Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Contrived Authenticity

As was the case with most intellectuals, he was completely ineffectual. He needed all sorts of wee tricks and gimmicks to get him steamed up, to help him make up his mind. But he got there eventually. He would become vaguely excited, animated, increasingly inane. But this new animation was liable to depart at any minute, leaving him deflated and debilitated by his own effeteness once again.

The music casts shadows and magic spells, evokes damply cool hidden areas of deep summer forests.
Tenuous scaffoldings of reality, of social consensus.
She looked over at someone shouting.
She looked at the clock on the wall.

Someone is climbing the stairs, very gradually.
A wound that refuses to heal. The persistence
of elemental conditions. Brilliant moonlight.
Maroon sneakers stepping on ice.
The sudden transparency of her motivations.
The sprawling webs of her desires.
Stroking a cadaverous face, gaze fixed towards a void.
Acid jazz, rainswept streets, urban twilight.

His naivety was partially feigned in a bid to avoid facing up to certain unwelcome facts he supposed he might otherwise find himself facing.

No comments:

Follow @dharma_ass