he reached to hold what cannot be held. the crossing, cormac mccarthy.

“…he reached to hold what cannot be held, what already ran among the mountains at once terrible and of great beauty, like flowers that feed on flesh. what blood and bone are made of but can themselves not make on any altar nor by any wound of war. what we may well believe has power to cut and shape and hollow out the dark form of the world surely if wind can, if rain can. but which cannot be held never be held and is no flower but is swift and a huntress and the wind itself is in terror of it and the world cannot lose it.”

you say whaat? fo sheezy? yeah, cormac mccarthy. a bit over the top when i read it now but it was striking a chord with me late last night.

how come i’m posting so much? frenchman is away in france, a few days in paris and a few days in burgundy for some company retreat. when he’s gone i relapse into my normal self: sleeping too much, eating too much, writing less quality shit than usual (like blog posts as opposed to short stories, personal statement, etc). he’s leaving again in may for almost the whole month to interview across the european continent, though mainly in london. his 2010 bonus apparently sucked ass (alas i wear no diamonds) and is looking elsewhere for his career, his future.

i encourage his pursuits. anything he has to do to advance his cash-money-making, i am all for it. even it takes him, for the time being, across the atlantic.

will i follow him?

…

against my better instinct, i will routinely check out the doctor’s facebook. we are not linked on it but i can view his photos. just the other day he uploaded two new ones. one, which is not so new, i took of him when he was in medical school in ohio. he is shaving, i am standing behind him and snap a picture of his reflection in the mirror. my face doesn’t show–just a white flash where my nose and mouth and eyes are suppose to be. it is captioned, “halo” by his hand. number two photo is with him and his new (recycled) girlfriend. she is thin and pretty, kind-looking and they stand next to each other, in front of a blossoming magnolia tree.

i took this image in my head with me as i went to take a shit in the bathroom just now. and there on the toilet, i saw clear, crisp, consecutive snapshots: wedding, him smiling hard, eyes down; bundled son, mother looking worn but pleased; salt and pepper hair, him looking more like his father than himself.

no anger, no sadness, just wonder how i could not have seen this before. of course, how could it have ended any other way than the way we did not expect?

what i thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel, says tony hoagland.

if i could write to him, and i can but i won’t, i would say: things will work out and we will live with ourselves.

i would say: see, i am happy and loved and he is good to me and has surpassed all my expectations.

another thing: you ass, the first thing out of your mouth should have been an apology not a plea.

last thing: it’s okay. it’s okay. it’s okay.