Friday, 1 October 2010

Palimpsest. A Deceitful Portrait.


The pages of our lives are blurred palimpsest:
New lines are wreathed on old lives half-erased
And those on older still; and so forever.
The old shines through the new and colors it.
What's new? What's old? All things have double meanings.

All things return.

Conrad Aiken, Palimpsest: A deceitful portrait from The House of Dust


The more I write on myself (words, images, memories), the less readable I become. I am indecipherable. Sometimes I use ink, at other times pencil, often just my finger (writing in blood) and I cover often the old lives making sure they do not shine through. But they do. They are ciphers. I remember nothing. I have learnt nothing. Only the new lines I discern and even those are becoming unreadable as the old lines shine through.





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