Normal life.
None of us have talked about the weekend. There were looks amongst us this afternoon, and I thought I saw Angela smile about it, but no one wanted to start that conversation. They both kept on like it was Friday.
I had a call from my history teacher to ask if I was going back to school. She admitted that her boss wants me back to improve their grade average, but she said she misses me in her classes – because I made them more fun to teach. I don't remember them being fun.
I don’t see myself returning to that life either. I’ve no longer any interest in filling my life with information as though it will give me answers. My father clearly pursued knowledge to the point of delusion – Angela still lives there, deeper in than he was, but it’s the same thing. It’s the same thing as believing in god – just because the sentences make sense, it doesn’t mean there’s truth in them. I have a study full of books that babble out words like they’re trying to guess a password, and no doubt my father thought they were the route to wisdom, but it’s all the same act, of insulation against the fear of nothingness. It’s all just taking shelter behind coherence. And in truth the only clarity I’ve had since October is when we ran from the explosion and I didn’t have time or the breath to think. I can’t live my whole life at that speed.
Angela has taken hold of a cause for optimism, since I told her again about the will, which states the study specifically because, in her theory, the study was supposed to remain invisible beyond my father’s lifetime. The will was written to prompt me to look for the study, but the fact that it is visible suggests a mishap. She apologised for the glibness of the word mishap, but not for being so happy that she’d figured this out. She’s convinced a spell backfired to cause a zone of neutralisation; there are such things as dampening spells, she says. And all this means her demon need not be lost forever.
I know she’s insane, but I like to hear her talk about these things. It’s nice that she believes in what I can’t.
I had a call from my history teacher to ask if I was going back to school. She admitted that her boss wants me back to improve their grade average, but she said she misses me in her classes – because I made them more fun to teach. I don't remember them being fun.
I don’t see myself returning to that life either. I’ve no longer any interest in filling my life with information as though it will give me answers. My father clearly pursued knowledge to the point of delusion – Angela still lives there, deeper in than he was, but it’s the same thing. It’s the same thing as believing in god – just because the sentences make sense, it doesn’t mean there’s truth in them. I have a study full of books that babble out words like they’re trying to guess a password, and no doubt my father thought they were the route to wisdom, but it’s all the same act, of insulation against the fear of nothingness. It’s all just taking shelter behind coherence. And in truth the only clarity I’ve had since October is when we ran from the explosion and I didn’t have time or the breath to think. I can’t live my whole life at that speed.
Angela has taken hold of a cause for optimism, since I told her again about the will, which states the study specifically because, in her theory, the study was supposed to remain invisible beyond my father’s lifetime. The will was written to prompt me to look for the study, but the fact that it is visible suggests a mishap. She apologised for the glibness of the word mishap, but not for being so happy that she’d figured this out. She’s convinced a spell backfired to cause a zone of neutralisation; there are such things as dampening spells, she says. And all this means her demon need not be lost forever.
I know she’s insane, but I like to hear her talk about these things. It’s nice that she believes in what I can’t.
posted by The son of Edward Fold at 12:52 am
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