; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Sunday, 5 June 2011

why are you here, garraty?

c/o bernard fallon

   "I don't know." His voice was mechanical, doll-like. Freaky D'Allesio hadn't been able to see the ball coming—his eyes weren't right, his depth perception was screwed—it had hit him in the forehead, and branded him with stitches. And later (or earlier... all of his past was mixed up and fluid now) he had hit his best friend in the mouth with the barrel of an air rifle. Maybe he had a scar like McVries. Jimmy. He and Jimmy had been playing doctor.
   "You don't know," McVries said. "You're dying and you don't know why."
   "It's not important after you're dead."
   "Yeah, maybe," McVries said, "but there's one thing you ought to know, Ray, so it won't all be so pointless."
   "What's that?"
   "Why, that you've been had. You mean you really didn't know that, Ray? You really didn't?"

my perception has shifted immeasurably since the age of five. this may seem like a given to most people, but after some time and effort and observation you realise that a lot of people still act like they're five. they think they behave older than five, but you see, all five-year-olds think they behave older than five. and it's a blessing to be able to retreat far enough into yourself from loneliness to begin to realise this.

i walk through the market at ten in the morning, fresh of the bus and my canvas shoes opening blisters. there is a duck for sale, a couple of chickens. i briefly consider taking on the life of a chicken or a duck, then quickly dismiss the idea. their lives are too hasty, and i couldn't live with that. even with all the pain of humanity that is self inflicted, with the guns i hold to my head every night and the fingers i stick down my throat and the battles that rage for years in my head..

i think i'd pick that over being a chicken or a duck.

and at this point i contradict myself again. i am five again.

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