thoughts (fragments)

untitled by helen korpak


who is this man who isn't this man without you.


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it's sunny and we sit and i don't want to leave so i order another coffee and people walk to and fro. and the people besides me, friends as of 4 hours ago (who will disappear again in 20 more), talk about music and television. my feet are bruised beyond recognition so i'm thankful to be sitting. (other things are bruised too, so i'm thankful to be partially distracted by the discursive conversation).


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the music i am listening to you gave to me. my toothbrush too. look at her, her dress, we spoke about that colour once remember? and here, this store, you'd like this one, but not the other. [ad nauseum].


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this man is too old. when we are not in love we are always too old. when we are most recently out of love we are oldest.
___it's the active disengagement that does it. the conscious need to be distant from caring for another person and lust and hopes and dreams that once were shared and now must be redefined. all this is unnatural. inhuman. and so we grow old while we do it. later, when we've polished the memory of it all into a beautiful, distant dream that was perfect beyond recognition we return again, with the full force of youth and wanting and desire and so we are young without restraint.

(she always said to me: remember, promise me you'll remember: you are young. you are soo young).


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and for the third time this decade i found myself wandering around europe, broken-hearted and lost and loster and getting no closer to being anything but. ___watching films in strange cinemas to pass the time and walking till i lost count of bricks.

i asked matisse for help, and he had some things to say.

he said: when it's real the brush-strokes are soo perfectly placed. the colours so much more alive. but you must see it for real, in the flesh. you must stand face to face with me and then you understand. (and i nodded)


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one day i will pay for who i was, who i am. what i decided.

i wonder if i can afford it.

no one thinks they're a bad person. i wonder if i actually am.


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i come out of the shower and think f&ck it and play an old song that used to make me dance. i play it louder than i should and i play it thus defiantly. then lost for a moment, dizzy from the effects of my pills taking effect i shake from the hips and then from the shoulders and i dance. drop my towel and in my underwear dance like i did 8 years ago when i first heard it.

and for a few moments... maybe my body overtook my mind in youth. (rather than the reverse).


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my next-room-neighbour is inclined to show me around town. i don't have the spirit to keep up conversation, but i go because it's useful to learn what i can. also it's important to keep active. (activity is life. activity is life. activity is life). and we walk around. and he points out supermarkets. the better electronic shop. the better 'lunch places'. ( he calls the cafes the 'lunch places').

i'm between doses so by the end of our walk i'm a little dizzy and i hear her voice behind every sunstreak and i want to talk to her and i promised her i wouldn't and so i ask my tour guide more questions as enthusiastically as i can: what's that building? what's one? what's this thing about? where do you park your bike? oh really. that's interesting.


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at the supermarket. i have my cereal, some yogurt. a frozen pizza. about all i need. i take a can of dr pepper just because i deserve a treat. i see the alcohol and i stand in front of it. take about 8 minutes to stare at a bottle of rum and think whether it's a good idea. i can't decide. so i walk away. i'm committed to doing this thing the right way, for once. for once being graceful in my sadness. the way sick people want to show their loved ones how hard they're trying, how hard they're fighting to get well. and how students with poor grades want to show their teachers and parents how hard they're trying to do better. look, friends, loved ones, look how much better i am this time than the last! look at how functional i am! look at how centred and active and nice i am being!

i really am trying.

but for two years i knew happiness in your shadow. with your shadow as my blanket. for two years every memory i have is a tangent to you. such beautiful memories, the most wonderful years i've ever had.

i am, really trying.


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i didn't know what sort of clothes i'd need here. so i've brought a little bit of everything. very formal. less formal, but still in the shirt/khaki range. some gym clothes. some sleep clothes. and a few more casual things. in sum: i don't have enough clothes for any sort of 'look'. it seems i'm endlessly rummaging through my bag trying to make an outfit work and none of them do. i can't understand why, they should work. but they don't.

where's ash when you need a stylist / shopping buddy. since the hipsters have totally appropriated my look, i've been trying to re-assert myself. it's been difficult. i've spent countless hours in paris trying to work out how they did what they did. in conclusion: i'm still not sure.

(if you know of any decent style blogs let me know. don't send anything i'd already know about - but if you have some gems stashed away for a fashion-crises, now's the time to bring it forth m'friends).


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a sunday smile by beirut is still the perfect song i think at mixing the happiness of life with the sadness. the little miss sunshine soundtrack (and film) manages to perfect it for a whole soundtrack (film) but... if you only have 3 minutes to spare... then this is the song.

one day i'll ask god why even in my happiest moments, my most triumphant moments i still had such a reserve of residual sadness that i could never surmount.

but there you go. i have a stock answer for when my mom asks me how i'm doing: good days and bad days mama. she seems to understand that.

it's nice to feel understood. a sunday smile understands me perfectly.


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i got an email today from the Court of Appeal. do you know how cool it is to receive emails from the Court of Appeal (or its President directly in your gmail?).

anyway. i better find me a wednesday smile and a scanner so i can get this thing signed.