pictures of you

10 Dec

these postcards i get. they have happy pictures. smiling faces. and form letters. the previous year’s run-down in eight paragraphs. we went to do such and such with so and so. accompanied by “say cheese!” always. shopping at macy’s. louis vuitton. ice skating at rockefeller. vacationing at some resort in mexico. snow angels in the back yard. such a blast. i drink to it all. this is my denouement. as i discard them into the trash can. i’m an old pro at this. i don’t open the envelopes anymore. like faulkner. i hold them up to the light. if they don’t contain a check, they go. the sound and the fury. i live with Quentin and Caddy and Jason. and Dilsey always makes things right.

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”


4 Responses to “pictures of you”

  1. Geoff 11/12/2008 at 3:33 PM #

    “i hold them up to the light. if they don’t contain a check, they go.”

    — beautiful line, Alex!

  2. (S)wine 11/12/2008 at 6:58 PM #

    Thank you, sir. This piece was really a big bust for me. Strikes and gutters, though. This one? Gutter.

  3. Geoff 11/12/2008 at 11:43 PM #

    I think the bowling ball bounced back into the lane and knocked off a few pins at least. Nothing is a complete strike, or gutter.

    One sentence can begin a novel.

  4. Geoff 13/12/2008 at 11:03 AM #

    Alex, I have been thinking about my last comment for the past day or so — what I said about “nothing is a complete strike ….” And I’ve decided that this may “seem” somehow a contradiction — a strike is all of the pins down after all, but — end analysis — I do think some strikes are far more beautiful than others (style, form, etc., if I’m going to continue with this metaphor). So, I’m writing to stop obsessing (this all me), and then to reaffirm my comment (to you).

    Yes, let it stand.

    One word can begin a novel, too. Followed by another word. And then that great sentence.

    Bowling for good words. (a new game show for writers?)

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