Thursday, September 09, 2004


The Situation in General

These are the days when everything just seems to blend together, like paint on a canvas. I can’t seem to tell which color is which: only that that portion resembles a splash of blue, and there’s ochre, and orange, and purple. Somehow I can’t even tell vermillion from scarlet, only that they’re names and labels but really, does it matter what shade of red we use whenever we use a knife to draw blood?

I’d like to tell the world to stop, pause, let me breathe for a moment. Because every second drains a little bit more life out of me, and sometimes I just forget. And it’s always a terrible thing, this loss of a picture inside my mind. I want my life to be simple, but somehow when the universe tells you that these things are an impossibility, all you can do is just sit back and relax and let every wave wash over you.

I’m not sure if I am happy or not. I know I’m content, though. I suppose that’s enough for now.

Excerpt: Tabula Rasa

This time, the memory she received from him was when he was five years old and he was drowning in his grandmother’s swimming pool. She felt the sudden absence of sound, that shift from noise to silence, and the water that quickly filled up the spaces in his ears. She could sense the boy’s panic, that thud thud thud in his chest that were like tiny explosives going off rapidly as his lungs struggled to fill his tiny body up with oxygen. She could see the bubbles surrounding him like a halo, the shimmering play of sunlight on water, the watercolor forms of the adults as they scurried around the edges of the pool in fright, in alarm. She felt the strong arms of an uncle grab him under his arms and pull him upwards, where there was light and color and noise and now he was crying noisily and gulping down air like an elixir while his mother hugged him tightly, never mind that he was soaking her best summer dress.

He moaned as the memory finished filtering through her mind, like quick jump cuts from a badly edited film. He left a trail of semen like egg whites across the flat expanse of her belly. She gently wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of her hand, and smiled wanly as he collapsed on top of her, a log of flesh felled by their lovemaking. “Oh Anthony,” she whispered as she cradled him to her chest, her fingers raking paths through the damp wilderness of his hair.

It was only later that she realized that she was crying.

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