By Nous
  
                       January 4, 2003


NOUS:  A DISSERTATION ON THE CENTURY'S MOST ENIGMATIC FIGURE

Gradually, I have stopped thinking and started moving; and so
I see the reversal of the established order of my life, one in
which I would think but would not move.  The over-analysis of
the situation would spread over the actual Doing, and I would
be left limp with no will to act.  I see the reversal, but not
the reverse, of the Establishment of myself.  For it to truly
be reversed, I would have to act, and think not; instead, my
order has deteriorated into movement with no thought, and thus,
no action - simply flailing flesh.
But things have changed enough so that I am able to say that
I once had the desire but lacked the strength, and now apparent-
ly have the strength, but lack the desire.  I can move, but,
in fact, wish to get nowhere at all.  I am some sort of child.
And daily I feel myself becoming what I hate, and what I will
always hate, but choose to do nothing about it - a despicable
quality.
Everyday that I move and fail - and, in fact, move into failure -
I feel as though I've gone through the motions a thousand times
before, always failing in the end.  I feel as though this is a
life apart from, perhaps, a previous life in which I failed,
and in which I continue to fail.  Failure, is the word, as you
can see.  I feel as though I am performing the play I rehearsed
a million years ago in which I, the not-so-admirable, not-so-
amazing, not-so-interesting character in a world of a hundred
characters run to my doom, laughing the whole way as if I do
not even care.  I feel there's little I can do but put on the
best face and give the crowd SOMETHING to care about.  But at
even that I fail.
There has never been such opportunity and such hope for me to
succeed, and yet, with a slave's sense of inferiority, I give
up the chase of the 'favourite phantom' and lie down to give
floor room for the tomb.
I englut the vial of misery forever.

MY LIFE IS A DITHYRAM OF MEANINGLESS PROPORTIONS

I awoke at around twelve and decided to eat a lunch consisting
of green beans and a bit of meat.  I recorded some music off
of the radio, gleefully noticing that I had compiled many a
cassette tape for the long car ride out of my hometown to where-
ever I could escape.  That day, I told my smiling self, would
surely come soon; it would surely come soon.  Turning the radio
off and suddenly without a thing to do, I stood in my room
half-alive when my mom came in and asked if I would like to go
to the thrift store, which, of course, I did.
At the back of the thrift store was a long shelf full of books.
There was a blonde girl sitting at a table by the shelf and a
child trying to read a picture book.  I passed them by as I
read the spines of the books for a title that would speak to
me, and found myself making my way to the very end of the shelf
without finding a single one that did just that, so I promptly
turned around, decided that perhaps better luck would find me
on the record shelves.
And there she was, right in my way - the blonde girl from the
table.  She looked down and at me, clutching some book to her
chest with these weird, thin fingers.
"Hey," she said.  "Do you come here a lot?"
Bewildered and suddenly aware of where I was, I replied, "Yeah."
She sort of stepped from side to side and asked, in the sort of
way a kid would ask, "Like it?"
"Yeah," I said, totally confused.
"I bought this yellow dress here one time, and it fit really
good.  But it was old and dusty."
I suddenly recognized her, realizing that I had indeed seen
her in that thrift store before, in the very same place I had
seen her today.
"Yeah, I bought a hat here once," I said.
After an awkward pause, I sort of slowly walked away towards
the records, not sure what to make of what had just occurred.
So I wrote about it.

ENTR'ACTE

I can't get this phrase out of my head:  the syncopated rhythm
of ragtime.  And now I realize that phrases like that are always
getting stuck in my head, but even now I can't remember them.
I just remember the feeling I get whenever I think 'the syncopated
rhythm of ragtime.'  It's an old familiar feeling of, "Oh, there
goes that phrase again."  So I know it's happened before, because
it's as familiar a feeling as, "I've got mail," or something of
that sort.  A feeling that isn't a feeling, but rather the ack-
knowledgement that there is a feeling being felt.
The syncopated rhythm of ragtime.
This is something that runs through my life.  Does it run through
others?

GHOSTS DANCING AWAY, ENDING AN ERA

Though I feel nothing, I am human somehow.  Though I see and say
nothing, I am somehow real.  What an insane notion, that even if
you don't participate and even if you are an audience to your life,
you are somehow here, and you are real and alive.  And yet, it must
be believed, otherwise, what will become of us?  Well, I guess I
might as well tell you.
A SKELETON.
"Giant" is a good movie with an all-star cast and wonderful per-
formances.  I have seen it two times.

FIN