Like brush strokes

[RoofDancer]

Фан-микстейп из двух подкастов и одной аудиокниги.

Для всех, но особенно для Антона

Some days I wonder if I’ll miss you after you go away forever, Doug. Today’s not one of them, but there are some days when I do wonder. I doubt it, but you never know. I am full of surprises.

На одном – черной тушью – дерево, раскидистое и корявое, почти без листьев. На голой ветке сидит очень одинокий и лохматый ворон, а внизу, у корней, свалка всякого мусора.

Here, amidst the now abandoned golf course and its neglected grass, amidst the shuttered strip malls and these potholed streets the extraordinary has tread, and the footprints, they linger if you know how to look for them.

There’s a beautiful storm outside the window. Wolf 359’s corona has been steadily expanding for the past three days, and it finally erupted twenty-five seconds ago. There’s solar winds swirling around the sunspots, leaving streaks of color in their path. It almost looks like brush strokes.

Долго смотрим на рисунки. Делается немного грустно. Первый рисунок мой, второй — Сфинкса, но на самом деле они — общее достояние стаи. То самое ценное, что мы не вешаем на виду, чтобы не перестать замечать. Мы смотрим на них раз в полгода или чаще, если решаем, что соскучились. Смотрим и вспоминаем подарившего нам их Леопарда. Смотрим, вспоминаем, грустим и переполняемся всякими важными эмоциями.

I’d tell you about it, Doug, but you wouldn’t be able to see it. It’s all happening on a part of the electromagnetic spectrum that the gelatin in your skull can’t process. You could stare at it for hours and not know that anything out of the ordinary was happening. It would just look like the same, old boring red dwarf star to you. But there’s so much more, Doug. There’s so much more, and you have no idea that it’s even there.

And almost always when he is in his bedroom, he’s drawing on the wall. What was on that wall? Everything was on that wall. The winds of change blew on that wall. The unfettered scroll of Technicolor wonders. The rainbow? A paltry container for the variety of colors applied to that wall. New color names would have to be invented. The ongoing overlapping shifting images and symbols. Mural, fresco appliquéd on that wall. All these ideas spewing forth from the eclectic multitudes of a single creative mind.

Слепой тоже обычно участвует в этом. Он достигает нужного состояния своими способами, насчет которых мы можем только строить догадки. Но бдения перед рисунками не пропускает никогда. Коридорные звери доступны его пальцам, их он знает не хуже нас. Перед тем как закрасить, Леопард процарапывал на стенах контур рисунка. А эти он знает с наших слов.

I’d describe it to you, if I could. But I can’t. I don’t have the words. You didn’t even give me the words. Your species never invented names for these colors, just because you couldn’t see them, couldn’t paint with them, couldn’t smear them all over your faces. Such a big, big universe, and you only ever gave yourself the tools to think about a tiny portion of it.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it fall, does it make a sound? Well, I'm here to tell you: trees have fallen, trees are falling, and you may listen, but do you hear?

И вот мы стоим и сидим перед нашим богатством. Смотрим на него — и не смотрим. Но видим. Слушаем и размышляем. Вешаем карту на место и возвращаемся к повседневным делам.

Maybe one day, when I have less to do, less conversations to keep track of, less people to take care of, less loopholes to find, less rules to break, once the game’s over... I’ll come up with some names for these colors. Yes, I like that idea. I think I’ll do that. Someday.

Kurt Cobain offering an origami swan to a sobbing River Phoenix.

Someday after you’ve all gone away...

@темы: Дом в котором, фанфикшен, Wolf 359, It makes a sound, подкасты