beat deaf.

5 August 2012 · by · in blah, death, papa

After injecting anesthetic on my arm, they started operating on it. I could feel something, but it felt like there was a thick barrier between my arm and their operating devices. This is what it feels like: like reading something written on a sheet of paper lying under hundreds of sheets of transparencies. I can see what’s written on that sheet of paper, but there’s a solid distance – the paper visible but untouchable to me.

Anger is something you tame down over time. The memory is there, but it doesn’t incite as much emotional response as when it was fresh. When my heart skips a beat, I can tell you exactly which beat is the one missing: it’s no other than the beat that belongs to him. Because genetics, my friends, is not merely physical.

remote control baby. →

As a result of an auction in Sarah Vanhee's The Great Public Sale of Unrealised But Brilliant Ideas, my bio has become a collective bio:

When they were thirteen, Tintin Wulia and Christiane Berndes wished that Peter Pan would lose his shadow in their neighborhood, because they thought that Peter Pan was kinda sexy. Night after night, they would think a happy thought, wishing that Peter would find them if they could fly. Nothing happened – Tintin and Christiane discovered that Peter had much preferred Wendy.

Three decades later, Tintin and Christiane are still discovering many things. One, that Peter Pan is a fictional character invented by James Matthew Barrie. Two, that the fact that Peter is fictional doesn’t mean that he’s illusory. They are also discovering that, three, it is not a happy thought that one needs to be able to fly – it is, rather, the combination of a passport and a valid visa. And also, four, that the fact that one needs a passport and a valid visa to be able to fly is just shitty.