is like therapy in reverse: the process of increasingly repressing everything that doesn’t fit into the schematization that you’ve formulated for your life. Repression is the key to success. it is also the thing that makes one most likely to gnaw on glass.
Tonight, despite endless recalibration, I cannot get perspective. I cannot tell what is what. I cannot see up from down. I do not know trees versus forest. I am lost, for a while.
These periods happen in life, and for a few hours you have to cope.
When I was younger, they used to terrify me to the point of lunacy. Now that I’m older, these brief periods of indeterminate resolution don’t quite terrify me so much, but in place of the fear (which isn’t entirely gone) now resides a great deal of impatience, annoyance, and weariness.
Tonight I feel 10,000 years old, at least.
On a humid summer Sunday afternoon
I trace the damp rim of a wine glass,
watching the lead paint on an old windowsill
in a moment of sudden clarity:
consciousness of the motion of my heart—
of an interruption—half a beat—
before the resumption of an apparently endless count
of the moments in my life.
Soul shaken by the unobservable shudder
in the tiny interval of death that ensues,
my hand falls, unsupported
through the rim of the glass.
The shards reach every corner of the room,
carried to their logical conclusions by fate
or unforgiving destiny.