Tuesday, July 15, 2008

stolen notebooks/lost letters


1- ( )
2- Who is he? What is he doing here? When did he arrive and how long will he remain?
3- It is unclear to him exactly where he is. In the room, yes, but in what building is this room located? In a house? In a hospital? In a prison? He cant remember how long he has been here or the nature of the circumstances that precipitated his removal to this place. Perhaps he has always been here; perhaps this is where he has lived since the day he was born. What he knows is that his inner heart is filled with an implacable sense of guilt. At the same time, he can’t escape the feeling that he is the victim of a terrible injustice.
4- Far off in the distance, beyond the room, beyond the building in which the room is located, he hears the faint sound of radio static, perhaps it’s the waves of the sea …he cant tell which
5- Someone knocks on the door and then the sound of a key entering the lock. Dos this mean that mr.x is imprisoned in this room, unable to leave through the grace and good will of others? Not necessarily. It could be that mr.x has locked the door from within and that the person now trying to enter the room must undo that lock in order to cross the threshold.
7- My thoughts have largely been elsewhere, lost in a fogland of ghost-like beings and broken memories as I search for an answer to the question that haunts me and that I have forgotten.
9- There is still the question of the door, and until mr.x determines whether the door is locked from the outside, if indeed it is locked at all, the conclusion he has drawn could well be false. If he where thinking clearly, his next step would be to walk or wheel himself over to the door and investigate the matter at once. But mr.x does not move from his spot by the window, for the simple reason that he is afraid, so afraid that what he might learn from the door that he cannot bring himself to risk a confrontation with the truh.
10- The moment he shuts his eyes, he sees shadow-beings marching through his head. It is a long, dimly lit procession composed of scores if not hundreds of figures, and among them are included both men and women, both children and old people, and while some are short, others are tall, and while some are round, others are lean, and as mr.x strains to listen in on them, he hears not only the sound of their footsteps but something that he would liken to a groan, a barely audible collective groan rising from their midst. Where they are and where they are going he cannot say, but they seem to be tramping through a forgotten pasture somewhere, a no man’s land of scrawny weeds and barren earth, and because it’s so dark and because each figure is moving forward with his or her head down, mr.x cannot distinguish anyone’s face.
13- One: I want to kno if you have finished the story
Mr.x: story? What story? It is not a story. It is a report. It is something that really happened.
One: did it happen? Really happen?
14-YEAR ( )
15-control: you don’t remember now, but the whole thing was your idea.
We are just doing what you asked us to do.
16-control: this Is part of the treatment. We are here for a purpose.
Mr.x: such as?
Control: to test your reflexes.
Mr.x: my reflexes? What do they have to do with it?
Control: emotional reflexes.
17- we are in the desert now. Emptiness all around, a ferocious blue sky
over head, pounding light, and then, when the sun goes down, a chill to
freeze the marrow in your bones. Warm again and possessing a word.


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