Märchen (4)

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'Moral judgement, individual judgement, individuality itself were not clear ideas in the mind of Romanesque man, and I felt my own individuality dissolving the longer I sat in my reverie before the Virgin of Rocamadour.'

(Houellebecq, Submission, 136)

Märchen (2)

MÄRCHEN (2)

'The true life is not reducible to words spoken or written, not by anyone, ever. The true life takes place when we're alone, thinking, feeling, lost in memory, dreamingly self-aware, the submicroscopic moments. He said this more than once, Elster did, in more than one way. His life happened, he said, when he sat staring at a blank wall, thinking about dinner.' 

(DeLillo, Point Omega, 21)

Märchen

MÄRCHEN

Farewell To All That (6)

FAREWELL TO ALL THAT (6)

The Priestess sucked the cork from a litre flask of Primitivo di Manduria and spat it on the floor. 

'Now, this caravan thing . . .'

'There are two metal posts dug deep in the ground,  96.8 metres apart. You can rig up a slack-line (it don't hurt the trees). Pull it tight, ratchet hard, that's the art.'

The Priestess bit the end off a Robusto, and reached for a match. 

Then, she sniped:

'Now, look here me Dearie, I'm sick of this stuff; sick to death of it (bored of it, too). You're going away for a couple of months. It's not like you're fucking Thoreau. 

'So, you think you're unique; all this caravan chic. Just don't splash on the chemical loo.'

Farewell To All That (5)

FAREWELL TO ALL THAT (5)

'So, this caravan thing . . .'

'Won't you shut up,' I said. 'You make me see red. Can't you see that I need to make sense of the things that have happened; I've quite had enough. That's just it, I'm afraid: my defence.'

'So . . .'

'There's a wall by the river - the flank of a bridge. You can boulder, traverse or high-ball. I've never been one who could top out with ease but, these days, I don't care if I fall.'

Farewell To All That (4)

FAREWELL TO ALL THAT (4)

'So, this caravan thing; now, what does it mean? Are you planning to be a recluse?'

'Well, my father tried that and it ended up bad. I don't think so. I can't see the use.'

'Reassuring to hear, my Dear,' said the Priestess.

She continued:

'So, this caravan thing; now, what will you do? Are you planning on writing a book?'

'Well.
I've nothing
To say at the end
Of the day.
I will
Probably sit
Smoke then,
Cook.'

'Sheer poetry,' mused the old hag.