body electric (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} onekell) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} literaryquotes,@ 2005-08-14 18:08:00 |
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Life After God by Douglas Coupland
But then, every so often, through the fog of drugs and a downwardly spiraling lifestyle, the real Todd will shine through, and then I remember why I make the effort to see him through the years. For example, I will ask him what he thinks about while he plants baby trees in the lobotomized northern clearcuts. He will snarl and laugh (his dental work-oh!)and say, "The money, Dudeski, the money," and then he will stop and say, "You know that's not true. Man you know that was just a bad joke. Do you really want to know what I think about when I'm out there?"
"Yes."
"I think about this ... I think about how hard it is - even with the desire, and even with the will and the time - I think of how hard it is to reach that spot inside us that remains pure that we never manage to touch but which we know exists - and I try to touch that spot."
He will place a pinch of Drum tobacco on a rollie and he will squint, "Man, what else is there?" I've never touched that spot yet, but I'm still trying."
He will light his cigarette and reflect. He will then reach for me in my surplus 737 seat, grab me by one shoulder and place his other hand on top of my head, and then seemingly yank my spirit out of my body through the top of my skull with a great pull, shocking me.
He will then say, looking at my body, "Here you are. You have this meat thing here -your corpse-and then here you have ..." he will look at my imaginary spirit, draped from the fingers of his other hand, "You."
I will feel dizzy. I will feel as though Todd has cut me in two.
"What is you, Scout? What is the you of you? What is the link? Where do you begin and end? This you thing-is it an invisible silk woven from your memories? Is it a spirit? Is it electric? What exactly is it?"
He will gently, mime-like, place my spirit back into my body and I will be glad.
He will pat me on the head. "Don't sweat it, man. You're all there. Nothing escaped."
We will sit and listen to the silence for a while. Then Todd will speak some more. He will say, "Oh, I know you guys think my life is some big joke-that it's not going nowhere. But I'm happy. And it's not like I'm lost or anything. We're all too fucking middle class to ever be lost. Lost means you had faith or something to begin with and the middle class never really had any of that. So we can never be lost. And you tell me, Scout-what is it we end up being, then-what exactly is it we end up being then-instead of being lost?"
But then, every so often, through the fog of drugs and a downwardly spiraling lifestyle, the real Todd will shine through, and then I remember why I make the effort to see him through the years. For example, I will ask him what he thinks about while he plants baby trees in the lobotomized northern clearcuts. He will snarl and laugh (his dental work-oh!)and say, "The money, Dudeski, the money," and then he will stop and say, "You know that's not true. Man you know that was just a bad joke. Do you really want to know what I think about when I'm out there?"
"Yes."
"I think about this ... I think about how hard it is - even with the desire, and even with the will and the time - I think of how hard it is to reach that spot inside us that remains pure that we never manage to touch but which we know exists - and I try to touch that spot."
He will place a pinch of Drum tobacco on a rollie and he will squint, "Man, what else is there?" I've never touched that spot yet, but I'm still trying."
He will light his cigarette and reflect. He will then reach for me in my surplus 737 seat, grab me by one shoulder and place his other hand on top of my head, and then seemingly yank my spirit out of my body through the top of my skull with a great pull, shocking me.
He will then say, looking at my body, "Here you are. You have this meat thing here -your corpse-and then here you have ..." he will look at my imaginary spirit, draped from the fingers of his other hand, "You."
I will feel dizzy. I will feel as though Todd has cut me in two.
"What is you, Scout? What is the you of you? What is the link? Where do you begin and end? This you thing-is it an invisible silk woven from your memories? Is it a spirit? Is it electric? What exactly is it?"
He will gently, mime-like, place my spirit back into my body and I will be glad.
He will pat me on the head. "Don't sweat it, man. You're all there. Nothing escaped."
We will sit and listen to the silence for a while. Then Todd will speak some more. He will say, "Oh, I know you guys think my life is some big joke-that it's not going nowhere. But I'm happy. And it's not like I'm lost or anything. We're all too fucking middle class to ever be lost. Lost means you had faith or something to begin with and the middle class never really had any of that. So we can never be lost. And you tell me, Scout-what is it we end up being, then-what exactly is it we end up being then-instead of being lost?"
