I felt something lacking on the bus today. Something which was there before but gone. I was reading Bird Without Wings and had a somewhat out of proportion response to the passages on the Anzacs.
“The Franks had another game which consisted of kicking a large ball around on the beach. They did this stark naked, and every now and then they would jump up and down and cheer for no reason, and if a shell fell among them, they would just clear away the dead and wounded, and carry on playing the game.”
I felt a nauseating pang; the construct of all my reverse-abandonment complexes and the realisation of a lost identity. To cling to the present is stupid and impossible, but being reminded of this alien who existed a decade ago evoked a longing and remorse that I’m not familiar with. Perhaps it’s a product of age, decades used to be such an exterior concept.
I need something solid, something to hold on to. I tend to hate whatever I write but dumping my brain to secondary storage helps me get my thoughts in order. Hopefully this public display of housekeeping won’t result in a public display of a gradual Spears-style descent into mental illness.
H is a 25 y/o New Zealand born ex-pat, pursuing a PhD in Artificial Intelligence at Imperial College in London
1 Comment
June 23, 2009 at 5:03 am
Hi Huguenot
This is gonna sound random, but I was lead to your page, and in particular this post called Te Toka Tu Moana. If you have already found something solid to hold on to, then ignore this message. If not, you and I have things to discuss.
Take care
T