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epitome of incomprehensibility
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I saw my ex at a conference in England. Literature and philosophy crossed paths on a polished floor outside of an auditorium. Philosophy spotted me, said a guarded but friendly hello.
I explained, my dream_mind cognizant of at least one of my current_worries, "I was afraid you hadn't written for a while because my playful tone sounded too flirtatious. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I wanted to write you again, but I was afraid if I did that too close to Valentine's_Day, you'd get the wrong idea. I've had dreams where I've missed you terribly. I had a tough one the night after I wrote that email where I 'insisted' you should have a good weekend, which seemed too playful somehow. So I'll try to keep my writing to you a little more neutral for the sake of my emotions and maybe yours, but I don't think we should be enemies."
In dreams, they let you monologue sometimes.
He nodded without saying much. He said I could help him clear up his apartment.
Shelved toys were going to his nephews, two small boys; he put these in a box. I forget what I did.
Four boxes of DVD sets, he said. were "horror and comedy compilations I had when I was a teenager." He didn't know why the two were put together, maybe because they were both genres that teens liked. "Pick one to keep," he said.
I wanted to pick the one that had the movie Hiroshima, Mon Amour, because I'd heard the title and was curious about it, but then I didn't want him to think I was morbidly obsessed with World War 2, so I picked something about...my waking mind won't tell me what. It gives me the options "Gilbert and Sullivan, Monty Python, and Frankenstein" - all rather different.
Choose your own comedy, choose your own horror. Now the DVDs changed to be about World War 2 because I'd thought about it. Not totally, but there were segments with bite-sized history snippets. Edutainment. The London Blitz is about horrible histories, you tube, you watch the darkness in the subway tunnel, but it doesn't show the shaking. But you hear shaking. The world above shifting.
The Walls Do Not Fall by H.D., who was more than Ezra Pound's ex. I've read more poetry than David has, even if he keeps three DVD sets to my one.
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