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Tel Quel

je sais bien mai quand même

Tag Archives: Khalil Gibran

I’m reminded of it everyday, when I smell the rain, the damp earth, the maltreated grass; when I wake up from the concomitant, quasi-realistic parallel that I hope you are aware of too. My boots are under my bed, abandoned and unwashed from the shame of Hong Kong. They said it was an experience of a lifetime and perhaps it was, in front of that many people, whichever gods as witnesses. All the memorabilia have been put away in a nondescript box, because one should never remember nightmares. (Or am I supposed to remind myself) In the end, what I truly remember only becomes a convolution of desires and disappointment. I am sorry. “I am Jack’s broken heart.”

Sometimes I almost feel the gravity of this situation manifesting itself in a different time and place, and I always wonder if it is possible to devolve, to transgress further than I already have. I know I will sleep tonight, eventually. Because there’s Milton, “How sweetly did he(they) float upon the wings/ Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night”, no ill-memory can touch me tonight. It reminds me of what I once wrote,

This is Erebus’s Flight.

[Edit: June 10, 2008]

The acceleration of the fall into the deep end of the beginning has never been swifter until yesterday. The nightmares are coming back, faster than I can run away from or against. The spaces between Space (or space between Spaces) are becoming (and almost is) one dark, psychosomatic nebular of hopelessness and yet I cannot possibly articulate it such that you, on the other end of Erewhon, can feel even a fraction of this impending gravity. The more I try, the less familiar I become to myself, and to everyone. I was finishing up The Prophet this morning, and maybe I can take comfort in his response to the Orphalese scholar, “For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.” I am only good at/for ambiguity. It didn’t leave me with an absolute revelation, but it sufficed for now and perhaps there will be something else different when I look back on today, on the past four months. I particularly like the final chapters of Prophet, it reminds me of so many things that I’ve tried to self-medicate through reading. Until I find another (am certain that I will), nothing yet comes close.

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