I don't want to feel this pull [entries|friends|calendar] Linda [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[20 Jul 2006|02:06pm] If you take someone's thoughts and feelings away, bit by bit, consistently, then they have nothing left, except some gritty, gnawing, shitty little instinct, down there, somewhere, worming round the gut, but so far down, so hidden, it's impossible to find.  Imagine, if you will, a worldwide conspiracy to deny the existence of the color yellow.  And whenever you saw yellow, they told you, no, that isn't yellow, what the fuck's yellow?  Eventually, whenever you saw yellow, you would say : that isn't yellow, course it isn't, blue or green or  purple, or .... You'd say it, yes it is, it's yellow, and become increasingly hysterical, and then go quite berserk. the faint whispers

[19 Jul 2006|10:42pm] I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don't have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn't play any parts or make wrong gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn't watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you're forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you're genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don't speak, why you don't move, why you've created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you've left your other parts one by one. the faint whispers

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