Nothing. Everything. (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 246)

“They don’t like me,” she said. “And I don’t like them.”

That did make him chuckle, especially the brazen, arms-folded way she said it, like she’d decided they were her eternal enemy.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he said. “No, I’m not. You’re a curious person. You ask questions. That’s why they don’t like you. That’s all.”

“What’s wrong with asking questions?”

“Nothing.” Everything. Once questions snuck in, whatever had been certain became uncertain. Questions opened the way for doubt.

“But you’re curious, too,” she said.

‘Why do you say that?”

“You guard the light. And light sees everything.”

Acceptance

Jeff Vandermeer          2014

 

 

Past a Certain Point (Love vs Sex 253)

 

Control (a nickname of a person) could not get the image of the biologist out of his head. The look on her face in the empty lot—that blankness—and then, later, in the sessions, the warring of contempt, wildness, casual vulnerability, and vehemence, strength. That had laid him low. That had expanded until it hooked into the whole of him, no part of him not committed. Even though she might never know, could give two shits about him. Even though he would be content should he never meet her again, just so long as he could believe she was still out there, alive and on her own. The yearnings in him now went in all directions and no direction at all. It was an odd kind of affection that needed no subject, that emanated from him like invisible rays meant for everyone and everything. He supposed they were normal feelings once you’d pushed on past a certain point.

Authority

Jeff Vandermeer          2014

Orgasm, Agenda, Assimilation, Need, and the Tides (Love vs Sex 249)

But fun for me was sneaking off to peer into a tidal pool to grasp the intricacies of the creatures that lived there. Sustenance for me was tied to ecosystem and habitat, orgasm the sudden realization of the interconnectivity of living things. Observation had always meant more to me than interaction. He knew all of this, I think. But I never could express myself that well to him, although I did try, and he did listen. And yet, I was nothing but expression in other ways. My sole gift or talent, I believe now, was that places could impress themselves upon me, and I could become a part of them with ease. Even a bar was a type of ecosystem, if a crude one, and to someone entering, someone without my husbands agenda, that person could have seen me sitting there and had no trouble imaging that I was happy in my little bubble of silence. Would have had no trouble believing I fit in.

Yet even as my husband wanted me to be assimilated in a sense, the irony was that he wanted to stand out.

“Ghost bird, do you love me?” he whispered once in the dark, before he left for his expedition training, even though he was the ghost. “Ghost bird, do you need me?” I loved him, but I didn’t need him, and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. A ghost bird might be a hawk in one place, a crow in another, depending on the context. The sparrow that shot up into the blue sky one morning might transform mid-flight into an osprey the next. This was the way of things here. There were no reasons so mighty that they could override the desire to be in accord with the tides and the passage of seasons and the rhythms underlying everything around me.

Annihilation

Jeff Vandermeer          2014