged in its quest for a higher meaning.
M: You didn’t tell me you were looking for God…
W: I’m not, I just…
M: Yes?...
W: I just feel empty and I’m not sure why.
M: Well, here I am. I haven’t gone anywhere…
W: I know.
First page begins: “ It’s Christmas eve and things are going decidedly better than a few days ago. I am ok – not going to die.
Last page ends: “”Yes, I suppose life goes on, and I can be happy, as long as I allow the destruction to linger, just a little in the back of my mind. Death seems so small held up to those massive constructions; a snapping twig, a light goes out. But not one, not one-hundred not even a thousand points of light flicker out. A day closes and darkness falls on an uncertain tomorrow.”
Fitting that I should find that particular story, the one that in the back of my mind I had the intention of finding and posting, stuck surreptitiously among its pages. It is another take on the “perros de la calle” (previous by more than a year) to “Calle” the story about the anorexic woman who spontaneously (but not accidentally) aborts and her lesbian lover that holds her as she hemorrhages (posted here this last October, but written in 1998)…
Also, there was this imaginary dialogue with imagined (or foreshadowed?) interlocutor, which some of you might find amusing for various reasons.
August 25 2001
W: Don’t you ever feel like you’re just wandering along the surface of your life? Like this whole orb of a planet is just a microcosm of the emptiness inside –
M: You mean macrocosm
W: No, microcosm. The emptiness inside of one person alone exceeds the surface of the entire earth.
M: Oh, please, now you are being melodramatic. What’s getting at you anyway?
W: Don’t you see? We float along, without ever submerging ourselves in our lives. Isn’t it strange to you how you remember all of the people from your childhood so much more than the people you meet now? Why do their faces keep coming back to haunt? It seems like our relationships as a child were so much, I don’t know, not deeper in affect, or maybe, but, well, deeper in terms of how we ourselves experienced them?
M: Well, I for one am still traumatized by the smell of Kelly Brahm’s hair…
W: Shut up! You are not taking me seriously.
M: No, you are taking yourself too seriously…
W: You don’t get anything. I don’t even know why I am discussing this with you.
M: Maybe because you have no one else who will listen to you ramble endlessly and not have their eyes glaze over.
W: Oh, thanks. But honestly, don’t you wonder why that is?
M: What?
W: Why everything we remember seems so much more relevant than what we are currently experiencing.
M: Like this conversation, you mean.
W: Oh, you know what I mean.
M: Well, I guess I could give you my theory that our perception of time, and therefore cosmic relevance, is inversely proportional to its relationship with the percentage of time that has transpired in our lifetime. For example – when you were five, that 2 hour drive to Harrisburg felt like an eternity, but now the same two hours, to go from one side of this city to the other, is an insignificant blip on the screen of your life. Obviously 2 hours represented a much greater percentage of your life, so you experienced it much more slowly.
W: Thank you, Mr. Science. My soul is now assuaged in its quest for a higher meaning.
M: You didn’t tell me you were looking for God…
W: I’m not, I just…
M: Yes?...
W: I just feel empty and I’m not sure why.
M: Well, here I am. I haven’t gone anywhere…
W: I know.
posted by ilana at 5:37 p.m.
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