Time after time

chains fall
all around me
and deaf
I cannot embrace
this pale
world
falling into silence
all its vanity
failing

forgive me

Into starlight.

Way down...

"This moment was extraordinary. I was there, motionless and icy, plunged in a horrible ecstasy. But something fresh had just appeared in the very heart of this ecstasy: I understood the Nausea, I possessed it. To tell the truth, I did not formulate my discoveries to myself. But I think it would be easy for me to put them in words now. The essential thing is contingency. I mean that one cannot define existence as necessity. To exist is simply to be there; those who exist let themselves be encountered, but you can never deduce anything from them. I believe there are people who have understood this. Only they tried to overcome this contingency by inventing a necessary, causal being. But no necessary being can explain existence: contingency is not a delusion, a probability which can be dissipated; it is the absolute, consequently, the perfect free gift. All is free, this park, this city and myself. When you realize that, it turns your heart upside down and everything begins to float (...) here is Nausea; here there is what those Bastards (...) try to hide from themselves with their idea of their rights. But what a poor lie: no one has any rights; they are entirely free, like other men, they cannot succeed in not feeling superfluous. And in themselves, secretly, they are superfluous, that is to say, amorphous, vague, and sad"

- Jean-Paul Sartre

Into starlight.

An evening with Mingus

Every time I arrived she was already there. A few tables sprawled around the entrance to the café and over the sidewalk, and at the corners they lay in the shade of the maple trees that bordered the square. She always took one of these corner tables, probably seeking refuge from the merciless afternoon sun. Whenever I arrived she had already finished her lunch. Sometimes I would still be in time to watch the waiter take away her plate before bringing her an espresso. More often she would be halfway through the coffee, her left hand pressing down the pages of a book in the table, while in her right one a Gitanes burnt itself slowly, smoke dissolving somewhere between the maple branches and the blue sky above.
And she was gorgeous. Her skin was golden brown, smooth and tight, and she had light brown eyes that glowed like honey in the sun. Her hair, also light brown, came down softly on her shoulders with the softness of silk. Her cheekbones were high and well defined, and her lips seemed never too far from a smile. And what caught me the most was the way she seemed unaffected by her own beauty, how simple her gestures and her look were, unusual for someone so beautiful.
She was absorbed in her reading, yet every now and then she would raise her eyes. Not intentionally looking at people around her, but glancing around the square, her eyes resting on playing children, and pigeons hunting for crumbs among the grass. And in between the book, the coffee and the Gitanes, she would stay there for twenty or thirty minutes, blessing that patch of irregular shadow with her presence.
I took the habit of sitting opposite her, normally choosing the nearest table. For two or three days she didn't notice me. And then the glancing game started. I had just sat down, and gazing across the square, her eyes met mine for a moment. From then on, we would gaze at each other occasionally. Our eyes would meet three or four times, normally as soon as I arrived. It was a subtle acknowledgment of presence that stopped just short of a smile.
For the next two weeks or so, we went on like this, none of us going further than the apparently neutral glance. Then, one day, as I arrived, I let my glance turn into a brief smile. And she smiled back, gently, slightly surprised, but no more than I expected. And throughout her coffee, the usual glances between us were tuned into soft smiles. From then on, we smiled at each other everyday, like casual acquaintances, but always aware of a subtle undertone.
Once we started on this, I let time run its course for a while. I would smile whenever I arrived, and then just drift away into my coffee and newspaper. Through the corner of my eye, I noticed her reading was less attentive, and her gaze drifted less across the square and more to the walls behind where I would be sitting. Nevertheless, she always managed not to meet my eyes more than what seemed casual. I started looking at her less and less while I was there, while at the same time making sure my smiles were broader each day. I must have kept on with this for another five or six weeks. Then I made my move.
I managed to arrive about fifteen minutes earlier than usual, as I knew the café would be crowded for lunch. As I expected, all the tables were taken outside. I made a point of looking around at with a look of resignation. And then, at the last moment, I looked at her table. She was still eating, and her eyes had just risen to meet me. I smiled at her, and then looked round again, acting a little embarrassed before turning to her again. I then walked up to her table, smiling.
'Hi,' I said.
'Hi.'
'This place is crowded today. Not my usual time, though. Would you mind if I…'
'Have a seat? No, not at all, please do.'
'Cheers.'
I sat down beside her and put down my bag and sunglasses. She looked down on her plate, with a slightly embarrassed smile.
'Uh, listen, I don't want you to think I go around all the time sitting next to girls I don't know.'
'Oh, I don't. And I bet you say that to all of them.’
She smiled, on the verge of laughing. And I smiled too, looking at her, before my eyes fell to the ground again. I took a very deep breath:
‘Actually, I’ve been wishing to sit beside you for a long time. Ever since I saw you here for the first time, there is just so much about you that lingers in my mind, every little thing… and I’ve been acting foolishly just to meet you. I knew today had to be the day. I knew I would have to find a way to sit here and finally meet you, with so much to say. And I hope we‘ll be having dinner one of these days. Just you and me, lobster and a sparkling white wine… And we’ll have Charles Mingus playing in the background while we watch the sunset from my balcony… Can you imagine that? Might as well be the start of it all... Who knows, in a few weeks I could be meeting your parents… I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t like me, but it doesn’t matter a single bit. If they put up a fight, we can just get rid of them. Burst open your dad’s head with an axe, like a ripe melon, and just let him bleed to death in the living room carpet. Your mom will probably make a fuss about it, but we can just stick her head in the fish tank until the bubbles stop. I’ll promise not to hurt the fish, though… And if you have an annoying younger brother, we can put a couple of .44 rounds in his ass before he even thinks of opening his mouth. We throw them in the basement while they’re still warm, and it’s just you and me again. Mingus and lobster, the whole deal, babe… And we’re off to Monte Carlo, Venice, whatever… You decide. I know – and this is the hard part – you may grow tired of me, but I understand that. Just don’t leave me. You can poison me, stab me, whatever, but don’t get rid of me. Just cut me up in little pieces and feed me to our kittens, one day at a time. That way I’ll be with you a little longer, and I’ll see it… Well, as a sort of farewell, your most loving respects. So, what do you say, honey?’

She was already getting up when I mentioned the kittens. When I finished she was heading backwards into the street. I wanted to run after her, but I was mesmerized at the grace of her movements, at her beautiful ankles moving away in that sunlit afternoon. She was already running when she reached the other side of the square and disappeared into Rue St.-Jacques. The brakes screeched and there was a big bang as the garbage truck hit her right on and threw her onto the pavement, the blood sticking the pages of her book together. I heard the noise then, but it never crossed my mind it could have been that. I only put it together reading the newspaper at her empty table the following day, at the same time I finally learned her name.
‘What the hell,’ I thought. ‘Did she really hate Mingus that much?’

Into starlight.