ecappaccino's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 323 - shadow puppets I watched the sunset in the car, and the city lights on the way back. I smell like a mixture of her, her car, the mist of the strange house, and pine cones; someone who has been a within arm's reach of other people. I like the residue of company on my jacket. And the taste of coffee in my mouth this morning - all milk and bitterness. Or [your] her chocolate cake carved carefully from back and tip. We made tracks in the cream, and I tried to say everything, but everything seems absurd if put together with the right questions, the right angles (or relatively, the wrong questions and the wrong angles) - and how to explain the absurd - relative - perfectly sober and in broad daylight, to a skeptic? My mother said once to do university Physics, it was like being able to explain why cats could scientifically fly. I hacked away at the surface of the cream. I feel like I've strayed so far, into another country that had infected my blood while I was traveling through it, looking for the way back. Life doesn't work like that, I'd said. Someone had poured a part of themselves into me while we weren't looking, and so I began to be weary. Tonight they - the monsters at the horror house and forest - clutched at my right leg in the dark, and I looked down expecting to see a symbol - red ribbon tied to my shoe, some strange chemical glowing - but there was nothing but dark denim. We trudged on, the boys who said nothing, the two girls, one who trailed the other closely, while I took in first the bloodied walls, shrinking against the noise, and then the white gravel and open space. My brother wakes up from a nightmare and regurgitates his food. I fill a bowl with water and soak a towel. He is sitting with my mother's blouse around him, that strange squeal in his throat characteristic of vomiting infants. I wonder if he has dreamed of the creatures I had seen, and whether he knew they were only people (actors) who stayed awake for a long time at night, in the dark. I too stay awake for a long time, sometimes in the dark [of my room]. He does not know this. In the afternoon, I had printed poems and stuck them onto my wall so that kneeling, I could read them when I couldn't sleep, and could be bothered to turn on the light - this, I should add, is almost never. I sleep late so I do not wake. "We should go stargazing," Christiana said to her sister. "Let's go together, to Bastion Point." I pressed myself to the body of the car, suddenly afraid of the dark space in front of me, unobscured by the fortress of someone else's arms. Yes, maybe fear is "something we learn over time; inevitable." 1:22 am - 01-08-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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