August 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
Wet is just wet, and cold is just cold. I learned that on a bicycle. I feel them, but the discomfort reaches a threshold beyond which they are just films on the skin. Alone is alone, too, on a bike, but not just. Alone comes from the inside, oozing out a shield against all that it wants. What it thinks it’s protecting me from, I don’t know. Eventually, I get out of the cold and wet and get dry and warm, and the alone expands. I hate the alone, but I own it, like some people own depression: It’s one of the definitions of the self. Alone chose me and formed me, made me in its image. It is not me; but I am it.
April 24, 2012 § 2 Comments
Thinking about Herself doesn’t elicit what it used to. Sometimes it elicits nothing at all. I don’t like it. I could always count on feeling something and having something to say about it. Frustration was the inspiration of my reluctant muse. Now…I have difficulty conjuring her face. She’s gone but I still look for her. I need nothing from her. I don’t even ask the questions anymore. She was the face of what I wanted, though it was only a mask I had put on her. I wonder what she looks like without it, but it will only be when I stop wondering–when I stop caring–that I will know. It will be the time I look at her without wishing things had been different between us, the time I’m not even looking for her. As clinically cautious as I can be with these words, were I to see her tomorrow I would have no control over what I might say. Tomorrow’s not good for me. I’m just not inspired.
April 3, 2012 § 2 Comments
Everything fades, our reluctance to let it notwithstanding. What I felt for Herself is less coherent, more formless than when I first put pen to paper about it. My interest in understanding the feelings is still strong, yet the subject has become practically atomized. Did I pick it apart down to those atoms? Did I analyze and scrutinize the meaning right out of my feelings? Did I find that they didn’t really mean much of anything, after all? Did their being unredeemed leave them without contextual foothold to meaning? She was the meaning. She’s faded. If she fades away she will have been only a waste of time, a long chapter with no book to show for it. No meaning. If she fades from memory, I hope it is from now to then, erasing the worst first and leaving me with those first feelings for her. Can it work that way?