11
Mar
11

friday (chapter 5)

when you come to the end.  it is never easy to make that conscious decision to end.  it is something that he is struggling with right now.  he sees the cursor moving, leaving (shitting really) letters behind it, letters that are gathering themselves into words, forming sentences (& all those grammatical parts, groupies freely flinging themselves–panties & participles landing in a pile at the feet of our protagonist)–will they break for a paragraph, a new thought?–conclusions that are eluding him at this point.

denouement.  he had loved learning that word, but this story has had intricacies, but no plot; it’s all the parts of a rope (long enough to hang yourself,) but it has not been wound together in a way that resembles a rope (when is a rope just a rope, after all.  “ceci n’est pas une pipe.”) he realizes that there will be no ‘aha’ moment, no one reading this will say to themselves, “i thought as much,” or “of course she did it!”  (well, partly because there was no ‘she’ in the story, of course, not that there couldn’t have been a she, & one might be of a type to switch pronouns, should one be so inclined–the results would be the same & by results we are in no way implying an end.)

he knows we anticipate ends.  it satisfies a need in many of us to neatly finish something, because being ‘done’ with something is a human satisfaction, but he wonders if it is not society that has imposed finishing something on us & that it is not a hard-wired human trait–you know, to finish something.    artists, he’s understood, oftentimes find it hard to finish something they may be creating, giacometti for instance, had it not been for his brother stealing into his studio & removing his sculptures would have pared away those skinny walking figures into nothing; where would we have been without those?  on the other hand, there’s someone like picasso, who we can tell just from the quantity of his output, rarely agonized over a work of his not being done; he lived to produce & finish & move on.

but not all of us are picasso are we?  coming to an end, for that matter coming to a beginning, is a struggle & although he may experience a flowing of & a movement forward, he is in no way unconscious of his progress, limited as it is by his mood, the time, the noise of the t.v. coming from the other room (tsunami! earthquake!), the pressures of the day ahead–items on a list, all to be crossed off–or never to have been noted, just mental erasures of tasks completed, all of which affect the outcome of this paragraph, this walk toward the end of the story (but not really a story, his traditions different from those of yours,) but a story nonetheless & one that he feels may have had its day (today, but he reserves the right to revisit it & perhaps find in it, a beginning, an egg of an idea, fertilized by history asleep at your back.)

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2 Responses to “friday (chapter 5)”


  1. March 14, 2011 at 5:46 am

    Robert, I’ve really enjoyed this serial. I especially liked Chapter 4. Like the protagonist, I am troubled by recurring dreams – and I find my old man’s dreams far more terrifying than any nightmare I had as a child.

    I sometimes have trouble reading longer narratives on a computer screen, and plan to cut and paste and print all five parts to reread – on paper, as god intended. (Being a miserly SOB, I’m not going to print your photos, as much as I like them, since printer ink costs more than a sip of 1996 La Mondotte Saint-Emilion!) I’m looking forward to a longer, more leisurely perusal.

    Please keep writing! – Michael.

    • March 14, 2011 at 11:27 am

      Michael, thank you so much for the encouraging words. & I don’t think you’re a miser at all, what you have to share and what you do share is amazing & generous & I can’t begin to tell you how much I enjoy your posts and photographs. (But I hear you on the cost of inks these days!) all the best, Robert


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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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