i am feeling sorry for my files now because in my frustration i was throwing them around, very violently. my room is a clutter of files and papers now, which si deeply perplexing. it strikes me how it is so hard to reach expression: we try and try but in the end the words ring false, and we feel betrayed by our very thoughts. thus, the expedience of hurling files and tossing papers- perhaps because of a primeval prompting imbued in our psyche, but it represented enough to me at least, of the chaos of mind.
i eventually got down to tearing the paper up, which i dont like at all. paper makes me happy, and i have no idea why. thus the destruction of paper is particularly distressing [i mean like, relatively. haha. you cant go all 1984 on me and force confessions by tearing paper in front of my face. you can, however, probably attempt that by placing me in an enclosure where manta rays cruise over the glass above my head all the time.] -especially if the paper has something written on it. tearing into little unintelligible pieces a densely written page, you get a sense of a forsaken intensity, present still in all its fragmentary pieces, each containing a hint of the earlier communication that glows. it is a yearning, perhaps, a reluctantly conceded feeling for something that i am willing myself to discard. something that i must force myself to forget.
mellie contemplated 12:48 AM
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