in_places
01-18-2011, 02:40 PM
This is part of a little series I am working on, all from the point of view of a man who is slightly obsessed with science and goes into far too much detail about everything. They are all written in the same stream of consciousness style. Thanks for reading!
As always, I can see it coming. The word is forming slowly on the edges of her mouth, and I can see it rising up the throat and preparing itself for the open air. I can’t decide on what facial expression I will adopt when it arrives, or whether I will reply at all. Maybe I will just maintain my current face; eyebrows raised a little, wincing with my right eye, my upper lip scrunched up attractively. I am braced for impact. It could almost be a smile, but the kind of smile you’d pull if you didn’t find what was being said amusing and wanted to show it, but at the same time wanting to show how you appreciated the attempt at humour. It’s an expression I’ve had good practice with recently. It’s what I see in the reflections of shop windows, changing room mirrors, pint glasses. Even if I do find something funny, my body is very cynical. It decides that my amusement must be some kind of trick or deception, and so decides, in true poker style, to display little or no change in emotion. I’ll watch a film and enjoy the jokes, and at the end I’ll think about how funny it was. Then I’ll realise that at no point in the film did I actually laugh, or break into a smile. Any casual observer would see only a blank expression, with the flashing lights of the film lighting up my face like a bored and weary carnival-goer. The only time I laugh out loud is when I reminisce about previous things that made me laugh out loud.
I focus again on the situation at hand. The word has almost reached her lips. Will it manage to scrape its way past that dry, peeling skin? I hope it gets caught, like a coat caught on one of those branches that like to spend their time forcing people into the road or flicking back from the person walking in front of you, causing you to briefly abort your street character in favour of protecting your vision. Thinking about it, this is probably a similar effect to the one that this word will have. I notice that there is no make-up on her face. I don’t remember the last time she wore make-up just for me, but I know it was too long ago to pinpoint. We used to agree that two people in a relationship should always try to constantly impress each other, and not get too relaxed and take the other person’s affections for granted. Have I been doing that? Who stopped doing it first? I realise also that I’m not entirely sure what I would do to impress her. I wash every day. I clean up after myself, diary and focus of mind permitting. Does she want me to spend money on her? What would that show?
As I can see that the word is being exhaled, I abandon watching the mouth and decide to pay more attention to the eyes. I want to see if I can detect any sort of regret or anxiety, or at least some degree of care over my feelings. They are both looking at me directly, possibly for the same reasons. I look for the glisten of imminent tears, but see only the dilating pupils and the small, dry lumps of mascara from her day out with her friend yesterday. Would I be impressed if she wore make-up for me? Would I notice?
I scroll back down the face, following the bridge of the nose all the way to the mouth. I watch as the word is born, ejected from its warm place of conception into the harsh world of reality. I read something interesting about the nature of reality the other day, but I can’t quite recall what it was. It had something to do with dimensions, and how we don’t really exist in three dimensions as we believe, but actually exist in a hologram. Having studied philosophy, I am at home with questions on the nature of reality, but these days science seems to be more challenging to my preconceptions than philosophy ever was. In retrospect, it feels like I studied physics but without any of the facts and salient information. I had missed facts. Each time I learned an interesting one it felt like a brick that I was slowly building a house with. I would add these bricks to the walls until I had a home big enough for my needs, and I would be able to retire there and marvel. With philosophy, it felt like I was just deciding what wallpaper to have.
The word is now airborne. It is travelling through the air that divides us. Sometimes I look at objects and try to focus on the gap in between. It’s near impossible. Even though it is filled with tiny particles, and the same fundamental building blocks as the object in question and I, their composition renders them invisible to my eyes. They are easily swept away by any movement, and I assume their existence must be very similar to that of a film extra. I remember learning about how much of a particle is just empty space and how much this played on my mind. In some ways, those philosophers had it right. Life is a complete illusion, a clever trick. My brain can tell me that I am touching a table, but that isn’t really true. That’s just how we as humans are able to interpret the world around us. The universe isn’t here for our senses to have something to work on. Nothing needs to be smelt, or tasted, or felt. And I can certainly think of a few things that do not need to be heard.
And here it comes. It has made the crossing, weaving its way through the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen like a professional figure-skater, and it is about to make contact with molecules of my own. The specific molecules it is heading for are located in my ear, and without any apparent confusion or stopping to ask for directions, they know exactly where to go. Luckily my head is turned in such a way that there is direct passage from her mouth to my eardrum. The word circles round like water down a plughole before sliding in smoothly. A brief transaction occurs between the word and said drum apparatus, and the information is quickly prepared for the next phase of its journey.
The first port of call for this information is the part of the brain that registers speech and understands language. This tells me what the meaning this particular sound has. This is then registered by parts of the brain dealing with emotion and response, so I am able to decide how I feel about the information I have received. Then, depending on the information and the resultant reaction, parts of my brain controlling physical actions will kick in. This could be in the form of laughter, if it were a clever joke. Or a punch if the news is particularly aggravating. If it is of no relevance to me then a shrug will suffice.
Some news, however, leaves you motionless. Not the kind of motionless that is just a lack of action, rather a specific rigidity that you are unable to not maintain. It isn’t a lazy state. It takes all your muscles to suddenly contract at once. Even though I knew what was coming, and even though I had been planning on what I was going to do once the expected information had been received, actually hearing it has left me in this motionless grip.
The lack of action in my body, however, is balanced out by the machine gun thinking of my brain. There is no chance of a mistake; my brain has never failed to accurately convert sound waves into electrical impulses before, so it is unlikely that she said something different. Even if she hadn’t said anything, her face as it looks now would tell me all I needed to know. She looks different. She isn’t looking at me, she is looking everywhere else.
I realise with alarm that I am wondering what to eat for dinner. This hardly seems an appropriate response to a bombshell of this magnitude, but I am suddenly overwhelmed with how much my day to day tasks will change if she decides, now, to leave.
I will have to cook for one, and eat alone. Will I watch a film? Which film should I watch? Will I go to bed earlier, or later? Will I go to bed at all? Will I still sleep on the edge of the bed, or spread out in the middle like I get the urge to sometimes? Who will tell me off for not clearing up? Who will reward me when I do? What about all her food? Do I throw it away? Someone once told me that throwing away food is a major problem in climate change. So much energy is expended in creating and shipping these food products around the world, and we throw half of it straight into the bin. It's painfully inefficient. I would hate to contribute to that.
She’s gone. When did she go? How long have I been standing here, mouth slightly open, heart pumping like a pair of cyclists legs? She took with her some of the daylight. I hope she uses it wisely, I read somewhere in a science magazine that the sun is getting dimmer.
I think I’ll have lasagne.
As always, I can see it coming. The word is forming slowly on the edges of her mouth, and I can see it rising up the throat and preparing itself for the open air. I can’t decide on what facial expression I will adopt when it arrives, or whether I will reply at all. Maybe I will just maintain my current face; eyebrows raised a little, wincing with my right eye, my upper lip scrunched up attractively. I am braced for impact. It could almost be a smile, but the kind of smile you’d pull if you didn’t find what was being said amusing and wanted to show it, but at the same time wanting to show how you appreciated the attempt at humour. It’s an expression I’ve had good practice with recently. It’s what I see in the reflections of shop windows, changing room mirrors, pint glasses. Even if I do find something funny, my body is very cynical. It decides that my amusement must be some kind of trick or deception, and so decides, in true poker style, to display little or no change in emotion. I’ll watch a film and enjoy the jokes, and at the end I’ll think about how funny it was. Then I’ll realise that at no point in the film did I actually laugh, or break into a smile. Any casual observer would see only a blank expression, with the flashing lights of the film lighting up my face like a bored and weary carnival-goer. The only time I laugh out loud is when I reminisce about previous things that made me laugh out loud.
I focus again on the situation at hand. The word has almost reached her lips. Will it manage to scrape its way past that dry, peeling skin? I hope it gets caught, like a coat caught on one of those branches that like to spend their time forcing people into the road or flicking back from the person walking in front of you, causing you to briefly abort your street character in favour of protecting your vision. Thinking about it, this is probably a similar effect to the one that this word will have. I notice that there is no make-up on her face. I don’t remember the last time she wore make-up just for me, but I know it was too long ago to pinpoint. We used to agree that two people in a relationship should always try to constantly impress each other, and not get too relaxed and take the other person’s affections for granted. Have I been doing that? Who stopped doing it first? I realise also that I’m not entirely sure what I would do to impress her. I wash every day. I clean up after myself, diary and focus of mind permitting. Does she want me to spend money on her? What would that show?
As I can see that the word is being exhaled, I abandon watching the mouth and decide to pay more attention to the eyes. I want to see if I can detect any sort of regret or anxiety, or at least some degree of care over my feelings. They are both looking at me directly, possibly for the same reasons. I look for the glisten of imminent tears, but see only the dilating pupils and the small, dry lumps of mascara from her day out with her friend yesterday. Would I be impressed if she wore make-up for me? Would I notice?
I scroll back down the face, following the bridge of the nose all the way to the mouth. I watch as the word is born, ejected from its warm place of conception into the harsh world of reality. I read something interesting about the nature of reality the other day, but I can’t quite recall what it was. It had something to do with dimensions, and how we don’t really exist in three dimensions as we believe, but actually exist in a hologram. Having studied philosophy, I am at home with questions on the nature of reality, but these days science seems to be more challenging to my preconceptions than philosophy ever was. In retrospect, it feels like I studied physics but without any of the facts and salient information. I had missed facts. Each time I learned an interesting one it felt like a brick that I was slowly building a house with. I would add these bricks to the walls until I had a home big enough for my needs, and I would be able to retire there and marvel. With philosophy, it felt like I was just deciding what wallpaper to have.
The word is now airborne. It is travelling through the air that divides us. Sometimes I look at objects and try to focus on the gap in between. It’s near impossible. Even though it is filled with tiny particles, and the same fundamental building blocks as the object in question and I, their composition renders them invisible to my eyes. They are easily swept away by any movement, and I assume their existence must be very similar to that of a film extra. I remember learning about how much of a particle is just empty space and how much this played on my mind. In some ways, those philosophers had it right. Life is a complete illusion, a clever trick. My brain can tell me that I am touching a table, but that isn’t really true. That’s just how we as humans are able to interpret the world around us. The universe isn’t here for our senses to have something to work on. Nothing needs to be smelt, or tasted, or felt. And I can certainly think of a few things that do not need to be heard.
And here it comes. It has made the crossing, weaving its way through the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen like a professional figure-skater, and it is about to make contact with molecules of my own. The specific molecules it is heading for are located in my ear, and without any apparent confusion or stopping to ask for directions, they know exactly where to go. Luckily my head is turned in such a way that there is direct passage from her mouth to my eardrum. The word circles round like water down a plughole before sliding in smoothly. A brief transaction occurs between the word and said drum apparatus, and the information is quickly prepared for the next phase of its journey.
The first port of call for this information is the part of the brain that registers speech and understands language. This tells me what the meaning this particular sound has. This is then registered by parts of the brain dealing with emotion and response, so I am able to decide how I feel about the information I have received. Then, depending on the information and the resultant reaction, parts of my brain controlling physical actions will kick in. This could be in the form of laughter, if it were a clever joke. Or a punch if the news is particularly aggravating. If it is of no relevance to me then a shrug will suffice.
Some news, however, leaves you motionless. Not the kind of motionless that is just a lack of action, rather a specific rigidity that you are unable to not maintain. It isn’t a lazy state. It takes all your muscles to suddenly contract at once. Even though I knew what was coming, and even though I had been planning on what I was going to do once the expected information had been received, actually hearing it has left me in this motionless grip.
The lack of action in my body, however, is balanced out by the machine gun thinking of my brain. There is no chance of a mistake; my brain has never failed to accurately convert sound waves into electrical impulses before, so it is unlikely that she said something different. Even if she hadn’t said anything, her face as it looks now would tell me all I needed to know. She looks different. She isn’t looking at me, she is looking everywhere else.
I realise with alarm that I am wondering what to eat for dinner. This hardly seems an appropriate response to a bombshell of this magnitude, but I am suddenly overwhelmed with how much my day to day tasks will change if she decides, now, to leave.
I will have to cook for one, and eat alone. Will I watch a film? Which film should I watch? Will I go to bed earlier, or later? Will I go to bed at all? Will I still sleep on the edge of the bed, or spread out in the middle like I get the urge to sometimes? Who will tell me off for not clearing up? Who will reward me when I do? What about all her food? Do I throw it away? Someone once told me that throwing away food is a major problem in climate change. So much energy is expended in creating and shipping these food products around the world, and we throw half of it straight into the bin. It's painfully inefficient. I would hate to contribute to that.
She’s gone. When did she go? How long have I been standing here, mouth slightly open, heart pumping like a pair of cyclists legs? She took with her some of the daylight. I hope she uses it wisely, I read somewhere in a science magazine that the sun is getting dimmer.
I think I’ll have lasagne.