I was tired of the usual things- wanting money, eating, having sex.
Paying my rent.
Washing my body.
Getting up in the morning to piss.
I had to do something different, before the monotony of plain old everyday existence turned me into a stalagmite.
Like Rodin's thinker- fossilized by a concept.
I was inspired by this woman I saw outside a department store in Paris.
She was incredible.
It was raining, but the warmth of the store's air curtains blasted out the doors, turning the area under
the awnings into a tropical paradise (with perfumes for rum drinks).
The woman was late 30's, with long, brown, straight hair.
Mousy hair. Tucked behind her ears, like a librarian, like a rape victim.
She looked damp all over, rained on, but unmoved by the experience.
Like carine roitfeld, editor of french vogue.
She looked cold, or rather, like she should be cold, but it just didn't register.
She was someplace else.
No longer plugged in.
She was gone.
She stood in the doorway, looking at the ground.
Nothing was happening there, nothing at all.
Not unless she could see sub-atomic particles, and micro organisms at work.
Otherwise, no.
And she looked so forlorn, like she'd lost everything in the world, with only the time she was
wasting standing there to get it back.
She looked like she was in shock, trying to weigh out some huge planet of news, into bite size pieces.
Manageable, digestable.
And maybe she was.
But the news was just too big.
Everyone on the street noticed her (doing nothing), especially small children.
But no-one stopped or stayed.
It occurs to me now maybe I should have comforted her, put my arm around her.
But I'm a Pisces, I always think that way.
I was inspired.
The next day, I felt energised.
I got up at 10am (early for me), and did push-ups til my arms turned to jelly.
I crunched my abs. I tasted sweat.
I ran up and down on the spot, and threw punches and kicks at my shadow on the wall- the shadow of my former self.
I ate breakfast, and scrubbed myself clean.
I wore: black boxers, black Levi engineered jeans, white sport socks with no logo, adidas gazelle's, a black t-shirt,
and the black sweater my Mother bought me for Christmas.
It's a nice sweater.
I walked to the corner, striding like a stock broker.
And I stopped without warning, my inner spasser guiding me to the place of emancipation.
I looked at the ground, and the people who had been more or less keeping pace with me glanced sideways to see what was up.
I could feel them turning to look for a hundred metres or more.
I was doing it for real.
I let my face fall, not like I was going to start crying, more like I'd just remembered something tragic...
something that happened to someone else.
Dark and impenetrable, like real jazz.
And secret, too.
And I stared at the same spot of nothing for half an hour, feeling waves of private elation consume me,
every time a new set of eyes slowed to look.
People were asking themselves questions, about the state of my mind.
I was the source of discussion, in a hundred offices at morning tea.
People visiting Paris from Cairo, Wyoming, and Nassau, all leaving again with memories of my special condition,
amongst the grandeur of Notre Dame, and Le Tour Eiffel.
Suspicious policemen, looking, but not wanting to approach.
I was a case for the Salvation Army, that was the common conception.
Too advanced for normal people.
Too sick for the gendarmerie.
They wanted to know, but were scared to ask...what could possibly be the matter?
As if my secret was a poison- once spoken, they would be infected, until the whole of Paris stood sentinel over little
pieces of ground; cars ground to a halt, no-one to buy your bread from.
As if the stone I stared at was an eye magnet, inpossible to look away.
Like the end of the world was a word, waiting to be uttered.
Paris was not ready for that word today.
People were shocked when I 'came back around', looking up, and simply walking away.
Walking back home, through the door, and out of sight.
I could feel their relief, allaying the confusion of this Lazarus-miracle.
Their sighs, after the initial heart-stopping surprise.
It was a big day for everyone.
I wonder, what then, for tomorrow?
No comments:
Post a Comment