This morning I saw a badminton match in the dim halls of the subway station. And I felt a hundred souls next to me on the train, dead silent and begging to be heard. I didn’t sleep last night and I won’t sleep again I think. When I sleep I don’t. I can’t wait for the next day and the next because they feel already here, like they’ve already gone by. And everything that happens is like a dream that I’m having while not sleeping. Today I see tomorrow and smile, and I see yesterday and laugh a little, not always completely satisfied but at least content. I stood outside a bar on this summer evening and watched cars go the wrong way on 13th St. and thought maybe it was an act of political resistance, while not needing warmth other than a beer and the night and a conversation. And when summer doesn’t keep me warm, so many other people and ideas and songs are there to fill the role. Being warm and awake no matter what. Revolution may not be in the air but I see it in the clouds and sooner later it’s going rain on us and I won’t be caught off guard. I’ll be wide-eyed awake. No longer dreaming. And warm enough to welcome others and feel welcomed, without wanting, without needing to control what ought not be controlled. And with wide awake open eyes reading, constantly, the following: “The necrophilous person {he who loves death} loves all that does not grow, all that is mechanical. The necrophilous person is driven by the desire to transform the organic into the inorganic, to approach life mechanically, as if all living persons were things….Memory, rather than experience; having rather than being, is what counts. The necrophilous person can relate to an object- a flower or a person- only if he possesses it; hence a threat to his possession is a threat to himself; if he loses possession he loses contact with the world…..He loves control, and in the act of controlling he kills life.”
Posted on: Thu, 27 Jun 2013 05:17:42 +0000
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