free to return to heaven. faust relates.
Date: Jul 22nd, 2005 9:34:12 pm - Subscribe
Mood: disillusioned
vital: Piccola Orchestra Avion Travel
I collapsed. Why did they want to kill me? Looking out the window, whenever the mysterious men would pass, evil would flush over me. I crawled, wishing I absorbed like wax into the hard pin floor, headed for the back rooms of my grandmother's house. I saw a neon hat move in the closet--perhaps it was only my own movement startling me, but I hastily opened the slatted doors. No man stood there, but the house began to feel evil like the blurry figures outside, and the coats could very well strangle me. I needed to do something--I was losing my mind. I had to protect us. I pulled out long knives from the pit of the closet, grabbing them by their shearing blades. I did not notice pain. I crawled outside. I remember the men... and then police cars... and the terrible ache of why did they have to come too late?
(It seems fated that I should write this: my mood entry was automatically set on disillusioned.)
Then, I broke away, tore away struggling, shredding the finale of my dream like dry, fragile crepe paper. I did not tear a money--no use in taping it together.
I am awake. It is 9:54pm. I crashed around 3pm. Last night I stole only 3 hours of sleep, when I was disturbed by two phone calls at 5am. With my eyes shut I checked my email. Has my computer screen become my morning sun? For, 30 minutes later, I was head ached and awake, browsing, perusing, allowing myself to be pulled into this grand, disasterous vortex called internet. I am glad, though, for what turned out of that arrest of this morning: I found Aeonity and now I may blog!
I wonder if after the world is nearly completely demolished by damned nuclear weapons whether a young boy will stumble upon a Mac, looking desperate and beaten and half-covered in moss and beading sweat and mud, and a fog dream of nuclear dust, whether he will reach out his pale hand and disturb the very last Mac's grave. Will a blog site pop up on the little 12 inch screen? My initial question was, will the world tomorrow know us of today by our blogs? "Ah, yes, papa, see? I told you Americee once existed! 'Tis not a myth papa!"
Blogging: It is providing a method for historical record that is accessable and appealing to the population. By our blogging, our decendents will be able to attain the details, which are the beauty, for their historical novels, as well as some form factual evidence for their scientific, social, psychological, and historical research, ETC.
I am pleased with the concept of blogging, now.
I mentioned in my subject heading that I'm free to return to heaven (I hope you know who Faust is--Goethe is a fascinating love of mine). In an extended vague conveyance void of explanation, I shall embark upon that subject: my mother begged me to come back to hell for the summer, but finally I get to return to heaven, hundreds of miles from here. My soul mate is in heaven waiting for me. I can hardly wait to see him. Heaven/hell long distance relationships can be excruciating at times. After August 13, I will have a way.
I am deprived of my love. He is the most beautiful creature the world has known. I long to give him reason for joy. I know that is his longing for me and--one perpetual sigh--that desire will come into full measure when we are married.
I must stop writing, now, or I shall never stop. I have plenty of competitions to be writing for. I have one unfinished short story I've been frozen over since 3 months ago when my love showed such a passionate interest in reading its ending and gave such good predictions concerning it. I need to focus.
Adieu lovely momentary dream. I shall return, perhaps as soon later tonight, or early this morning.
"What is destructable
Is but a parable;
What fails ineluctably,
The undeclarable,
Here it was seen,
Here it was action;
The Eternal-Feminine
Lures to perfection."
-Goethe in Faust
trans. Walter Kaufmann
Comments: (1)
 |
david - July 23rd, 2005 |
