storytime again. Update: all right, all right, I have chopped this part down from its orig. intimidating length. Think I would have learned by now... 
THE BARDO Part 1
I had a drink with Maude Gonne the other night. I had so many things to ask her, and so little time, it seemed. It's strange chatting with dead people, they're so ephemeral--every second feels like sifting drops of fickle water disintegrating through your fingers. She was quite a beauty in her own way--I could instantly see why Yeats had fallen so hard for her. There was such strength in her, in the way she sat, in the way she sipped her Guinness (of course). And a poise and a vulnerability and a fragility, but yet--a knowing, something much more than this world rested beneath her eyes. It was as though this moment and every one that was to come, and had come before it, made perfect and utterly ridiculous sense, just as long as you were framed in her gaze...I was absorbed by it, and could hardly think of anything to say to her. My toungue was beginning to feel like sandpaper, the roof of my mouth like the top a dry cave full of brittle stalactites, my teeth and gums numb as though from a poisonous novacaine--and the alcohol was only making it much worse. I lifted my glass, looked into her eyes once more, and sighed.
"I know just what you're thinking," she finally said to me. A tiny touch of a smile broke over her lips. "Stop being so melodramatic."
I was a little shaken by this. "So just what *am* I thinking, Maude?" I finally managed to ask her.
"You see that guy over there...in the corner?" she pointed a finger over towards a dingy nook in the bar. I could barely make out a disheveled shape of a man, wearing a dark suit and wire-frame spectacles, a twee little mustache gracing his upper lip. "Do you know who that is?"
"Nope."
"That's William," she answered. She took a long sip of her Guinness. When she pulled the glass away, her lips were glistening in the faint light.
"William?"
"Yeats," she said matter-of-factly. "He still follows me everywhere."
to be continued...
THE BARDO Part 1
I had a drink with Maude Gonne the other night. I had so many things to ask her, and so little time, it seemed. It's strange chatting with dead people, they're so ephemeral--every second feels like sifting drops of fickle water disintegrating through your fingers. She was quite a beauty in her own way--I could instantly see why Yeats had fallen so hard for her. There was such strength in her, in the way she sat, in the way she sipped her Guinness (of course). And a poise and a vulnerability and a fragility, but yet--a knowing, something much more than this world rested beneath her eyes. It was as though this moment and every one that was to come, and had come before it, made perfect and utterly ridiculous sense, just as long as you were framed in her gaze...I was absorbed by it, and could hardly think of anything to say to her. My toungue was beginning to feel like sandpaper, the roof of my mouth like the top a dry cave full of brittle stalactites, my teeth and gums numb as though from a poisonous novacaine--and the alcohol was only making it much worse. I lifted my glass, looked into her eyes once more, and sighed.
"I know just what you're thinking," she finally said to me. A tiny touch of a smile broke over her lips. "Stop being so melodramatic."
I was a little shaken by this. "So just what *am* I thinking, Maude?" I finally managed to ask her.
"You see that guy over there...in the corner?" she pointed a finger over towards a dingy nook in the bar. I could barely make out a disheveled shape of a man, wearing a dark suit and wire-frame spectacles, a twee little mustache gracing his upper lip. "Do you know who that is?"
"Nope."
"That's William," she answered. She took a long sip of her Guinness. When she pulled the glass away, her lips were glistening in the faint light.
"William?"
"Yeats," she said matter-of-factly. "He still follows me everywhere."
to be continued...
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
hey mr. skruffy
i have returned
im the "faked" guy
later