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Excerpt from a greater, cloudy thesis.
Jan. 12th, 2003 08:32 pmExcerpt
Sometimes, like a fever, the memories hit me… not new things, or old, usually recent pains that passed out of my life … but not quite forever. Bren gave me a ring and I will never know why. But somehow touching the cord I braided to bind myself from fear of him incited a spasm of heat and distraction. Stopped my heart. I don’t know where the ring is now… it was given to me the night we met along with a note reading “I know what you know but will not admit. Admit eternity.” Another statement, along with the action, that I somehow regarded as to sacred in my memory and never questioned enough. It was the first and probably, now, the only evening I spent in that café that he had any interest or tolerance for my kind, later deciding that Brian I and were of a sort that ‘sucked the life out of him’. I need to go back there. Not now… but the next Sunday I have to myself. I miss the music and distant observation. I think the seizure has passed now… so I’m going to stop, calm down, and continue working, as I ought to be post hopefully bleeding at least part of this out of my system.
Explanation
I was hit earlier… a passage just fell out of my being. It was like I got ill, spiritually, and vomited. I am left with the lingering sensation of it. Not inspiration… nothing artful, but graceless and unrefined. A visceral thing; quite like vomiting now that I think of it. It was so extraordinarily sudden, however, I’m not sure what to make of it now.
Cogitation
I sometimes get the feeling, sitting in regular stationary chairs like this one now, indoors when nothing of the sort that would warrant it could happen, that I ought to be strapped in with a seatbelt. Is this from driving too much? Because I don’t think, now that I have a car, that I’m spending an inordinate amount more time driving than I would have been riding in a car otherwise… maybe I do. But it’s an odd sensation… first realizing that something is missing or wrong, then that I don’t have a seatbelt on, then that I’m sitting indoors… in a folding or office chair.
Confession
I can’t get past counting hours until he’s home to me, when he goes. I can, from time to time, get past the shock of waking without him, get past the unjustified ache of his absence… yet, it is the only part of my love for him that is at all painful… which is quite a novelty indeed in contrast to my previous relationship.
Termination
That is all.
Sometimes, like a fever, the memories hit me… not new things, or old, usually recent pains that passed out of my life … but not quite forever. Bren gave me a ring and I will never know why. But somehow touching the cord I braided to bind myself from fear of him incited a spasm of heat and distraction. Stopped my heart. I don’t know where the ring is now… it was given to me the night we met along with a note reading “I know what you know but will not admit. Admit eternity.” Another statement, along with the action, that I somehow regarded as to sacred in my memory and never questioned enough. It was the first and probably, now, the only evening I spent in that café that he had any interest or tolerance for my kind, later deciding that Brian I and were of a sort that ‘sucked the life out of him’. I need to go back there. Not now… but the next Sunday I have to myself. I miss the music and distant observation. I think the seizure has passed now… so I’m going to stop, calm down, and continue working, as I ought to be post hopefully bleeding at least part of this out of my system.
Explanation
I was hit earlier… a passage just fell out of my being. It was like I got ill, spiritually, and vomited. I am left with the lingering sensation of it. Not inspiration… nothing artful, but graceless and unrefined. A visceral thing; quite like vomiting now that I think of it. It was so extraordinarily sudden, however, I’m not sure what to make of it now.
Cogitation
I sometimes get the feeling, sitting in regular stationary chairs like this one now, indoors when nothing of the sort that would warrant it could happen, that I ought to be strapped in with a seatbelt. Is this from driving too much? Because I don’t think, now that I have a car, that I’m spending an inordinate amount more time driving than I would have been riding in a car otherwise… maybe I do. But it’s an odd sensation… first realizing that something is missing or wrong, then that I don’t have a seatbelt on, then that I’m sitting indoors… in a folding or office chair.
Confession
I can’t get past counting hours until he’s home to me, when he goes. I can, from time to time, get past the shock of waking without him, get past the unjustified ache of his absence… yet, it is the only part of my love for him that is at all painful… which is quite a novelty indeed in contrast to my previous relationship.
Termination
That is all.