Vol. II. Issue. III September 2011 - The Criterion: An International ...

More documents

Recommendations

Info

www.the-criterion.com The Criterion: An International Journal in English ISSN 0976-8165 "Maybe what I need is to die and come back to life again. Or maybe never really die, just to make myself believe that I can start again. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to think about the filth that has built up inside of me. Maybe I just need to die, but not really die, just sort of go away for a while and come back again." "Listen. You just stay here. You’re fine right here. I'm the one who’s going," he says. "I know. You said so. But I – don't go," I say. "I’m going. For good, I’m going. You know I’m moving in about a month, and I’m not coming back." "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" I ask, helplessly. "Listen, it's got nothing to do with you." "But how do you know? I want to tell you something." "Give me a light?" "Listen to me. I want to tell you something. I worry about you,” I say, not quite knowing how to say it, “I worry about my body, for example. I have no idea if I've contracted a disease.” "Don't say that." "How would I know?" "Don't say that." "Don't you think I know about the others?" He laughs when I say this. He laughs heartily as if it were nothing. “What others?” he asks with his awful smile. We spend another hour sipping wine, reading lines of Pasternak and dressing in different outfits from my wardrobe. “I’m Russian,” he says, “Pasternak is real Art.” We sniff a few more bumps of cocaine, undressing and redressing until all my clothes are scattered on the floor. And then we spend more time fucking. Ass fucking. All the while, I know that what we are doing is not heroic or even very sexy, coating our emotions under the guise of art. With Seth, I pretend to indulge in books and in art, all the while swimming in self-loathing. I wonder if he would rather be in the arms of a man and if he just comes to my house to appease me as some kind of compromise for his lack of interest. Perhaps in some way, he likes my attention. Or maybe he simply likes my ass. The voice in my head is telling me that the artistic ideal crumbles like a broken shell over the brutal reality. Just before exiting my house, Seth motions for me to come say good-bye. He is leaving me to my own devices to scrape together the semblance of hygiene and work-wear for the new day. He whispers the word Olympia into my ear. “Seth,” I ask, “What does Olympia mean to you, right now, this morning?” I just want to hear him tell me something, anything, to hold on to before leaving me. He ponders for a moment and says, "When did you last realize that no one knows who you are anymore?" He voices it as a question in general, into the stillness of the air. Perhaps he has posed the question to me, perhaps to himself. "Ach," I sigh just before the shrill sound of my alarm interrupts my thinking. I jump at the sound. We both look over at the clock. It shakes furiously on my nightstand. "I have to go to work now," I say while the alarm continues to ring. "Spin round, wooden doll," Seth says, putting on his dark sunglasses. The ringing seems to grow louder. At once it was if there is only darkness where Seth’s eyes had been. I search for his eyes for the last time, but they have fallen into nothingness behind the blank surface of his opaque lenses. I keep staring at him as my heart pumps louder and louder and a wash of blood blooms Vol. II. Issue. III 276 September 2011
www.the-criterion.com The Criterion: An International Journal in English ISSN 0976-8165 beneath my cheeks. It is the last time I’ll see him. The minute hand shifts to its next increment. The alarm quits ringing. The lenses of Seth’s glasses stand erect over his eyes like the blank black panels of the Rothko chapel. Silence slopes between us. Perhaps I say nothing because I’m afraid to disrupt the apprehension that hangs in the air amidst Seth’s stale cigarette smoke. We hold the next minute between our gaze in silence, neither one of us moving. We stand stiff as two walls containing an abandoned courtyard. He finally lifts his hand to embrace me. I politely kiss his waxy cheek. My lips are afraid. His hand grips my neck with abandon or even frustration and then it releases. I quietly dismiss him for the last time by whispering, "Goodbye, Seth Coppelius." He nods and says, “Wish me luck.” “What for?” I ask. “So I don’t end up dead or lonely.” “But you already are dead and lonely. I see it in your eyes.” “That’s why I hide them. I don’t want anyone to see how dead I am,” he says as he lifts his eyebrows from behind the glasses. His cold voice follows him out the door while he continues with his dismissive joke, “dead, dead, dead…dead.” I look out the window and think of the future. Vol. II. Issue. III 277 September 2011
Page 1 and 2:
www.the-criterion.com The Criterion
Page 3 and 4:
Page 5 and 6:
Page 7 and 8:
Page 9 and 10:
Page 11 and 12:
Page 13 and 14:
Page 15 and 16:
Page 17 and 18:
Page 19 and 20:
Page 21 and 22:
Page 23 and 24:
Page 25 and 26:
Page 27 and 28:
Page 29 and 30:
Page 31 and 32:
Page 33 and 34:
Page 35 and 36:
Page 37 and 38:
Page 39 and 40:
Page 41 and 42:
Page 43 and 44:
Page 45 and 46:
Page 47 and 48:
Page 49 and 50:
Page 51 and 52:
Page 53 and 54:
Page 55 and 56:
Page 57 and 58:
Page 59 and 60:
Page 61 and 62:
Page 63 and 64:
Page 65 and 66:
Page 67 and 68:
Page 69 and 70:
Page 71 and 72:
Page 73 and 74:
Page 75 and 76:
www.the-criterion.com 6 The Criteri
Page 77 and 78:
Page 79 and 80:
Page 81 and 82:
Page 83 and 84:
Page 85 and 86:
Page 87 and 88:
Page 89 and 90:
Page 91 and 92:
Page 93 and 94:
Page 95 and 96:
Page 97 and 98:
Page 99 and 100:
Page 101 and 102:
Page 103 and 104:
Page 105 and 106:
Page 107 and 108:
Page 109 and 110:
Page 111 and 112:
Page 113 and 114:
Page 115 and 116:
Page 117 and 118:
Page 119 and 120:
Page 121 and 122:
Page 123 and 124:
Page 125 and 126:
Page 127 and 128:
Page 129 and 130:
Page 131 and 132:
Page 133 and 134:
Page 135 and 136:
Page 137 and 138:
Page 139 and 140:
Page 141 and 142:
Page 143 and 144:
Page 145 and 146:
Page 147 and 148:
Page 149 and 150:
Page 151 and 152:
Page 153 and 154:
Page 155 and 156:
Page 157 and 158:
Page 159 and 160:
Page 161 and 162:
Page 163 and 164:
Page 165 and 166:
Page 167 and 168:
Page 169 and 170:
Page 171 and 172:
Page 173 and 174:
Page 175 and 176:
Page 177 and 178:
Page 179 and 180:
Page 181 and 182:
Page 183 and 184:
Page 185 and 186:
Page 187 and 188:
Page 189 and 190:
Page 191 and 192:
Page 193 and 194:
Page 195 and 196:
Page 197 and 198:
Page 199 and 200:
Page 201 and 202:
Page 203 and 204:
Page 205 and 206:
Page 207 and 208:
Page 209 and 210:
Page 211 and 212:
Page 213 and 214:
Page 215 and 216:
Page 217 and 218:
Page 219 and 220:
Page 221 and 222:
Page 223 and 224:
Page 225 and 226: www.the-criterion.com The Criterion
Page 275: www.the-criterion.com The Criterion
Page 313: www.the-criterion.com The Criterion
show all

Vol. II. Issue. III September 2011 - The Criterion: An International ...

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?