Monday, September 13, 2010

All I can clearly see now are just separate words. Flying from thoughts that I feel pass over me as the clouds above my head. How can one catch them into sentences? How could I see into my thoughts and pick up those still connected?

It seems that someone threw into the sky a whole symphony and the notes got all over the place without retaining any connection between them. Just notes that have no relation lest of a strange wishy-washy noise. But how could the notes hang out there without being pulled towards each other? If they have a concrete body do they not attract each other through their mutual gravitational forces? In the mind of their composer the notes are bound by an idea, a feeling, something, that might keep them wanting to find each other. That idea must be their center where they should try to meet again.

I did not hear anyone entering. Had anyone knocked I wouldn't have answered anyway. They all know and that's why none now bothers to ask for coming; they just enter. I do not even turn to see who enters. I can see their shadows as reflected by the sun or the moon or the tiny bulb that stares at me all night long. This is in fact all. Living in a world of shadows I chose to continue feeling comfortable among other shadows as myself, showing no favoritism between past and future. For I do not know whether some things had already happened neither that they are happening or they will. The clock of such a mind as mine works quite strange, cyclically, every day starting a new dynasty of time.

At times I get the feeling of what the Creator might endlessly feel. For I started all these confusing things and now I sit back watching what might unfold, rather their shadows. I hope the Creator is not offended by my impertinent pride for I feel that I even succeeded better than her on being quite detached now by my own thus shaped confused chaos.

He comes every two days in the afternoon. Just puts a chair in front of me and starts speaking. He never seems to wait for me to say anything. And speaks a lot and wholeheartedly about what he likes. I keep watching, listening and lots of time not understanding either the words or where does he intend to reach. His name is Horace as told to me the first day he came by the woman that keeps cleaning the room everyday. He never mentioned why he came and neither anyone else did. I got used to see him talking while I let myself carried away by thoughts that are at times related to some of his words. Is strange how easily we get away from what just happens in front of us.

Horace said that God must have created the world out of nothing. For had she created it out her being the world would have been a great place, sharing her divine nature, which is not at all what we can see around. Then he all of a sudden stood up and after wearing out his coat he left. He must have been still thinking of this problem for he forgot to say good bye and he did not even pushed the chair back to its place, as he always does.

Had lunch and together with it lots of small and beautifully colored pills. They are so nicely colored maybe for the same reason small babies, tough quite uncooperative at times, are so sweet. To make us love them in spite of the new troubles we might get with their coming. Same with these small pills. I love colors and I don’t mind keeping them with me though that color will soon disappear after I swallow them.

A sharp noise broke into the morning’s silence and I heard hurried steps coming up the stairs. I couldn't tell who could be and my heart's beats hastened. Whenever that happens I find it difficult to breathe and I start gasping for some air. Then even if I want I won’t be able to shout or say anything. I start sweating and trembling, and feel dizzy. The crow that kept sharing with me her hoarse cry flew away and I thought that she probably understood that some danger was approaching. I kept looking towards the door but no one attempted to open it. After some time someone shouted from the other side that Horace will not come today.

I tried not to feel anything about that. I couldn’t though. What if something happened to him? Yesterday he left very absent minded, bothered about this world. How real could this problem be to him? Maybe my silence upsets him. He might want me to say something instead of just watching him. I really don't know.

The door opened and the shadow that I first saw as laid on the wall by the sun soon became somebody in front of me, someone that reminded me of Horace very much, having the same big, dark eyes, same high forehead and the same very short hair-cut. Just a bit shorter and somehow younger. He stood looking at me and I watched him back for a while. A sarcastic smile broke in the corners of his eyes but his mouth was still. Then he dragged the chair closer to me and sat. His eyes never left mine and that made me feel quite uncomfortable. He seems that he never blinks.

A steady staring with the same sarcastic smile. Just staring and staring. I even felt like asking him what he wants but I did not want to break my silence. And what if he was Horace's brother and Horace will find out that I spoke to him. Then he might feel sad or he will never come again or what not. He might even feel offended if he hears later for I never told him a word. So I kept quiet.

The silence did not last for long though. He started asking me where Horace was. And he asked and asked and asked again. I cannot say for how long for I just stopped listening. He probably noticed that I am not listening for his voice started raising gradually till I had to cover my ears. It became intolerable and I felt like leaving the room but I did not.

He left but I can still hear him shouting. Horace is not supposed to come tomorrow but I really hope that he will. More than that I hope that his brother, or whoever he might be, will not think of coming again.

The world was made with time but not in time. All the days are there, from the beginning to the end. As in a museum of thousands and thousands of rooms we just pass from yesterday’s room to today’s and to tomorrow’s. I might have forgotten to come out of yesterday’s room for I see no change around me. It also could be that my time’s museum has shrunk to a single, tiny, hushed room and I keep still, not changing anything, whatsoever. I don’t even know the date that I’m stuck to, anyway.

One of my students came to see me today. I was very fond of him for he was that kind of a kid that does not let you get bored while teaching always the same things. Questions were so normal to him that when he wouldn’t ask something I would somehow feel that the class is not going well at all. He entered my room quietly, as if he did not want anyone to see him enter. I did not know who entered but once I saw him standing in front of me I was very happy. When he bent down to greet me I even stretched out my hand to touch his head.

He said that the people downstairs wouldn’t let him enter because I was sick. But now having seen me unchanged and well, he felt happy. He spoke about his work, his Ph.D., his regrets that I couldn’t guide him and then he stopped. Later I understood why he had stopped. He was feeling shy. His father wanted him to get married and was in fact looking for a suitable girl for him. He however did not give it much of a thought right now; he wanted to finish his doctorate and then go for further research. Marriage, he thought, would interfere with his commitment to his work. There will also be a problem for the girl since he wouldn’t have much time for her. He said all this very quickly, feeling really embarrassed. Now there was a lot of pressure for him from that direction and there was a hint of a cold-war between him and his father. His mother played the role of a peace-maker; she seemed to understand both points of view, but was undecided about which side to take.

He did not want to sit down not even for a moment. He still seemed to be in a hurry to leave. At last he said that perhaps they had been right that I was not well for I had not said a word to him. Or, he has presumed, that I maybe had contracted laryngitis and lost my voice.

When he left I kept smiling and I do not know for how long I continued to remember his inquisitive nature and the millions of questions he asked. I had told him once that I always felt as if I was facing an interrogation and at times felt hopeless and even inadequate to demonstrate the theories that are most often taken for granted. Ready-made answers were not his choice. That troubled me many times but helped me as well. I would spend much time trying to explain and stop his avalanche of questions but rarely I could and I had to confess that there was a limit for me. I would refer him to some books that I had myself found wizening.

I see words again; they visit me often. They fly from me and towards me too. Some are tall and thin, others are low and shallow. They do not anymore want to keep together. On contrary, they separate more and more and keep by themselves. Company is not wanted; it inevitably creates complications. A single word cannot do that but as soon as two of them are put together anything might arise out of their combination. I might think of something but somebody else might take them in another way. And so on.

Gravitation generates black holes by wrapping space and time into a funnel. I do feel at times that I reside in a black hole as my space and time have unified and my whole mind collapsed into whatever was left after this collision.

Rain is common these days. But today it did not stop raining even for a second. I guess the whole place is flooded and though I could check it, I did not feel like going next to the window. They might see me and I will have to listen to their long advice. I better not.

Horace came. He did not say anything about his brother. Neither about his failure to come the other day. His clothes were dry and I wondered how he had come. He might have taken a cab. He spoke as was usual with him and I did not listen. I was concentrating on the raindrops that kept pattering as an SOS message in Morse code. I wondered if there was a kind of meaning to it and looked for words. They might have been using a language that I did not know. For although I could clearly get many letters, I could not string them into a meaning. Arynugeb could mean anything? I got this word several times. Then many more such as, dewre and euwhir and gibuho and namsni... If I could write them down I could check later but I did not want to upset Horace because he might feel hurt that I'm not listening to him at all. I will try later but I am sure that I will forget all these letters that have now no meaning for me.

The rain suddenly stopped sending me messages. Maybe it realised the futility of this communication. I wanted to beg it to not stop but it would be useless since I definitely did not know the language. How a language keeps us prisoners in our small worlds! I had always tried to pick up different languages to be able to space out my crowded single world. But space and time are always related. There was never enough time to really focus on that process of breaking down my narrow walls and creating more space.

Horace stopped speaking. He was looking at his shoes. For long time I also watched them. Then he wondered why people ignore the fact that the earth is also flat. “Had it been only round I would fall down with every step I take,” he said. From a plane, of course, one could perhaps find it round but while walking it is flat – beyond doubt. And he started walking as if to prove to me that he is able to walk without falling. I did not say anything but I find it difficult to agree with him. Distance changes the perspective, that’s all. Let him think it up by himself; it is good for him. He thus walked around the room several times and then he left. Horace seems very troubled for the past few days. I do not know what to do to help him. I shall think about it later.

People’s flaws tear deeper than our own. I can forgive myself so easily and so does everyone. What about others though? I have no clue but the law of thermodynamics could probably help here. The “initial condition” of my making a mistake is easily replaced by my “present condition” of forgetting myself. That’s why I cannot continue to blame myself for long; I change the conditions just to suit myself. For others though I don’t apply the same law. I believe that the laws of nature should be thus divided into two categories: those that I use for myself and those I use for others. That will probably explain better our behaviour.

Someone banged the door very badly. I was startled and my heart as usual started beating faster. For a while, I was out of breath. No one entered though. Maybe they are angry that too many people come to visit me. I should think what I could do. I don’t need to have visitors if they get so disturbed. The rain will be there and the crow and even the caterpillar, that I saw the other day; they could come for they do not use the door downstairs. No one would ever notice them.

Time dwindles like a balloon that shrivels to nothing. I am an illusion to myself, in my shadowy world of half-existence, or maybe less than half. I cannot ever dare imagine what I might be to others.


I found a small note on a piece of paper kept between the last page and the cover of the diary.

Dear Decebal,
As I promised last time I am sending you what was left out of the diary. Here and there, there would be some parts missing but this is all I found. I also went through it. God, how wrong I was! But now is too late for all these regrets and I know that I can’t change even a second of that time.
Hope you will find soon some time to visit us. Here is getting quite cold and the days are shorter and shorter. All the best from us all.


P.S. No one ever came to visit. Let me know what you think.