Tides pull us into the bedhead, our locked eyes roll back, breamwards, the sheets coil and slacken and our breath folds round the rocks of our teeth. Ripples cross your face, fleet as night fish, love slips to fear slips to joy slips to a firm, stern desire almost like anger. I am the ocean and you hover above me, reading my currents in the flickering light. – Pablo Neruda, ‘I Explain a Few Things.’Įvery time the recorded announcement lady on this tram proudly states that we’re heading towards ‘Cockfosters’, I start uncontrollably giggling. The resulting Marmite shortage was known as ‘Marmageddon.’ Incredible.Īnd through the streets the blood of the children – Ocean Vuong, ‘My Father Writes from Prison.’ĭesire and terror are a hair’s breadth apart.Īfter the Christchurch earthquake, the Marmite factory was damaged. ‘Some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea / what this means is that I don’t know / desire other than the need / to be shattered and rebuilt’ The confusion of finding the whole self in another place – ‘Wherever you go, there you are.’ The present self on holiday feels fraudulent – the projected self of the future and the nostalgic self of the past seem the more correct inhabitants of the travelled world. The strange quality as a trip approaches, a sense that the self will fly away without you, like sleep. Steinbeck talking about people who want to travel mostly wanting to travel away from themselves. Sehnsucht, sehnen nach. Heart like a peach.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |