Oct 17, 2003

The wrong thing.

I'm not set for sleeping. My eyes are red and itchy. I'm in a funk. I started watching Monster's Ball, because it was on. But it's just loss and devastation in an ugly world with dirt-lined roads and unpaid bills. It made me feel very alone. I even wondered if, when I die, Halle Berry will cry for me. Well, you know what I mean.

I don't like thinking about the end of things. I don't like thinking about death or dying. But I am morose and romantic, so I think about those things all the time. It's how I remind myself of beauty. To think about how ugly things can be. Remembering the worst of things to soften the light on the best of things. To make them glow.

But can't you have a good day in the absence of contrast? Can't it be perfect without having to be stacked up against something horrible? I would like to go for a walk right now. A long, nighttime walk. Where no one sees you, but you see everything. Especially the things you can't see when the sun is out. I wish I was in the middle of a city I don't know. I would walk and walk and read the signs and wonder if all the lights are off in those buildings because everyone is sleeping or because no one is there at all. And I would think about the things that are fun to eat late at night with friends when you're a little drunk or a little off. And I would walk and walk and wait for dawn. Something I am nearly never out to see happening. I see so many sunsets but so few sunrises. But I wonder why it makes so much difference. One feels like the end. One feels like the beginning. But they are both neither, and they are both both. Because it all keeps happening in a circle. And that is even more confusing and disconcerting than thinking that something has ended. Something you can never have back. I'm living my life in circles, too. And I don't know if it's such a big deal to find that you're not going anywhere, as long as your center is something worth circling around. But my center is a mystery to me. Something hiding in a mask with the lights off. I only guess at what it is, and I am always, always wrong.

Whatever I'm looking at, my eyes are burning. And as much as I want to close them, I know I won't.

I left the room for a moment, and I managed to miss the big, famous sex scene. I feel either cheated or lucky. I think those two things feel just about the same.

posted by Mary Forrest at 2:33 AM | Back to Monoblog


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