Always say yes...
— Stephen P. (@mysonabsalom) May 21, 2013
I can only manage obtuse, opaque writing about the last week. The odd sensation that everyone is watching. This blog is the perfect alibi: hide in plain sight.
Maybe this truth, embodied in the entropy of our terrace house: left alone, everything gathers dust.
All the objects, some material, some immaterial, remind me of being alone. The house, the emptiness, is hot when I come home late from working all day. Working later than I would have otherwise, but there are no sticky hands to grab onto me when I open the door so I put it off as long as I can. I left the fan on yesterday: I had spent the night in the city again, in a guest room in KL, but I fell asleep alone. Another empty cavernous house, with heavy wood chairs. I woke suddenly, reaching across the bed for my wife's absent body.
A truth: you can never sleep in the middle of a bed. You always favour one side, subconsciously leaving space for another.
Or this: you will always talk about what matters to you most, despite where you are and who you're with. Empirical evidence: a view of the city from a condo in Bangsar, all these people I don't deserve to be sitting with. Suddenly, I catch myself talking about my children. If I had pictures in my wallet, I would make everyone look at them.
In my theory of everything, I think there are no exceptions to this rule: never say no to sitting with people who know more than you.
Or this truth: life with others is always better than life alone. Not always. Most of the time. A majority of the time.
Another day passes: Yoko will not be home again. Yoko, the woman I love: of course distance reminds you what you know, what your body already knows. I love you, stay with me, I wrote once in a poem voicing Bahktin's longing for his own wife. I am so sick with love. .
Love might be a theory of everything: I warn myself again and again, Never tell the truth; serve the narrative.The narrative will eventually become the truth.