Saturday, January 21, 2006

Choix de Vivre

Saturday 21st January 2006
Striding the asphalt of the avenue, a madness not of his choosing took hold of him. He parsed beneath the tree branches, jacarandas all of them.
He could not find his comfort in the company of anyone he knew. There was a restless pause between his emotions these few weeks and what his friends offered in their interactions. He knew he existed apart from the relationships he had. And had had, although, they weren't dead or invisible or irrelevant, they were before and elusive, and they were still just as accessible as the relationships he was in now.
He wasn't disappointed, not even close. He always dove in, fully present, unaware of asking for anything other than what the others were extending, and madder than hell when at those times people shied away, asking for a prenup before a simple smile. A precursor. A guarantee of fidelity and for the other person - him - to extend an indicator of trust. Things he would never percieve at the start of startings, smiling and such. Saying hello, making eyecontact. Giving a lift. Asking what he could do, far over how he could help.
Was it bending over backwards? Hardly.
Or was it?
Did they look and think, that man tries, and laugh?
Not his question. Not his concern. It was a disservice to his understanding of humanity to single out the gladhanders.
But damn, the cheek, the gall and the presumption of the semiretards who withhold their potential for fulfillment. Who refuse to say yes.
They scared or what?
Fear from where? He, this man under the jacarandas, did not know of a fear that would cripple so mindlessly and needlessly. He hated it.
By not comprehending it, it didn't really occur to him in any clear sense.
He could not attack it and have done with it. He still wanted to be friends with the world, but not the ones who turned their heads to the walls, who looked down and practised being shy. Who snubbed and deprecated, according to conventions that brought them a diminished account of being alive and in their bodies. He was persistently disturbed by the unsatisfactory restricted prescriptive silence.
I choose, he said. I choose.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Supplying your own demands

Thursday January 19th, 2006

Sometimes I love taste so much, it occurs to me that it might be the one thing I live for. Or the one thing I know to declare so. The reaction that my system has to the essence of a substance upon it being ingested, when it is positive, is all-encompassing. A complete satisfaction fulfillment. When that happens, what I am wanting to smell, or hold or see, or be around, or drink or hold in my hand and inhale the steam of, or put in my mouth, appears with clarity to my consciousness. No matter what else I might have been consumed by or uninvolved over, the presence of the thing to which my desire has alighted me, brings a pleasure in its certainty and an enjoyment as much out of myself, as it is a part of me connecting my abstract and material experiences.

Chocolate. The smell of apple gummi bears. The idea of figs. The smell of the sun at the mouth of a plane that has just landed, infused with the flora and whitewash and wild life of the existing structures.

I think it must be history, the build-up of sensory expectation. It is satisfied by the available history.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

and now, about the other one

Sunday the eighth of January, 2006

The creases alternated between shadowing her face with the whispers of memories previous - Things that were even memories in the time before we met - and revealing another face to be included in all the other faces her face had to reveal. She had lived a long time. She had lived a lot in the time she had begun to count. She had more living accumulated in her features than one life could reveal, and she was revealed as wondrous and never-ending as time itself; she occupied the present in such intensity that it was matched and kept constant only in her abdication of any contemporary ties, that balanced the immediacy of her presence with an absoluteness that bespoke her longevity and her connection to the things I recognised as having meaning.
She was a human, breathing scales of eternity as far as it could find scope in the experience of a homosapiens of no broadcasted reknown.
How do we come to know these ones when we come across them? I neither know this or many other questions, similar and disparate.
About the treatment of time on her face, from careful, undisturbed glances on her skin as her mind is occupied with conversation, arithmetic, joke sharing, arranging food, preparing the properties of comfort for another person, the refining process that it has enacted is peerless. She is both here and wholly, not-enough for the present.
I don't think that the world is enough for her. She is certainly meet for the world. She has accompanied it in faith, long enough, and will continue to do so in the future that is not a guarantee.