Thursday, January 15, 2009

Murmur

I am not used to this sensation and it is oddly potent...I am even asking myself like my doctor about the symptoms:

What does it come from?

How many days is it going to last?

Can it be cured?

Do they make medication for that?

When will I want to eat chocolate again?

Why do I want to take a bath every 15 minutes?

Would it have always been so cold in Montreal?

Is it that I always loved you, or that I needed my idol?

Was I not yours?

But for the last question, I never ask it...one shouldn't think it, because if it were reduced to a question of idolism, that would mean that it's ideas that break hearts and not human beings. Then are ideas what we love in the first place and not people? I don't want to be in love with an idea now, because in all my life before ideas were all I had and I needed something a little more corporeal. Before ideas were enough and now? I'm so tired of ideas - I can't take it anymore.

Ideas can't kiss you, nip the tip of your nose, make you bad pasta with the air of an expert chef. Ideas have no beating heart, but this boy, I'm not so convinced that he had one either.

Ca fait tellement mal. It hurts so much. Insupportably. Omnipresently. It says "good morning" and then "good night." The face of this hurt is rather handsome, and I times I take a chance to glimpse at it. Maybe one day I will try to catch the hurt in the handsome face with a special camera and I will send you a picture. I'm going to dedicate my life to study this slippery hurt, to trap it in a cage where it can't hurt others, to try to understand it. But at least I know, it can never hurt me now more than it did before.

1 comment:

Rachel Tamed said...

I watched this amazing amine type movie with a friend of mine last night. It is called Waking Life, and is based on Philip Dick's writing.

There is this amazing scene where one of the characters is talking about love, and the meaning we attach to words, when maybe they are not supposed to mean anything. How much power we give language, when really it was just something we created out of necessity.

"When I say "love, the sound comes out of my mouth...and it hits the other person's ear, travels through this Byzantine conduit in their brain, you know, through their memories of love or lack of love, and they register what I'm saying and say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert. They're just symbols. They're dead, you know?"

I cannot say I fully agree, but I felt like there was valuable insight. I guess the point is, we never really know what anyone else is thinking. Especially once they are out of our lives.

Take a lot of baths, buy expensive amazing smelling bubble bath, and drink champagne, and give yourself at least 15 minute breaks from the hurt.