View of the New Year
by ALEX CARNEVALE
In the ocean, there is a separation between myself and the world. Drying off dissipates it. I swam with my father as a boy. He told me that he thought of the day ahead, the world he would enter. I told him I thought of never leaving the wet, never breathing again. It was also an excuse that got me out of gym class.
When I read the familiar story of an outsider in an organization, I ask myself who really thinks of themselves as an insider, except perhaps Mark Zuckerberg's sister.
My old professor's marriage ended several years before he killed himself. When he spoke of his wife, it was like recalling Milton. Things that have already occurred fade so quickly. I miss him - not being around him, I gave up on that long ago, but wanting to have the memory of him without thinking of the sorrow. I hope they all have stopped existing so I no longer have to worry for them.
To be known to others only by what you write must be galling, especially if you are as talentless as Ian McEwan.
There is absolutely no point in having a penis. It is like an appendix, yet even less vital, since the appendix may yet have function we cannot discern with our simple minds.
A kind of uncertain pity for those who believe in God, a more assured empathy for those who find they cannot.
In Walmart the other day I saw a woman tap dance. Even that was partially expected. The only truly spontaneous act is absence because it is never truly anticipated. The illusion of control.
I did once climb Diamond Head, although I could not make to the top. I became claustrophobic in a narrow passage before the summit; women carried young children past me in their arms. Yes, I was taller than them, but relatively, not much taller.
Is a mirror.
I change the place it happens, or the time. Maybe it does not come, or arrives differently, not in the same fashion as when it left. This never used to bother me before, in the same way that this year I suddenly started to hate contractions.
Those who come in and out of my life may retain some lasting impression, but that perception pales in comparison to what I take from them. Revisiting their words to me is my occupation. Because I can only fathom myself through their influence, and I could not be more sorry to have to admit that.
Other things I have climbed.
The careful one touches his fingers to the glass before he wipes it.
Paintings by Eric Nash.
"Equinox" - Photay (mp3)
"Sloth" - Photay ft. Mood Tattoed (mp3)