Proust and the Talking Heads
Dec. 6th, 2002 12:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravencallscrowsThis is something more intensely personal than i've shared here before, but it has come up in interestingly odd ways in the past week or so, so i'm going to tell the story of something which happened about fourteen years ago. It has nothing to do with the writer or the band mentioned in the subject line, but a post of this length seemed to require one.
I think most people have at one point or another dated someone they thought was a little crazy. Some of us have even had a relationship of sorts someone who was really, certifiably crazy. Back in my younger, more foolish days, i did for a period of several months. Cynthia was a nice enough girl most of the time, cute enough in a dark and brooding way. She started out as a friend of a friend, and was someone i thought my roommate at the time was interested in dating.
At the time, my roommate and i were both parts of a coalescing group studying various elements of classical occultism, along with a dozen or so others, who frequented the 24-hour restaurants to talk and consume large quantities of tea and coffee. At the time, i was between periods of dating Sandra (who was another member of this group, as well as one of my sign-language instructors and my boss at my volunteer job)- i think i'll always feel that she and i were perfectly compatible, but almost exactly out-of-phase with each other; and i though Joe may have been interested in Cynthia (although as it turned out, he really wasn't, but was interested in her friends Ravyn and Melissa).
To condense a really long and rambling story into something of a digest, one night she showed up at our apartment at about 11 p.m. almost in tears. For whatever reason (and i can't recall why now), she was being kicked out of her place with nearly no notice, and needed someone to talk with. Ever the insensitive clod that he could be, Joe jerked his thumb over his shoulder in my direction and said "He'll listen to you. I'm going to bed," regardless of the fact that i hardly knew her at all. I've always had a fairly broad knight-errant streak, and this was a damsel in distress. How could i refuse?
For the next five days, we were inseperable every moment i wasn't at work (this was during one of the rare periods when i was only working one full-time job and volunteering ten hours or so a week). If i thought i had problems, after a day or so, they were nothing compared to hers. Not only was she in need of a place to live, she'd recently gotten laid off from her job, was having problems with her parents, and had a desperate need to share affection with someone.
For those five days, i don't think either of us slept more than an hour or two. She was very different than anyone with whom i'd had any sort of relationship with in the past- agressively passionate, not afraid either to initiate or ask very pointedly for something she wanted. These are still qualifying elements of what i look for in a prospective lover. She also ranks at the top of my personal "best kissers" list even now, and i was all too glad to play Olivier's Heathcliff to her version of Merle Oberon's Cathy Linton (Legend has it that during the filming of Wuthering Heights their embrace was so ferocious that on several occasions she drew blood from his lips).
By the end of the fifth day, i was exhausted. Upon arriving at work on the morning of the sixth day, i got told by my boss that i was taking a sick day whether i thought i needed it or not, and proceeded to go home and sleep for the next twelve hours. At about 8:30 that evening, Cynthia returned again- this time with news that she'd found a place and that life was looking up.
As time went on, we still had the occasional encounter, but nothing lasting over a day at a stretch (*laugh*), and were still involved in the group, although it was becoming significantly more polarized. It was clear that our interests were divergent- mine was with the concept behind the esoteric, hers with the power which could be exercised through it. So we grew in different ways. I progressed from studying Kabbalah and Tarot into investigating myth and legend in various cultures, eventually arriving at a connection with the Celtic goddess Brighid; Cynthia moved toward vampirism and blood magicks. Sandra and I started cycling closer to each other yet again, because our interests were very similar and we always seemed to have things to learn from each other.
One of the members of the group (i can't remember if it was Michael or Terry, but it had to be one of the two, because they were the only two who had interests which overlapped the increasingly polarized portions of the whole), wanted to coordinate everyone to do something together, and this finally happened, but the polarization was drastic enough that there wasn't anything really that could be done with the two cliques, so we all ended up going to an old building which had a really unusual presence there- one which could be felt in a corridor, another in the elevator- which went from the ground floor to the second floor in about two and a half minutes, but never felt as if it moved at all.
Afterwards, everyone headed outside and knots of conversation formed. I don't know how it happened, but Sandra and David suddenly jumped and grabbed Cynthia, who had been walking up behind me muttering something with an open black butterfly knife in her hand. Apparently she needed blood from someone close to her for something.
That little stunt was enough that we took her to hospital and several people filled out the required paperwork to have her committed under the Baker Act (a Florida law allowing for individuals to be voluntarily or involuntarily committed for psychiatric evaluation and care for a period up to seventy-two hours if they are deemed to be a danger to themselves or others).
After that period, she remained in treatment for another ten days or so before being discharged. I saw her a few times afterwards, but never in as intimate a situation as before. Things never worked out with Sandra either- we 'dated' and got close to having something happen three or four times, but never the right chemistry at the right time. She ended up moving to the mountains of western North Carolina to be close to her mother when her mom took ill about a year afterwards.
I can't seem to face up to the facts
I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax
I can't sleep cause my bed's on fire
Don't touch me I'm a real live wire
I think most people have at one point or another dated someone they thought was a little crazy. Some of us have even had a relationship of sorts someone who was really, certifiably crazy. Back in my younger, more foolish days, i did for a period of several months. Cynthia was a nice enough girl most of the time, cute enough in a dark and brooding way. She started out as a friend of a friend, and was someone i thought my roommate at the time was interested in dating.
At the time, my roommate and i were both parts of a coalescing group studying various elements of classical occultism, along with a dozen or so others, who frequented the 24-hour restaurants to talk and consume large quantities of tea and coffee. At the time, i was between periods of dating Sandra (who was another member of this group, as well as one of my sign-language instructors and my boss at my volunteer job)- i think i'll always feel that she and i were perfectly compatible, but almost exactly out-of-phase with each other; and i though Joe may have been interested in Cynthia (although as it turned out, he really wasn't, but was interested in her friends Ravyn and Melissa).
To condense a really long and rambling story into something of a digest, one night she showed up at our apartment at about 11 p.m. almost in tears. For whatever reason (and i can't recall why now), she was being kicked out of her place with nearly no notice, and needed someone to talk with. Ever the insensitive clod that he could be, Joe jerked his thumb over his shoulder in my direction and said "He'll listen to you. I'm going to bed," regardless of the fact that i hardly knew her at all. I've always had a fairly broad knight-errant streak, and this was a damsel in distress. How could i refuse?
For the next five days, we were inseperable every moment i wasn't at work (this was during one of the rare periods when i was only working one full-time job and volunteering ten hours or so a week). If i thought i had problems, after a day or so, they were nothing compared to hers. Not only was she in need of a place to live, she'd recently gotten laid off from her job, was having problems with her parents, and had a desperate need to share affection with someone.
For those five days, i don't think either of us slept more than an hour or two. She was very different than anyone with whom i'd had any sort of relationship with in the past- agressively passionate, not afraid either to initiate or ask very pointedly for something she wanted. These are still qualifying elements of what i look for in a prospective lover. She also ranks at the top of my personal "best kissers" list even now, and i was all too glad to play Olivier's Heathcliff to her version of Merle Oberon's Cathy Linton (Legend has it that during the filming of Wuthering Heights their embrace was so ferocious that on several occasions she drew blood from his lips).
By the end of the fifth day, i was exhausted. Upon arriving at work on the morning of the sixth day, i got told by my boss that i was taking a sick day whether i thought i needed it or not, and proceeded to go home and sleep for the next twelve hours. At about 8:30 that evening, Cynthia returned again- this time with news that she'd found a place and that life was looking up.
Psycho killer, qu'est que c'est
Far better
Run away
Psycho killer, que'st que c'est
Far better
Run away
Oh yeah
As time went on, we still had the occasional encounter, but nothing lasting over a day at a stretch (*laugh*), and were still involved in the group, although it was becoming significantly more polarized. It was clear that our interests were divergent- mine was with the concept behind the esoteric, hers with the power which could be exercised through it. So we grew in different ways. I progressed from studying Kabbalah and Tarot into investigating myth and legend in various cultures, eventually arriving at a connection with the Celtic goddess Brighid; Cynthia moved toward vampirism and blood magicks. Sandra and I started cycling closer to each other yet again, because our interests were very similar and we always seemed to have things to learn from each other.
One of the members of the group (i can't remember if it was Michael or Terry, but it had to be one of the two, because they were the only two who had interests which overlapped the increasingly polarized portions of the whole), wanted to coordinate everyone to do something together, and this finally happened, but the polarization was drastic enough that there wasn't anything really that could be done with the two cliques, so we all ended up going to an old building which had a really unusual presence there- one which could be felt in a corridor, another in the elevator- which went from the ground floor to the second floor in about two and a half minutes, but never felt as if it moved at all.
Afterwards, everyone headed outside and knots of conversation formed. I don't know how it happened, but Sandra and David suddenly jumped and grabbed Cynthia, who had been walking up behind me muttering something with an open black butterfly knife in her hand. Apparently she needed blood from someone close to her for something.
You start a conversation you can't seem to finish it
You're talkin' a lot but you're not sayin' anything
When I have nothing to say my lips are sealed
Say something once why say it again
That little stunt was enough that we took her to hospital and several people filled out the required paperwork to have her committed under the Baker Act (a Florida law allowing for individuals to be voluntarily or involuntarily committed for psychiatric evaluation and care for a period up to seventy-two hours if they are deemed to be a danger to themselves or others).
After that period, she remained in treatment for another ten days or so before being discharged. I saw her a few times afterwards, but never in as intimate a situation as before. Things never worked out with Sandra either- we 'dated' and got close to having something happen three or four times, but never the right chemistry at the right time. She ended up moving to the mountains of western North Carolina to be close to her mother when her mom took ill about a year afterwards.
Ce que j'ai fait, ce soir la
Ce qu'elle a dit, ce soir la
Realisant, mon espoir
Je me lance vers la gloire
We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they're not polite
