rockpaperscissor

:a letter I wrote to a dlady friend named Quest tonight:

"is contendedness a bad thing.....am i even......well anyway what more can we expect?."
***excerpts from "portrait of a lady" TS Eliot, 1917

II
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
'Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
What life is, you hold it in your hands';
(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
'You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see.'
I smile, of courde,
And go on drinking tea.
...............
Well and what if she should die some afternoon,
Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
With the smoke coming down upon the housetops;
Dountful for a while
Not knowing what to feel and if I understand
Or wheather wise or foolish, late or too soon . . .
Would she not have the advantage, after all?
This music is successful with a 'dying fall'
Now that we talk of dying--
And should I have the right to smile?

end



I don't know why I chose this, something just felt right about it, about what you had said. In whole its a great piece of writing and seeing as you work in a book store you should read its entirety if you get the chance. I'm a bit sick and very tired so I may seem a little out of sorts but I can feel something growing in my bones, burning threw the soles of my feet. I'm going somewhere, it may take a few years it may be in a month, and when I get there I want those who I know have to be there, to be there. From people I have merely met in passing on the streets, to giggly girls in insomnatic night retreats, friends I have watch grow old and marry, women who have become but memories; they will all be there but only if they know to be. (I wonder if you think me to be insane) The place does not exist but only in my mind, but soon my mind will create the place, none need to cross any distance. I must leave this place were I have grown numb; leave it to never reside again. The process of closing a dorr to find another open again.

:: I apologize for the crypticness::