Sunday, March 16, 2014

the feeling of a thing is not the same as the thing itself

1. I'm writing something about dreams, but fake dreams. If I write something everyday, for a week and a day, I'll have something. I pretend I'm writing it for myself, but secretly I know I'm not.

2. In the laundromat, a lot of waiting happens. People are on phones, or watching the televisions, which alternate between daytime talk shows or Spanish soaps. There are arcade games you'll never see anyone use. Sometimes people hold books. Sometimes I am one of those. Clothes tumble, and churn; we live in a modern world where machines wash and dry things automatically and we don't stop to question this, or thank the proprietress. If the laundromats all shut down, then what would I do? Improvise?

3. The facts were simple: to stand in the middle of a road and look into the camera. "Relax," he kept saying. "I am not even here. When you are looking into the camera you are actually looking as far as the eye can travel, all the way to the horizon." I tried to envision that. I chanted things to myself. I was surprised by my own stiffness, my own self consci
ousness. I thought I was different, I thought to myself.

4. When you love someone you want to do anything for their happiness, unless it directly contradicts your own happiness. Therein lies the conflict, or the feeling of it. Nothing is actually happening. I could convince myself of something, but that wouldn't make it true.

5. I will wait, and things will happen. Someone will call. Two work schedules will collide, or not. I will watch the show again and again. The laundry will finish and need to be folded. Someone will ask me something, I will go out into the loud hot sun and put myself and other things into a vehicle, and I will drive away.

1 comment:

Q said...

I love your posts. They make the sublime out of the mundane.