Wounded awareness

Lostness  (12)

 

At my school any pretext sufficed for bullying. Yet perhaps this was more a sign of animal health than my own isolation from the pack.

 

Tasteful eclecticism as a method of avoiding totalities.

 

If the unknown is more exciting than the known, one could find searches for new information tinged by anticipation of inevitable disenchantment.
But do we really know any part of the universe?
In that case we could face disenchantment at the impossibility of knowledge.

 

Novels can spoil us for real people.

 

So much time spent sleeping: what we might give for some of it at life’s end. Though, if we try to live without sleep, that end will probably come a lot sooner.

 

Intellect may be sabotaged from within.                                                (31/12/1978)


 

My going to parties: as evidence for the incorrigibility of optimism.     (1/1/1979)

 

Sunlight on evening grass. Little pats of warmth touched him, like faint invitations to desire. Being alone felt somehow wrong.
He stood waiting, as life slipped past. Wounded awareness. A sliver of the infinite. Wanting to give love, while there was still time.
Yet he knew, watching the sun lower behind trees, that this would be another night of going home to silence. And a last stare, in the bathroom mirror, at his characterless face: which sealed him off from those girls he longed to know, trapping the bird of soul in clumsy flesh.

 

 

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