2004.
Yet there is one [image] which is distinct from all the others, in that I do not know it only from without by perceptions, but from within by affections: it is my body.
Henri Bergson
2 February 2005: Severance in slow motion. Blood. These are the times of day that smell like leaving. This is covert personal violence. On 28 November 1987 my ribs shattered. Hanging within me. In Europe it is 6.01 am, swoop down, 11 seconds til impact. I have all the time in the world. My fingers push the seconds past, counting the space between muscles.
Monday7/6. 1:26. 40 seconds. My cells are warm. The most attractive thing is that I cannot see the end point.
Monday 18:16pm. But time passed quickly and without being noticed. Nasty tasty little bits. 18:20 A fascinating way to spend time. 3pm (?) Have this capacity to live in these extremes.
Thurs 3:00??: A teacher who taught ballet in joggers. Hope and prayer. 22:10 ‘A second is a very rough unit indeed with which to work’ Christopher Wilkins.
Friday 7:42pm. Time is standing still, the bastard!
Monday 14th June. 13:26pm: We all search for timelessness. ‘Even drunks in their crude, inadequate way, are searching for the timeless time. Alcoholism is an imperfect spiritual longing’ 2:52pm. There was something about the curves of the things you were filling. The emotional content hitting the physical resistance and power. Glistening arms.
Thursday 16th. 3.35pm. The thought of moving before it happens. The promise of vulnerability. Mapping time as opposed to action. 4:10pm. My expectation of memory was too great. This is a recurring problem. 4;13pm (on another day)/ There must be some residue of violence in my cells. Traumatic to think that they have been disturbed - is there any cell that remains entirely in tact? Where are you little idea of me?
Monday 21st June 8:24am. We have a strange attraction to the morbid acts we commit. 10:00pm. ‘The more static his functions became, the more he seems to expand, as if he had entered a state where there was progress without duration, advance without movement’ Jitterbug Perfume – Tom Robbins p 182.
Tuesday 22nd June 2004: 9:28am: ‘…grotesquely hooded by their own skins….the skins slip along the floor…what deaths to occasion your comforts?’ The Bone People p 35.
Saturday 17th July 2004 8:09am. I am wounded by this dance. Hold on tightly, let go lightly. I want to propel it. Persistant tissues.
I crave to stop bearing all the wounds of this time on my own narrow body.