They sat in the bar. Moving through time at different speeds. He slowly, she quickly. Sometimes the other way around. Seldom the same in any case. They talked, exchanged words about this or that, searched one another out without finding one another. Sometimes she made him angry. Sometimes the other way around. They spoke across one another’s words until they accepted they had lost one another before they started searching. They relaxed and their words became light and sad. Their thoughts turned elsewhere. They turned away from one another to face one another. They sat in the bar talking and laughing. Or in silence. Sinking beneath time or speeding ahead of it. Seldom in the same position, in any case, in relation to time. Sometimes simply distracted. Then they smiled having no alternative. Sometimes they walked along the coast, beside one another, their thoughts elsewhere. Walked into what receded from them. Attentively. They had their moments of attentiveness despite themselves, paying attention to what receded from them. Moments that made and unmade them. Sometimes in the bar they sat in dead time. A kind of eternity, a kind of hell. Though not always at the same time. Sometimes he got drunk, sometimes she got drunk, sometimes they got drunk together. Then they talked and laughed, and at the heart of their talking and laughing she looked at him with dead eyes and he looked at her with dead eyes. What did they see in one another? people asked. They saw through one another and saw themselves in one another like facing windows. Light and dark passed over them. Something obscure passed between them. Not quite light not quite dark. Confusing or boring their acquaintances in the bar. When they sat side by side together and apart. Are you together? They sat in the bar. Moving through time at different speeds. He slowly, she quickly. Sometimes the other way around. Seldom the same in any case. Feeling intimately one another’s absence. Even with the others, a kind of intimacy. A threat to some, boredom to others. We don’t know.
Archives
- August 2012
- May 2012
- April 2012
- March 2012
- February 2012
- January 2012
- December 2011
- November 2011
- October 2011
- September 2011
- August 2011
- July 2011
- June 2011
- May 2011
- April 2011
- March 2011
- February 2011
- January 2011
- December 2010
- November 2010
- October 2010
- September 2010
- August 2010
- July 2010
- June 2010
- May 2010
- April 2010
- March 2010
- February 2010
- January 2010
- December 2009
- November 2009
- October 2009
- September 2009
- August 2009
- July 2009
- June 2009
- May 2009
- April 2009
- March 2009
- February 2009
- January 2009
- December 2008
- November 2008
- October 2008
- September 2008
- August 2008
- July 2008
- June 2008
- May 2008
- April 2008
- March 2008
- February 2008
- January 2008
- December 2007
- November 2007
- October 2007
- September 2007
- July 2007
Categories