(no subject)
unknowables
My laptop, each time it starts up, whirs - it reminds me of the espresso machine. The fan in my laptop cools it down and it whirs just like the espresso machine and the noise of the steam moving through the pipes at a high pressure. i have heard these things before. i press the button and the sound comes. something inside i cannot see yet somehow it reaches me. it is sombre the way all machines are. at night before i go upstairs i drag the static electricity from the television screen with my fingertips. It is a brief purple flash before it rests. i understand how it reaches me without impediment yet it is more so when it is darkest and i cannot see my hands.
a formation of birds dart out of sight behind the awnings of a nearby house. seconds later they reappear, slanted, the plumage of their breasts pressing against the wind and the wind ruffling the feathers of their outspread wings. this i have seen before, each soft circuity of flight is a template of the movement - the curve gets stronger each time i see it, it becomes into me, they fall into the wind and make the wind move them. it reminds me of how the seagulls sat on the waves of the sea, and rose and fell according to the swell of the waves. i was on the beach and looking out at them and could feel the waves lifting and falling. yet i could feel the sand between my toes too.
the milkmen leave their bottles outside my door in the morning. it wakes me up, the clink of the bottles as they place them outside my door. i can see them leaning over, their satchel of money hanging vertical and then flapping against their thighs as they stand back up. I have my eyes closed but i can still see it. Later i will scoop the cream from under the silver top with a spoon and mix it into my coffee. there is distinct likeness to this when someone carries out a menial job in another room. my brother on his knees scrubbing and his breathing in between the scrubs. i can see him wiping his brow with his wrist. he uses his wrist because his hands are chalked in a heavy dirt.
in africa the babies are strapped to their mother's backs and they hear their mothers grind seeds with a blunt club. They grind them down to flour in a bowl. There is repitition as they beat down and turn the blunt end of the club over the seeds. this is some dignity of the expected. i wait for the tube to arrive and glimpse at the blank eyes of the commuters who are grouped just behind the yellow line near the edge of the platform. i choose to look and i am not suprised yet i am refreshed. I hear the movement of the train over the rails and watch the blank, expectant faces.
in a hospital in switzerland cretins fasten the buttons of their cuffs in the morning. i can see them sitting on their green wraught iron beds and struggling to fit the buttons through the worn slits in the cuffs of their shirts. the nurse comes and helps them.
I saw on tv a field of oilwells in texas that seemed to nod like the head of a tired watchman. It reminded me of the gulag archipelago. The mists moving along the tundra and the head of the watchman resting on his chest then jerking up again. And on the news they say a boy in my area killed himself on the fumes of his car. The gasoline fumes choked him. i can see his head nod and come to rest on his chest.
Each time i fall asleep an immense void is created behind my eyes. I lapse in and out of it. Somehow this gets me to sleep. I expect it and it comes without my volition. This is still a mystery. I know the other things without having ever known them. Yet every night or day of the moment there is mystery at the centre of me. I expect it and it is there, and i shall never know it as i have known the others.
My laptop, each time it starts up, whirs - it reminds me of the espresso machine. The fan in my laptop cools it down and it whirs just like the espresso machine and the noise of the steam moving through the pipes at a high pressure. i have heard these things before. i press the button and the sound comes. something inside i cannot see yet somehow it reaches me. it is sombre the way all machines are. at night before i go upstairs i drag the static electricity from the television screen with my fingertips. It is a brief purple flash before it rests. i understand how it reaches me without impediment yet it is more so when it is darkest and i cannot see my hands.
a formation of birds dart out of sight behind the awnings of a nearby house. seconds later they reappear, slanted, the plumage of their breasts pressing against the wind and the wind ruffling the feathers of their outspread wings. this i have seen before, each soft circuity of flight is a template of the movement - the curve gets stronger each time i see it, it becomes into me, they fall into the wind and make the wind move them. it reminds me of how the seagulls sat on the waves of the sea, and rose and fell according to the swell of the waves. i was on the beach and looking out at them and could feel the waves lifting and falling. yet i could feel the sand between my toes too.
the milkmen leave their bottles outside my door in the morning. it wakes me up, the clink of the bottles as they place them outside my door. i can see them leaning over, their satchel of money hanging vertical and then flapping against their thighs as they stand back up. I have my eyes closed but i can still see it. Later i will scoop the cream from under the silver top with a spoon and mix it into my coffee. there is distinct likeness to this when someone carries out a menial job in another room. my brother on his knees scrubbing and his breathing in between the scrubs. i can see him wiping his brow with his wrist. he uses his wrist because his hands are chalked in a heavy dirt.
in africa the babies are strapped to their mother's backs and they hear their mothers grind seeds with a blunt club. They grind them down to flour in a bowl. There is repitition as they beat down and turn the blunt end of the club over the seeds. this is some dignity of the expected. i wait for the tube to arrive and glimpse at the blank eyes of the commuters who are grouped just behind the yellow line near the edge of the platform. i choose to look and i am not suprised yet i am refreshed. I hear the movement of the train over the rails and watch the blank, expectant faces.
in a hospital in switzerland cretins fasten the buttons of their cuffs in the morning. i can see them sitting on their green wraught iron beds and struggling to fit the buttons through the worn slits in the cuffs of their shirts. the nurse comes and helps them.
I saw on tv a field of oilwells in texas that seemed to nod like the head of a tired watchman. It reminded me of the gulag archipelago. The mists moving along the tundra and the head of the watchman resting on his chest then jerking up again. And on the news they say a boy in my area killed himself on the fumes of his car. The gasoline fumes choked him. i can see his head nod and come to rest on his chest.
Each time i fall asleep an immense void is created behind my eyes. I lapse in and out of it. Somehow this gets me to sleep. I expect it and it comes without my volition. This is still a mystery. I know the other things without having ever known them. Yet every night or day of the moment there is mystery at the centre of me. I expect it and it is there, and i shall never know it as i have known the others.