Am I monstrous?
Mitch's favorite piece from the art exhibit we saw today was a sketch of a dog named Lady. She had puppy dog ears, and had her eyes open wide. It evoked pleasure from Mitch -- but only envy from myself. Green envy... a colored emotion.
I hated it, and yet I felt drawn to it. Lady seemingly had something she was intent upon saying to me. It took a while before I listened, but when I did, I felt angry. Why did this puppy have to ask me for a favor when she herself took what I loved most away from me? Why?
Nearby Lady's sketch, there was a photograph entitled Untitled, and it was of a swirl of clouds as seen from the heights of an aeroplane. They looked almost like cirrus clouds, except they couldn't have been, because of the angle that the camera shot the picture. I saw a fractal in the clouds, a stretch of a hamster wheel, with snowflakes falling on my nose. In the reflection of the glass in front of picture, I saw a birthday cake with no candles -- no, that's not right; there were candles, but it didn't matter how many candles were there -- and I heard Christmas carolers in the dark night, guided by an unimportant number of candles...
It scared me. But I kept my cool and held it all in. I could not let loose there; no, no there, of all places. Not in front of these people that I both knew and did not know. Not then.
So I cried on the inside, hating myself for caring whether or not others might see me. I ran/walked to and fro, pacing, yet not seeming to pace. I looked like I was looking at photographs, but really, I was running away from photographs, running away from the dog with such beautiful eyes and the ship with a mast of sails...
I retreated to the piano by refusing to play it. The more I insisted on not playing, the more I was pushed to play, until I finally got my wish and I sat on the bench. I played Toccata & Fugue, in d minor, but I played it horribly. I deliberately missed notes and skipped beats trying as hard as I possibly could to harm those foul canine ears, wishing with all my might that the sketch might burn in a spontaneous combustion of hatred and despair.
But it didn't.
It is there, still, mocking me, taunting me, daring me to come play the piano for it again, making fun of all that I am and all that I stand for... I can hear its cries even now, cursing me and ruining what little is left of my life...
And yet my hate is short-lived. I cannot bear the sound of it any longer, and I accept it; I accept it all and I slip into a tunnel of disarray and harmony. I breathe in the air, but it is not like air; it is not a mountain or a cave or even a freshly painted house. It is the air that comes only when you realize that the air is there.
I say that an electron is merely the absence of the absence of an electron, and yet what do I mean? What am I saying?
Am I saying that life is unfixable? Am I saying that what I strive for will never come to pass?
Why must I love such a fiction? I don't get it. Nobody gets it. "Love from afar," a wiser man tells me. But how can I without ruining my life?
I want to hate. I want to tear and rend my own feelings to pieces. I want to become insignificant, and so I do my best. I wish to become a physicist, but why? For me? For her? For life? For physics? Or maybe what I really want is simply the absence of the absence of a physics degree.
Dr. Allin made me smile today, though. He showed the class why the periodic table is grouped into four blocks. He stood on a chair and I could see it in his eyes. I could see what no one else in the class could see, and it made me smile. I could only smile at the time.
Now, I cry. His eyes... His eyes shone...
I envy Dr. Allin.
...cogito ergo doleo... ::sigh::
...tvb, ma... ...a&f. . .. .