12 March 2010

Tribal songs

frm Ensuite

When the deepest parts of us, the broken bits, the stuff we thought we'd lost, comes washing up the shores in a torrent of foam and fluff, I marvel to see how quickly it untangles itself. The wave that tumbles with such urgency, such force, becomes a perfect, slick fine layer of memory, appearing and disappearing in a moment, leaving behind a shadow of it's visit.

We spoke last night of Michael Haneke and Europe, and who the schoolchildren of 1918 grew up to be. We spoke of elder care and a birthright, and world-class cities: Paris, New York, Tokyo, London. We sat in a dark corner, with our chopsticks, one from here, one from there, and elegized that which we had, that which is still here, that which we can never get back.

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