its funny. no really. two people walk into a room and face opposite directions and don't say a word.
yet everything is weight in the waiting. longing to say what cannot be expressed or what has gone beyond expression.
look, this is the state of affairs here at home: they're back. they've been back for a couple of days. my father resents me, i think, for being so old and still in school and still living at home and still... troubled. a lot is riding on me, after all and wouldn't you say so? yes.
and what is it called when you cannot lift your own weight?
last night i re-injured one of my sprained ankles and its a terrible thing to fall down so hopelessly and marvelously. its a terrible thing to hear and feel yourself pop and splinter away from yourself.
its getting to be so that i am looking forward, in the way rue must, to spending a precious weekend day away from work and splendid anger. and the time has been now, now, always now.. when the pendulum swings back and nothing new is learned and everything you have (or thought you had) flies right out of your hands.
sanity.
abandon.
these entries are becoming something altogether vague again. like this book i'm reading where no one reading it can be sure of who is telling it. maybe i should buy a book written in spanish and teach myself comprehension.
d spoke of wishing he could just go off and disappear. start over with people who do not see him as an error. i thought it was quite nicely said when he said it. i also thought it was selfish of him and told him so. i asked him what is the guarantee that he won't just continue to do that with every new batch of people. i've always known there was something in him and about him that i would never be able to reach. but then that's true for any man. that's true for my father, for my uncles, my friends and brothers all. men and their singular adventures, their lonesome walks. i have often felt, though, that their solitude is my solitude. its the same and i struggle with the difference, because there is one--however small. it's there.
i am somehow a sponge. and like a sponge i'm able to soak up the atmosphere that's wet and easy to be with, to access. there is such a sadness with them, my mother and dad both. and i have to keep reminding myself that i am no conductor of music or harmony or lives. they must have their time, their solitude, their sadness. i tell myself that i must stay out of the way. and i blame myself for their circumstances because i haven't proven that i can take care of myself. i don't want to be another back-ache. i have taken without giving for so long and i am ashamed. i walk with an extra hunch on my shoulders. i owe money. i need a loan. i should find a new job. everything is changed and turned over.
we won't speak freely. our thoughts bound and our minds gagged. we, who walk into a room and face opposite directions, breathing into an air which does not stir between us.
an important quotation:
"Does reality essentially remain outside language, separate, obdurate, alien, not susceptible to description? Is an accurate and vital correspondence between what is and our perception of it impossible? Or is is that we are obliged to use language only in order to obscure and distort reality - to distort what happens-because we fear it? We are encouraged to be cowards. We can't face the dead. But we must face the dead because they die in our name. We must pay attention to what is being done in our name."
Oh Superman 1990
quote from this site.
15:09 - Wednesday, Feb. 02, 2005
Recent entries:
oday.html">the 3 month countdown begins - 05 May 2018
anothrburst.html">another burst - this used to be my playground
newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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