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Ja, Mehr: La Mer
- The University of Alabama Press
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ja, mehr: la mer [44.211.188.101] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 13:26 GMT) Quoting gets on my nerves. But we are sequestered in a world that is constantly quoting, in a constant quotation that is the world… Thomas Bernhard —Gargoyles …every piece you put in fits, and then when you finish it, you see that it’s not the picture. Then you do another version and it’s not the picture. Finally you realize you are not going to get a picture. Morton Feldman —Give My Regards to Eighth Street …perhaps it’s the sea that never leaves them alone, that’s always there making a noise… Marguerite Duras —Blue Eyes. Black Hair 61 I’ve arrived in the middle of something. My hands are numb. I can’t completely relax and enjoy chewing. I want it to be more than it is. And less pain in places I can’t quite locate. It keeps coming apart and I’m getting used to it. That’s a good sign. I’m not even sure when it started. We made catfish. It was better the second time. A big sore on his lower lip. It’s been a struggle to get things set up. They told me I’m supposed to have special gifts. A silk robe for my little dinosaur. But mainly it’s positive obsession and persistence . I hurt people’s feelings. It’s a way to scare people into thinking. The blonde waiter told us to take our hats off. It 62 happens in cathedrals, too. There are a lot of ways to look back, you know. To clarify things in the immediate vicinity. I no longer have a point of reference for remote objects. They’ve already gone missing. Maybe I should see a shrink. Learning to blame others and yourself and making that a form of control. Letting it all go isn’t an option. There isn’t a whole world. There’s only the idea of one. Something has changed the shape of the walls. Oh no. Another story about a man in a box for long periods of time. Something else is there. Sounds are taking the place of his body. But who put him in the box? Twigs. Paper. String. A bit of down. Who made him a landscape? Who drew those clumsy pictures on the outside? Maybe there’s more than one existence in the space and time a body occupies. I voted for no fault insurance . It feels like everybody trying to recapture the pages lost in an erratic mechanism. The songs blur together. He bought his gold dragon. I thought it was gross, but the color looks good on his skin. When he moves, the halogen spots that shine on the metal make little rays of light. They look as if they are shooting out of his solar plexus. Most are easier to recognize in flight. He needs to start thinking about his future . He staples white cardboard rectangles to the walls next to fuzzy panoramas from a hundred years ago. Foreign cities he can’t identify. But he’s familiar with the skin that covers every building. Every street. Pores full of grit and dirty water. Waiting for the last grain to fall through the neck of the hourglass. At night I’m the only one left alive. I compare the new ones to the original until I can’t tell which one is which. Red light bulbs in a circle behind transparent images. It’s a mistake for sure. I can’t swallow. The most recent chapters too valuable to give up. Walking out without paying the bill. 63 My heart pounding. Running through a casino. Someone guards a slot machine for a friend. A voice like a cartoon mouse. White-rumped. Such a hoot. Zoom. Boom. Zoom. Three bean sonata queen. Pink lemonade. In a hammock. Tied to a tree. Gently rocking. Eyes on the barbed wire that lines the fence. Back in ten minutes. Back and forth. My thoughts clipped off and overthrown. The fragile moments. Bent out of shape. Incompatible with my present state. Why don’t I say anything? I want your number. Yes. The little games with listening and numbers. Counting biscuits. But I can’t do it. I have no idea what to do next. This should be a good thing. I woke up bothered one morning. In the back of a house. In the backyard. The letters of...