If I could, I'd build a bridge made of nothing, nothing but my dreams. It wouldn't reach anywhere in particular but it wouldn't be here; a direction, maybe, something like north or north by NW. And I would come to love everything I've passed over, everything I've missed.
'One day Earth will be
just a blind space turning'
and I the last man with sight
am blinded by you.
'One of your heartbeats has strayed into my heart
and I can distinguish it from all others'
Angina days are like a foreign word on my lips.
'The drowned man seeks the song
that shaped him long ago'
Jules. S.
~~~
Book. Coffee. Book. Light. Shade. Words arranged in lines, a cloud over my head, and the waves a miniature scrawl of confusion.
Book. Green apple. Book. Sound. Silence. Words fall from the page, the night stands over my head, and the waves lap and bounce like an unrestrained dog at my feet.
~~~
On the plane back a man in a large black hat chats up the woman next to him. He has haggard look on his face and can barely stand up. She complains. The liberals on the plane have no sympathy for her. The mullahs want the man thrown off. The plane is divided. "What do you do?"
"I'm a housewife"
"Strange, because you look like a servant to me"
A bald man in a tight three-piece grey suit then proceeds to punch the man in the hat. The hat, miraculously, stays on his head. The son now gets up. Others restrain him, holding his wrists down. This is a question of honour. Up in the air there are no bridges between people except for our bloodlines. We watch like villagers viewing a wrestling match, our in-flight entertainment having been cancelled. The real wretchedness of human beings is a poor substitute. Everyone's at everyone else's throat. The low-level bickering continues, the insults continue to fly. Suddenly, I'm homesick for the earth.
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