Toby opened the door and stepped inside. He didn't look around and he didn't check to see if anyone was following him. Someone was following him.
Toby went to the desk in the corner of the room and from the drawer he took out a small photo album. The album had many pages of photos, and he turned to one page in particular. The photo showed a man and a woman in front of a Ferris wheel. He slipped it the photo out of the album and looked a the back of it, and then he put it back in the album, and replaced the album in the drawer. His every movement was watched.
Toby left the room and went back down the hall. He left the building and headed for the bank. Using a bank card, he punched in the account number and the PIN number and then he withdrew some money. He used the money to buy groceries for a week. The groceries he chose weren't going to make for very interesting meals. Toby didn't mind because they weren't for him. They were for his mother.
He took the groceries home to his mother. She was sick in bed. He left the groceries on the kitchen table so she could put them away later. He played video games for an hour on the home console, and then he went out again, even though it was getting dark out. This is when he first noticed that someone was watching him.
It made him nervous that the person walking behind him always stayed behind him, no matter how many turns he made. He went around the block, twice, but the person kept trailing him. Toby started to sweat a little. He went into a coffeeshop and ordered a piece of particularly delicious pecan pie that was served with a slightly cold crust and a slightly warm filling that had layers of textures ranging from slightly crunchy to ever so custardy-smooth. No one followed him into the shop, and the pie was so good that he soon forgot about being followed. In fact, he forgot about everything, even his name, because the pie had a narcotic in it and he passed into a drugged slumber.
The proprietor of the coffeeshop helped the others take Toby into the back. They had a large canvas sack that they stuffed him into, and then they loaded the sack into the back of a van. The van drove off and the proprietor never knew what became of Toby after that. It was something that he wondered about even years later. What had he helped do? He didn't know, but he felt proud.
2009年11月27日金曜日
You Know...
I never looked away
I never closed my eyes
I never turned my head
From your wonderful thighs
It was all right there
You were all I could see
You were my everything
You were the world to me
I never closed my eyes
I never turned my head
From your wonderful thighs
It was all right there
You were all I could see
You were my everything
You were the world to me
2009年11月23日月曜日
On Physical Education
体育について考えていました。
子供の時から体育は一番苦手な教科で、一番イヤでした。残念でした。体育はとても大事なことと思うから。
もし私が理想的な体育課程を作ることになるならば、どんなものを作るかな。
人間は様々な考え方があるのですが、人は自分の考えを自分に示すとイメージや音や感じで表すもの。何かを覚えようとしたら、頭の中に映像的な考えをみたりする人もいるし、声や音を聞こえたりする人もいるし、触覚的に感じたりする人もいます。実は皆がぜんぶをしているんですが、だいたいどれかの方が強く使います。もしあなたはイメージで考えやすい人であれば、目で見る事の方が習いやすくなります。日本の教育制度は今そのイメージ的な生徒に向かって教えている。耳で習う人もだいたいよく出きると思います。でも、触覚的な人たちが今の制度に捨てられているんじゃないですかのような気がします。この様な人たちは物を触って分かるなので、机で座って、黒板を見て何かを覚えようとするのはそうとう難しいことです。頭が悪いというのは全く関係ありません。とても頭がいい人が多い、ただ情報の分析仕方が目で中心していません。こういう人たちはスポーツや美術で強い可能性が高いです。イメージで分かる人たちは逆にスポーツなどが弱いかもしれません（もちろん、決まっていないことです。これはすごく一般的な話です）。
体育に戻って、体の意識はどんな人にも大切なことです。体と心がきつく結ばれて、お互いに影響を与えています。体を動いて、映像子たちが自分の事をいっぱい習えて、価値が高い。触覚的な子たちが落ち着いて、ストレスや緊張感を出せます。
だから、私の選択なら、どうすればいい？
ははは、分からん!
だけど、最初は舞いや動きや創造的なあそびでバランスと強さを作って、解剖学的制度を教えるかな。マッサージ仕方も受け方も教えて、自営も効果的な動き方もおしえる。他の人のからだを尊敬すること。物の運び方というのも、パルクールも、受身も、パントマイムも、いろいろな踊り方を教え場いいと思います。一人で、団体で、競争と協力を全部教えばいいと思います。自分の体も心もひろく表せるためにする。
ということを考えています。
子供の時から体育は一番苦手な教科で、一番イヤでした。残念でした。体育はとても大事なことと思うから。
もし私が理想的な体育課程を作ることになるならば、どんなものを作るかな。
人間は様々な考え方があるのですが、人は自分の考えを自分に示すとイメージや音や感じで表すもの。何かを覚えようとしたら、頭の中に映像的な考えをみたりする人もいるし、声や音を聞こえたりする人もいるし、触覚的に感じたりする人もいます。実は皆がぜんぶをしているんですが、だいたいどれかの方が強く使います。もしあなたはイメージで考えやすい人であれば、目で見る事の方が習いやすくなります。日本の教育制度は今そのイメージ的な生徒に向かって教えている。耳で習う人もだいたいよく出きると思います。でも、触覚的な人たちが今の制度に捨てられているんじゃないですかのような気がします。この様な人たちは物を触って分かるなので、机で座って、黒板を見て何かを覚えようとするのはそうとう難しいことです。頭が悪いというのは全く関係ありません。とても頭がいい人が多い、ただ情報の分析仕方が目で中心していません。こういう人たちはスポーツや美術で強い可能性が高いです。イメージで分かる人たちは逆にスポーツなどが弱いかもしれません（もちろん、決まっていないことです。これはすごく一般的な話です）。
体育に戻って、体の意識はどんな人にも大切なことです。体と心がきつく結ばれて、お互いに影響を与えています。体を動いて、映像子たちが自分の事をいっぱい習えて、価値が高い。触覚的な子たちが落ち着いて、ストレスや緊張感を出せます。
だから、私の選択なら、どうすればいい？
ははは、分からん!
だけど、最初は舞いや動きや創造的なあそびでバランスと強さを作って、解剖学的制度を教えるかな。マッサージ仕方も受け方も教えて、自営も効果的な動き方もおしえる。他の人のからだを尊敬すること。物の運び方というのも、パルクールも、受身も、パントマイムも、いろいろな踊り方を教え場いいと思います。一人で、団体で、競争と協力を全部教えばいいと思います。自分の体も心もひろく表せるためにする。
ということを考えています。
2009年11月22日日曜日
A very good girl
As the girls form their own club upstairs with the boys, you lie on the ground beside the bed and consider the ceiling and all its irregular cracks that fan through the lime green paint of an older generation, and in the background come the sounds of drums and a muffled roar of someone else's guitars going through the paces, just like everything else seems to.
How tiring.
You are not asking for much, you say to yourself, and wonder how it can seem so impossible to him. An agreement, just like any that you'd make, an arrangement of fidelity, a promise that you keep, is all. You are no stranger to temptation. Boys approach and speculate with eyes, words and gestures, and many of them are pleasant enough, but you have made a decision that you stand by. The temptation doesn't matter, not to you. How is that hard? Is he really so weak, or is he just wired so differently that he can't see it?
These thoughts flitter through the blades of the whirling ceiling fan as the minutes of the afternoon stretch out on the clock ticking on the headboard. You could never abide that thing. How he could sleep with it making so much noise is a mystery to you.
Footsteps come up the hallway and the door opens and the breeze is cool on your skin.
"What are you still doing here?" His voice breaks the air, uncouth and certainly bitter.
It seems obvious enough not to require an answer. You are lying on your back and looking at the ceiling.
"Didn't you say it was through? Then it's through, isn't it?"
Moving is such a bother. Let him live around you while you just stay here.
"Come on, get up. The others will be finishing up soon. You don't want them to see you like this, do you?"
Like you could give a shit. They have certainly been of no help. Damon and Charlene, it's like they were trying to set him up with other girls, just to rankle you. The rest were complicit. They're no friends of yours. So what do you care what they think? But the thoughts do get you to turn your head, and once you do that, your arm starts to move, and before you can do more than complain, you are already getting up.
It's not been fun, you start to say, but don't. Where's your bra, anyway? Half-buried in the blankets, you fish it out and put it on. It's certainly the most awkward piece of clothing, and the one that makes you feel the most vulnerable while putting it on. He watches you with interest that he tries to cover with disdain. He's too confused and angry to really be aroused, anyway.
And, anyway, it's over.
The rest of of your clothes go on more easily, and then it's your bag on the chair. As you dress, all these things you could say swirl and bubble around in your head. Some of them are sentimental, or reconciliatory, and others are abusive and hateful. Some are just dumb. Forget it. The silence is better, probably, than the chance of misfired last words.
You walk past him at the door, slip by sideways so your shoulder doesn't brush him and don't look back as he trails you through the hall and downstairs. More footsteps are coming from above. The band is finished and the new club is coming back to the apartment. You just missed them. You make it to the front door, down the steps and to the street.
It's three blocks to the subway. What a horrible city. Fix your hair, you tell yourself. You probably look like hell. After all, you're released from that promise now. You might meet someone you'd care to talk to. You just might meet Mr. Right.
How tiring.
You are not asking for much, you say to yourself, and wonder how it can seem so impossible to him. An agreement, just like any that you'd make, an arrangement of fidelity, a promise that you keep, is all. You are no stranger to temptation. Boys approach and speculate with eyes, words and gestures, and many of them are pleasant enough, but you have made a decision that you stand by. The temptation doesn't matter, not to you. How is that hard? Is he really so weak, or is he just wired so differently that he can't see it?
These thoughts flitter through the blades of the whirling ceiling fan as the minutes of the afternoon stretch out on the clock ticking on the headboard. You could never abide that thing. How he could sleep with it making so much noise is a mystery to you.
Footsteps come up the hallway and the door opens and the breeze is cool on your skin.
"What are you still doing here?" His voice breaks the air, uncouth and certainly bitter.
It seems obvious enough not to require an answer. You are lying on your back and looking at the ceiling.
"Didn't you say it was through? Then it's through, isn't it?"
Moving is such a bother. Let him live around you while you just stay here.
"Come on, get up. The others will be finishing up soon. You don't want them to see you like this, do you?"
Like you could give a shit. They have certainly been of no help. Damon and Charlene, it's like they were trying to set him up with other girls, just to rankle you. The rest were complicit. They're no friends of yours. So what do you care what they think? But the thoughts do get you to turn your head, and once you do that, your arm starts to move, and before you can do more than complain, you are already getting up.
It's not been fun, you start to say, but don't. Where's your bra, anyway? Half-buried in the blankets, you fish it out and put it on. It's certainly the most awkward piece of clothing, and the one that makes you feel the most vulnerable while putting it on. He watches you with interest that he tries to cover with disdain. He's too confused and angry to really be aroused, anyway.
And, anyway, it's over.
The rest of of your clothes go on more easily, and then it's your bag on the chair. As you dress, all these things you could say swirl and bubble around in your head. Some of them are sentimental, or reconciliatory, and others are abusive and hateful. Some are just dumb. Forget it. The silence is better, probably, than the chance of misfired last words.
You walk past him at the door, slip by sideways so your shoulder doesn't brush him and don't look back as he trails you through the hall and downstairs. More footsteps are coming from above. The band is finished and the new club is coming back to the apartment. You just missed them. You make it to the front door, down the steps and to the street.
It's three blocks to the subway. What a horrible city. Fix your hair, you tell yourself. You probably look like hell. After all, you're released from that promise now. You might meet someone you'd care to talk to. You just might meet Mr. Right.
2009年11月2日月曜日
Pause
You have to think about things before you can write them down. I haven't been thinking about things so much, so I haven't written anything in particular. But I will again rise from these clammy waters to stand once more beneath mud-stained skies, and look, far, for you. Because you know I haven't given up, and I cannot disappoint you. I cannot let a little thing like death stay my hand. Nor shall I. My hand will again know your flesh.
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