I've been reading books that I don't understand.
I've been hearing the words and seeing the imagery, watching as people run and speak and sit and stretch out their hands for things that they don't believe in, but I won't sit with them. I'm too restless to wait for the feelings to align and tell me a truth other than this is what people feel, sometimes.
I hate it. It is as if the truth is buzzing past my ear, the harsh, physical whine making me cringe away and swat at empty space. I should know! I should understand! If only I could grab myself by the hair and drag her back over to the storyteller's feet, make her stay put until she found the truth in the storyteller's voice, the listeners' eyes, the space between them. Instead I'm stuffing pretty poetry into a mouth that wants something completely different.
At least I'm reading again. At least I am back, translating ink into words. Hopefully soon I will find myself translating the images into reality, and when the time comes, Future Self, seriously, re-read Sula, and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. I know that they are talking about the same things but I can't... I can't put my finger on it and I don't have the patience to sit and steady my aim.
They both tell stories of toil in the face of misery, opposites actually being the same, segregation, infidelity... Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep delves into religion and artifice while Sula lingers over friendship and sexual femininity, but the two works resonate.
...Or maybe I'm insane. This is driving me insane!
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