Dave Pollard's environmental philosophy, creative works, business papers and essays.
In search of a better way to live and make a living, and a better understanding of how the world really works.

	Monday, January 12, 2009

synaesthesia: three love stories emma feeds matthew an apple I i am walking down wellington street in a hurry, late for an appointment, checking my blackberry there is a couple walking ahead of me, hand in hand: they say nothing, and their hands jitter, parting and recombining nervously, as if one or both is afflicted i move to pass them, and then something stops me: they both laugh suddenly, for no apparent reason, and she rests her head briefly on his shoulder, affectionately a moment later, she pulls away, and punches him in the shoulder he shakes his head, no, but he is smiling, playful they have not spoken a word, and i am looking around for a 'candid camera': am i supposed to believe this couple are telepathic? and then suddenly she turns, and in her blank gaze i realize: she is blind, and he is deaf, and with their quivering hands they are quietly, brilliantly, making love II we are walking through a forest in the town i'm visiting when we come upon an old couple walking two dogs one dog is small, animated, running circles around everyone and for a moment it's the only one i notice and then the larger slower one comes into view and i realize, to my astonishment that s/he is identical to my beloved, much-mourned chelsea -- the same markings, coat, laboured walk, and gentle smile i gasp, my eyes well with tears, and i'm overwhelmed, on my knees, stroking this so-familiar creature and telling the old couple about my love and my loss and as they pass to continue on their walk, the woman, who neither of us knows, who doesn't know us, turns to me and says "you're welcome to borrow her if you'd like, just drop by any time". III it starts in the office: a group of us are discussing finances; it's a difficult conversation, and some of the group are defensive, edgy and i'm listening but not really paying attention visually and then strangely it's as if the words i am hearing are coming apart, fragmenting, curving around my consciousness, expressing themselves in different colours and i'm noticing the breath, the pauses, the catch in the throat and i'm hearing fear, and despair that is coming from deep inside these people i hardly know and speaking to me, not in words or tone of voice but in tiny nuances of inflection, silence, breath, emphasis i am feeling the sound of their voice and the anguish in their bones and i briefly catch the eye of one of the speakers and he looks back at me as if he were naked, as if i'd caught him crying -- and later, talking on the phone, these swirling, coloured words begin again, like another language, an undercurrent at a wavelength i've never heard or sensed or realized before, talking not of the subject at hand but of loss, and loneliness, and love 10:00:14 PM  trackback []  comment []

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