Experiential Volume As it happened it continued expanding into a vast gray balloon sort of shape to the point he thought he was a tiny bug walking up the hill of a beach ball without the charm of bold primary colors, only this increasing that turned the curve of existence more and more toward flat: like the earth, they say, though without the interesting mountains . . . only unvaried extension. Listening back there were parts for sure he liked better than the now where he was and had been for some time, waiting for a break in the emotional weather, grasping at the tiny seams of events to keep a firm foothold, though really there was nowhere to fall. And then the breakthrough brilliance of light rising beyond: out there, where no one had been. He imagined the interior of it all and could see with inexplicable clarity how slightly life had twisted by gradual degrees into this lesser and lesser thing: a detail somewhere unobserved by passing by contemplation. So many thought so. The hotel was only a portion of where he had landed; he could walk out in the morning easily across the foyer and facade and go on into the pure outdoors and the earnest green waves of the impossible cold would beckon and call as if there were voices in the water of women singing beautifully, an ethereal music of wonder and touch. Crisp white rocks, the sharp sand, the cast up detritus of the inner self meeting the flange of denial exactly where it would hurt the most, those gesticulations like weird tentacles of a kind of provisional hopeless love.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 14:57:47 +0000
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