Extremes
A massive snowstorm came down on us during the weekend. At the end of Saturday night the four of us who were left alive and excitable after a night of wine, vocab, spirits and fruitcake went to Mont Royal and crazy-carpeted midst the audible winds of howling white ice needles. I lost myself and regained myself shortly. The snow still remains, yet now there are mountains of it piled up everywhere. Tonight my friend Juli called me from Katmandu, telling me about her life in Varanasi where she has been renting an apartment near the banks of the river. A hot city where bodies are carted day in and day out to be burned. I am trying to imagine that bedlam from this icy block where I move. I can see her neighborhood clearly, even though it's of my invention. Her voice was different, I could feel her surroundings in her tone and in her words. I heard my own words and they were bordered with walls: walls that I am concious of: walls conditioned by brick buildings and constant snowstorms. Words with walls but with doors.
Mind-signals, Juli.
Mind-signals, Juli.