(no subject)
I think I am used to everything, then remember tragedy. At what age did I become sad? Since we gained consciousness of things to the present acquaintances have accused me of being Always Happy. I am very happy! I am one of the happiest people I know, because my mother is happy and I was made from her mold. Yet she's sad, I'm sad, and I'm becoming sad as she is--easily, at the benignest cancers of the most removed cousins, or any kid weeping over any book. It's a great reserve of sadness, you know, sadness about the real whole tragedy of life that lets us tear up at school plays. Oh man. In Florence I met a boy (a Nice Anarchist Guitarist who gives good massages and believes in souls, just like everybody who says Chao to me anywhere in the world) who surprised me once only in the long process of recognition which was our day together, saying he doesn't feel much anymore.
I didn't either, I said, because I knew what he meant. The shock of living has diminished. Christine said everyone says the first heartbreak is the worst by far. Your heart breaks and you beat more in rhythm, then? With everyone else? If the ache of all is more accesible... I look forward to the continued dispersement of this reflective surface which surrounds me, this egotism which makes Others, so immediately by me, so obscure. Though I sometimes miss my Juliet days.
I didn't either, I said, because I knew what he meant. The shock of living has diminished. Christine said everyone says the first heartbreak is the worst by far. Your heart breaks and you beat more in rhythm, then? With everyone else? If the ache of all is more accesible... I look forward to the continued dispersement of this reflective surface which surrounds me, this egotism which makes Others, so immediately by me, so obscure. Though I sometimes miss my Juliet days.