This is the fiction that we collaborated on. Over decades our quiet acquiescence to each other's lies built something--a kind of monument, a crumbling wreck--a structure befitting our so-called love (for each other, for ourselves if not for each other). This was the new architecture with its fantastic angles, and it has been able to sustain the shapes that defy gravity, that invent new meanings. This is not deception; it is illusion. The glass and metal reflects the whole of the sky. The doors open to possibility. There is no agenda in the layout of the rooms, the maze in which we chase our feeling for each other, the walls and tables, the mantles decorated with the histories we have agreed on. At least until one of us is gone...
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
No comments:
Post a Comment