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Lost Dream, Some Night Out of all possible, unlikely scenarios for a world, I imagined a way of being—one not artificial and not too immediate, i.e. not pre-evolutionary—in which we were all places at once, and nowhere. There was a city built like a maze of moments in which the people never knew quite where they were or where they were going.There was an entrance/exit right out of my bedroom closet, a low passage that was dark but inviting. One can map in such a situation only to return. But the bedroom ceases to be a location by the time you get back! You arrive, but things have changed: the furniture is wrong, time is based on a forty-minute hour; it's not even a bedroom! You don't know how long it’s been or what sort of concept upon which that can even be based. I wandered lost in and out of scenes that had no bearing on each other but were only to continually reinvent themselves, moments that took history to be a set of useless constructs except for those no longer living or dead to the world in some way. Ghost/alien/time traveler, it didn't matter to anyone, really, who was writing this down from any outside or why. Inside everything was a strange sense both familiar and long forgotten: distant, genetic memories of some ghastly ocean. The way the particles of moments collided around us all suggested creation was necessarily about collision, without any necessity but complete form. |
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