"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."
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
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."
April 17, 2012
"So, Little Girl, you believe someone for once. Let us hope that the world does not get in your way. for you well know that the tide moves anything as it wishes, despite every good intention."
"You know the problem with you, Uriel?" asks the girl. "You can never stop talking. One day it's this, one day it's that. I well know the way the world works, my dear. And unlike you, I can feel it. I believe I exercise as much caution as is possible. But as you so expertly had to point out, there is nothing we can do about some things."
"Might I suggest taking a wait-and-see approach?"
The Little Girl rolls her eyes. How absurd can an angel get?
"Quite," the Seraph comments, for no thought can be hidden from it.
The girl sighs in resignation. "One thing you may have noticed," she says, " is that despite our infinite stupidity, despite our depths of sorrow and heights of joy -- we are strong. We can handle what is thrown at us., we miserable, mortal human beings."
"Indeed you can," agrees the angel.
"How do I even have time for you? You've done a great job with me. I am fully immersed in real-world problems...otherwise known as bullshit. Aren't you proud?"
"If an angel could be proud..."
"Yeah, yeah. If you could be anything but incapable," says the girl.
"My apologies."
"No need. I am used to you."
"You know the problem with you, Uriel?" asks the girl. "You can never stop talking. One day it's this, one day it's that. I well know the way the world works, my dear. And unlike you, I can feel it. I believe I exercise as much caution as is possible. But as you so expertly had to point out, there is nothing we can do about some things."
"Might I suggest taking a wait-and-see approach?"
The Little Girl rolls her eyes. How absurd can an angel get?
"Quite," the Seraph comments, for no thought can be hidden from it.
The girl sighs in resignation. "One thing you may have noticed," she says, " is that despite our infinite stupidity, despite our depths of sorrow and heights of joy -- we are strong. We can handle what is thrown at us., we miserable, mortal human beings."
"Indeed you can," agrees the angel.
"How do I even have time for you? You've done a great job with me. I am fully immersed in real-world problems...otherwise known as bullshit. Aren't you proud?"
"If an angel could be proud..."
"Yeah, yeah. If you could be anything but incapable," says the girl.
"My apologies."
"No need. I am used to you."
Love Song
July 16, 2012
A meeting of minds is always a love song, a twirling dance, weaving itself into an explosion of ideas like a double-helix DNA strand. We explode like grains of sand, drawing our lines by the billions.
The meeting is captured, threads tangled in a newborn tapestry. One side reaches out tentatively - that side is me, waiting for the moment of necessitated recession.
You are the other side, thrashing about, a storm that crashes and enlightens, pours itself out, never empty and never full.
The helix twists.
There is newness, a heaven of amalgamation - then: creation.
A meeting of minds is always a love song, a twirling dance, weaving itself into an explosion of ideas like a double-helix DNA strand. We explode like grains of sand, drawing our lines by the billions.
The meeting is captured, threads tangled in a newborn tapestry. One side reaches out tentatively - that side is me, waiting for the moment of necessitated recession.
You are the other side, thrashing about, a storm that crashes and enlightens, pours itself out, never empty and never full.
The helix twists.
There is newness, a heaven of amalgamation - then: creation.
Q: What happened when you left?
A: We kept walking.
Q: Did you have a destination?
A: Far away. Just to survive.
Q: How many of you made it?
A: Not many. And we left children behind. Anyone who had to be carried. Anyone who couldn't keep up.
Q: Whose decision was that?
A: Everyone's. It was necessary. Children can be made again...not the same ones, of course. But for survival's sake, they can be made again. And those couldn't keep up, they understood.
A: We kept walking.
Q: Did you have a destination?
A: Far away. Just to survive.
Q: How many of you made it?
A: Not many. And we left children behind. Anyone who had to be carried. Anyone who couldn't keep up.
Q: Whose decision was that?
A: Everyone's. It was necessary. Children can be made again...not the same ones, of course. But for survival's sake, they can be made again. And those couldn't keep up, they understood.
Rage
July 9, 2012
It is almost always worthwhile to rage at the state of the world. Humanity is a disgusting race, in all our forms, and it is maddening to be a helpless cog in the machine that tosses its potential away. It is always a good idea to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation because horizons should always be stretched. There is always more to a moment than meets the eye.
I need to write a story that disorients us like a labyrinth, that sprouts creatures we haven't seen since Ovid but which we run into everyday.
"What have I become?" it will ask, as every time it looks in the mirror, it gets introduced to a different face. The ancient forest will be our modern streets, Narcissus the wannabe wasting away on egotism.
It will be an assignment for myself. Read, model, write. Read, model, write. The ink must start flowing again. because we can be nothing without pain.
It is almost always worthwhile to rage at the state of the world. Humanity is a disgusting race, in all our forms, and it is maddening to be a helpless cog in the machine that tosses its potential away. It is always a good idea to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation because horizons should always be stretched. There is always more to a moment than meets the eye.
I need to write a story that disorients us like a labyrinth, that sprouts creatures we haven't seen since Ovid but which we run into everyday.
"What have I become?" it will ask, as every time it looks in the mirror, it gets introduced to a different face. The ancient forest will be our modern streets, Narcissus the wannabe wasting away on egotism.
It will be an assignment for myself. Read, model, write. Read, model, write. The ink must start flowing again. because we can be nothing without pain.
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