Archive for January, 2008

(Dante Mandragora won the toss–I resorted to consulting the Wheel of Fortune–not the game show: whoever is on top at the moment gets to explain him or herself. Besides I am redrafting his book “Dante’s Mirror”, although I like the title of his blog so much I may use that instead.)

Dante: I’m not sure I want my story told. Having spend the last 100 years living in obscurity in Seattle, a town that people always speak, with confused wonder, about visiting but never do, I don’t want too many people to remember what happened that Halloween a few years ago. I don’t even want to remember it–too unpleasant, both physically, since I nearly died, and emotionally, because, well, I nearly lost a beloved friend.

But she insists, this author, obsessively returning to my story as if it were an unsolved murder or a missing person, haunting my haunts, thinking as she rides the bus to work: that’s were Jake’s Studio is, I can see the location of Cherry’s bungalow from here. Ah, Hyronimous used to look out the window of the Airport Way Apartments, plotting how he will expunge his brother, Dante, from the catalog of eons.

For myself, I want to forget it all, but time won’t let me. It’s as if the clocks were muttering constant reminders, even if I did allow clocks inside my house, which I did not and do not now. I miss House with its murals and slamming of doors and odors on command; all the chronographs were obliterated when House went. I have had enough of seconds and minutes and hours.

But she will tell the story; she has to.  Passion, obsession–preoccupation, all this I understand. These cannot be controlled, only manipulated by will and even then can escape to run wild before being caged again.

Actually, I wouldn’t mind reading about Jayne again. I miss her. Maxine I see almost every day, as she has become a sort of pupil of mine. But Jayne. I don’t understand why she had to go.


Read Full Post »