chase scenes serial #8
summary or rehashing of its form and content, even when it is bound into something that has the illusion of being transformed into a new entity. That is the costume of style. Certainly I can have a voice, but, here, in this vomit, it is untempered. I am not even attempting to communicate anything, or even use correct spelling. My handwriting is growing appalling. Slower I can’t get it out so I speed. Where am I going, back to Bismarck? No. I keep thinking I feel ticks exploring beneath my underwear. After, no, during our hike, we were under attack by wood ticks. We each flicked at least fifty (50) ticks from our clothes and skin. They would just appear. Even after I felt that I had eradicated them one would appear in my chest hair, or even if I knew them to be gone, I would still feel them stealing through thickets of my hair. I need to stop, my wrist is sore. No wait, that is a weak way to leave a seam to stitch onto. Shall I talk about how I remember nothing of Swann’s Way‡? It is humorous that. No. I keep thinking my father’s eyes are opening. He is putting his feet up and I am listening to Darkspace.
‡ Yet I do not remember Swann’s Way. I have an image in my mind yet I don’t know if it is from the book. At dusk, out across rolling green landscapes, a stand of trees, enormous live oaks, lays at the crest of a hill and flowing down its side. At the base of the low hill a large home stands. It is white and artificial light glows from all of its many windows. There are breaks in the tree canopy through which the richly coloured dusk sky breaks. Young Marcel has snuck up the hill where looking out beneath the canopy he can see into the upper story of the home. He sits in the shade, then in the shadow of twilight and watches the evening life trot, no, wander on through the house. I believe it is Swann’s house. I don’t know if he is watching Gilberte. Its plot context does not concern me. It is the glow of the home at dusk, washing out on rural lands, across knee-high grasses, and the security and shelter of the trees with their early darkness, that I carry with me as a composition.