Wednesday, June 11, 2008

it was very painful and in memory it still is

Trying to turn a lunch hour into an interview which instead turned into a terrible display of babbling. Simple questions seem to come out of some deep unfamilar place...What does your company do, what do you do, my mind wistfully pondering her inquiries in a meandering way. Pondering but not answering, perhaps not even focusing. Just purusing here and there, these subjects like someone taking a liesureley walk in the garden, leaning over a bush to take note of its flowers. English, became a foreign language. Stringing together a coherent sentence becomes like searching for an endangered insect in a lush forest.

The coup d'etat: I managed to crash into one of the agents who had asked me out in the previous visits and who was now flirting with me again. It's times like these when I think I need a new me or at the very least an escape/eject button.

2 comments:

  1. On such occasions I feel the chasm between the internal consciousness and the external performer, who seems so haphazard. I want to disown the latter; in fact I want to disown the world in which the latter operates.

    Disowning that world, then, and retreating without shame into our interior selves, can we then go through a rabbit hole marked 'blog' and then meet other interior selves in a wonderful blogworld? An audacious idea, but perhaps not a completely forlorn one.

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  2. Thanks for concretizing my opaque evasive thoughts Drodbar.

    Comments are sometimes great to nail these tricky things down.

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