graffiti... rantings... stories... my own carnival life written with iridescent lights...
posted by entropy_ket at
7:25 pm
Of him who shall find this, I must beg a little consideration. It is not the history of my life. This is only a record of broken and apparently unrelated memories, some of them as distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread, others remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with interspaces blank and black -- witch fires growing still and red in a great desolation. Backward beyond the beginning of this via dolorosa--this epic of suffering with episodes of sin--I see nothing clearly; it comes out of a cloud. I know that it spans only 20 years, yet I am an old woman. One does not remember one's birth--one has to be told. But with me, it was different; life came to me full handed and dowered with all my faculties and powers. Of a previous existence I know no more than others, for all have stammering intimations that may be memories and may be dreams. I know not, only that my first consciousness was of maturity in body and mind--a consciousness accepted without surprise or conjecture.
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