July 1, 2012
Time flies, even if you're not having fun. I suppose I try to make the best of it, and it could be much, much worse. Waiting is never fun, though, especially if you don't know if what you're waiting for will ever arrive.
It is already July and we are moving into the heights of summer. Imagination has left me, so instead of imagining new worlds, I go back to old ones. Since I left Sibyl Fried for good, it has been six years. But now I can finally rip her apart like I need to.
Her madness is no longer my own. I have expunged that voice from my head and I no longer have to know every breath nor every moment and how they feel to someone who is not me. There are so many wavelengths of Sibyl Fried that I glossed over and shouldn't have, and there are so many more that I described too much.
But writing is never easy. Writing is always an exercise in laying what is most private within you bare to the world's criticism - and worse: your own. Of course, I am no longer the teenager who wrote her, who wrote her children, who wrote their madness, their violence, their incestuous, narcissistic love -- who wrote impossibilities and the small patch out of a tapestry of time. But that teenager was me once, and she has grown into this.
At twenty-five, almost, her dreams both deferred and come-true.
So I rip her apart and build her back up again. Perfection can never be achieved, but you can come close. I've ripped whole paragraphs out. And know i'll write more to erase her esoteric rambling so that her profundity can be understood. This comprehension is more important than flowery language.
They tell you from the instant you realize you're an artist that one of the most important things you can ever do is just let go. Sometimes it takes years because letting go feels like nothing less than slashing and burning yourself.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
May 28, 2012
It is known, of course, that every great idea comes from the germ of nothingness that hibernates and bursts forth without warning from one single consciousness. It is also known that that explosion from nothingness is born out of another's germ that had sprouted and come at least partially to full fruition. But ideas are never whole, for always one builds upon the other. So there is no end to greatness as we struggle like slaves out of stone -- from our humanity into something more divine.
May 14, 2012
When you are young, love is a flame that burns. It is all you can feel, an ecstatic burn, nerve ends blunted. Until the inevitable moment when you wake up -- when the truth of the burn hits you, the flame of fools.
And when you're older, it is the gentle caress of a question, a feather blowing to and fro, that you follow with your eyes and gamble on.
I have always gambled and lost.
And when you're older, it is the gentle caress of a question, a feather blowing to and fro, that you follow with your eyes and gamble on.
I have always gambled and lost.
May 13, 2012
One thing, at least, is certain: happiness is not a party I was invited to. I am only ever there as a chaperone waiting outside on the steps for a glimpse in the door.
May 8, 2012
"I am here," says the angel.
"I know," says the Little Girl.
"You should give it a try, being with people."
"What the point? Pretending I'm happy? Turn myself into a doll with a painted face. What does it matter when it's all going to be over sooner rather than later."
"Because if you pretend you are happy for long enough, you just might become it."
"Me? You know that's not true. You know I have always been alone and I always will be. They'll discover my corpse days or weeks later because the smell in unbearable. Not because anyone misses me."
"You will be with us by then. Scattered."
"Now would be a good time to take me. Now. Why can't you take me now?"
"Soon, Little Girl. Soon."
"I know. I can feel the poison."
"You can still choose to stay."
"There's nothing to live for. No one to come home to. No life ahead of me. I choose to go. Just make it painless. And fast."
"I know," says the Little Girl.
"You should give it a try, being with people."
"What the point? Pretending I'm happy? Turn myself into a doll with a painted face. What does it matter when it's all going to be over sooner rather than later."
"Because if you pretend you are happy for long enough, you just might become it."
"Me? You know that's not true. You know I have always been alone and I always will be. They'll discover my corpse days or weeks later because the smell in unbearable. Not because anyone misses me."
"You will be with us by then. Scattered."
"Now would be a good time to take me. Now. Why can't you take me now?"
"Soon, Little Girl. Soon."
"I know. I can feel the poison."
"You can still choose to stay."
"There's nothing to live for. No one to come home to. No life ahead of me. I choose to go. Just make it painless. And fast."
April 23, 2012
"The game isn't over, Little Girl," says the angel.
"I know. No fat lady singing," she replies.
"You know," the Little Girl continues, "whenever I'm with you, I'm standing on the edge of the world. Even though there's nothing but solid ground under my feet for miles. That's what you do to me. Put me on a precipice."
"And who in the world of the living is not standing on that same ledge?"
The girl sighs. "No one, I guess...and what about you?"
The angel laughs. "An angel? Stand anywhere? Feel the pressure of heights? Vertigo? I am bound by wings, Little Girl. Forget your precipice. I have nothing beneath my feet. And no feet."
"I know. No fat lady singing," she replies.
"You know," the Little Girl continues, "whenever I'm with you, I'm standing on the edge of the world. Even though there's nothing but solid ground under my feet for miles. That's what you do to me. Put me on a precipice."
"And who in the world of the living is not standing on that same ledge?"
The girl sighs. "No one, I guess...and what about you?"
The angel laughs. "An angel? Stand anywhere? Feel the pressure of heights? Vertigo? I am bound by wings, Little Girl. Forget your precipice. I have nothing beneath my feet. And no feet."
April 22, 2012
"You keep quiet because you have too much to say, Little Girl. I know you."
"Shh," she says. she is not in the mood for the angel right now. but of course, it is right.
"They complain of pain that you carry in greater quantities. But they don't want to hear of it."
"Why should they? There is always someone worse off than yourself. But self-pity is always more preferable. Indulgence is comforting and sympathizing is not."
"You are used to being forgotten. Does it still hurt you, even so?"
The girl doesn't respond for a few moments. Pain is something to be swallowed because the world outside is too small to contain all that has been condensed within. She swallows.
"Of course," she says. "Even so...Because everyone has a different definition of loneliness. Aloneness...whatever you want to call it. Open your eyes to the world and a void looks back. Accept it into yourself and you're free. Can you take that? There is no one to share it with. No one. Not a mother, not a father, brother, sister, cousin. Not a friend. No one.
"You are supposed to take care of that yourself. No one can be bothered. So what do you do? Accept it into yourself. Freedom is illusory. We all wear chains."
"And yet," says the angel, "your chains are finite. You hold the key in your flesh. Flesh is the key. To Scatter. To end. You will escape."
"We are still bound by Time. I can try to believe you all I want. But I will never be sure until I get there. And the only thing I know for sure is that I will end -- and you will not -- and I know absolutely nothing of what there is after."
"Are you afraid, Little Girl?"
"No. Not of getting there. Just of getting there too soon. There is too much to see. I don't want to arrive too soon."
"Then hold on."
"Maybe you should let go, Uriel. Maybe that is what you and the others have to learn. let go. For you, everything is in the mind. Let go of the only thing you have. Let go of your Self. But you won't. Do you know why?"
"What is your theory?"
The girl laughs.
"My theory? That we are alike. you fear what you don't know, too. Scattering. So you will never let go. And I have no choice, so I fear that. But we are both afraid."
"I cannot be afraid. I cannot feel. Don't you know the first thing about us? I would think so, by now."
"You claim this and you claim that. But I know. I am looking in at you and you are always looking out. I would think you would understand that by now, angel. That it is all a matter of perspective. And when it comes to ourselves, the pictures is always skewed."
"You are saying that I curse myself."
The girl keeps silent. The angel keeps silent.
"You understand loneliness, too, Uriel," the girl says after a while. "You understand Forever. On and on and on. You convince yourself that you don't. That way it hurts less. But you are just like me, otherwise. Because we were all Scattered in the beginning and we are all Scattered now. It all comes full-circle, so we end where we begin.
"And begin where we end."
"Mmm," says the girl.
"Do you dream of me?" asks the angel.
"Isn't that the way we started?" she answers. "Both of us dreaming of the other, so that the dreaming never stops? And we'll never know which one of us started it, because neither of us did. We were dreamt out of each other. That's just the way it is."
"Do you understand that, Little Girl?"
"Yes. I think. Finally. But I can't explain it. The idea comes and slips away. Never concrete. Dreams are like wind. You bring the message."
"I am the message. And the message is you."
"Yes. And I am your message. That is the way we dream of each other. Pulling out the messages inside ourselves, for each other. This is the way the circle cannot break."
"Shh," she says. she is not in the mood for the angel right now. but of course, it is right.
"They complain of pain that you carry in greater quantities. But they don't want to hear of it."
"Why should they? There is always someone worse off than yourself. But self-pity is always more preferable. Indulgence is comforting and sympathizing is not."
"You are used to being forgotten. Does it still hurt you, even so?"
The girl doesn't respond for a few moments. Pain is something to be swallowed because the world outside is too small to contain all that has been condensed within. She swallows.
"Of course," she says. "Even so...Because everyone has a different definition of loneliness. Aloneness...whatever you want to call it. Open your eyes to the world and a void looks back. Accept it into yourself and you're free. Can you take that? There is no one to share it with. No one. Not a mother, not a father, brother, sister, cousin. Not a friend. No one.
"You are supposed to take care of that yourself. No one can be bothered. So what do you do? Accept it into yourself. Freedom is illusory. We all wear chains."
"And yet," says the angel, "your chains are finite. You hold the key in your flesh. Flesh is the key. To Scatter. To end. You will escape."
"We are still bound by Time. I can try to believe you all I want. But I will never be sure until I get there. And the only thing I know for sure is that I will end -- and you will not -- and I know absolutely nothing of what there is after."
"Are you afraid, Little Girl?"
"No. Not of getting there. Just of getting there too soon. There is too much to see. I don't want to arrive too soon."
"Then hold on."
"Maybe you should let go, Uriel. Maybe that is what you and the others have to learn. let go. For you, everything is in the mind. Let go of the only thing you have. Let go of your Self. But you won't. Do you know why?"
"What is your theory?"
The girl laughs.
"My theory? That we are alike. you fear what you don't know, too. Scattering. So you will never let go. And I have no choice, so I fear that. But we are both afraid."
"I cannot be afraid. I cannot feel. Don't you know the first thing about us? I would think so, by now."
"You claim this and you claim that. But I know. I am looking in at you and you are always looking out. I would think you would understand that by now, angel. That it is all a matter of perspective. And when it comes to ourselves, the pictures is always skewed."
"You are saying that I curse myself."
The girl keeps silent. The angel keeps silent.
"You understand loneliness, too, Uriel," the girl says after a while. "You understand Forever. On and on and on. You convince yourself that you don't. That way it hurts less. But you are just like me, otherwise. Because we were all Scattered in the beginning and we are all Scattered now. It all comes full-circle, so we end where we begin.
"And begin where we end."
"Mmm," says the girl.
"Do you dream of me?" asks the angel.
"Isn't that the way we started?" she answers. "Both of us dreaming of the other, so that the dreaming never stops? And we'll never know which one of us started it, because neither of us did. We were dreamt out of each other. That's just the way it is."
"Do you understand that, Little Girl?"
"Yes. I think. Finally. But I can't explain it. The idea comes and slips away. Never concrete. Dreams are like wind. You bring the message."
"I am the message. And the message is you."
"Yes. And I am your message. That is the way we dream of each other. Pulling out the messages inside ourselves, for each other. This is the way the circle cannot break."
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