Saudade, something like it.
April 26, 2012 § 1 Comment
I feel homesick but not for any particular home. In fact, it’s closer to a feeling of homesickness for the feeling of homesickness.
All I want is something to look forward to. I think that would do the trick. But the future is like the desert in Utah. You reach one ridge, thinking you’ve reached the edge of something, only to find another ridge. Eventually you realize there are no edges and there are no somethings. There is only an endless range of ridges. How do you come to love these?
It isn’t that you tire, exactly, of the smell of juniper. It’s just that at some point you’d like a glass of gin.
Sometimes my mother asks me what happened, because I used to be so happy and go lucky. What happened was that when I came upon the outside wall of the world, instead of climbing it or trying to go around or calling up to see if someone might come to a window, I pounded my fists upon it and cried until the wall fell on top of me and it was very heavy and in many pieces and I was very small. I have been stuck under this debris, listening to the footsteps of others as they cross over, ever since, it seems. The worst part is the wall came down before I could see what was on the other side.
There ought to be moments at least. One would like to believe at least in moments. Today Samuel Barber came on the radio and it snowed outside for exactly the same length of time as Adagio for Strings. I recognized the beauty of this bit of kismet. But how do you enjoy something while you count down the measures? Maybe I have been alone too long, because I can think of nothing but paradoxes, which are sort of prima facie sad.