Canadian Songbird

“That was how I looked at life sometimes, as a warm meal that was growing cold. I knew I had to eat, or else I would die, but I had lost my appetite.”

Is there a satisfaction in the effort of remembering that provides its own nourishment, and is what one recollects less important than the act of remembering? That is another question that will remain unanswered: I feel as though I am made of nothing else.

“I learned that just beneath the surface there’s another world, and still different worlds as you dig deeper. I knew it as a kid, but I couldn’t find the proof. It was just a feeling. There is goodness in blue skies and flowers, but another force - a wild pain and decay - also accompanies everything.”

Mark Rothko, Light Over Deep, 1956

Like most people, I suppose, l've lived almost entirely among delusions, and now I'm at the awkward stage of finding it out. I want another delusion to go on with.

‘I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world, finding it so much like myself’

“She read books quickly and compulsively, paperback after paperback, as if she might drift away without the anchor of the printed page.”

…and I think that I have lived with this story too long, too intensely, and that when I am finally finished with it, it will have taken something from me, a sliced away part to keep as it goes.