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i lost my formatting
by sigbjørn lund olsen
3.2.02
writing


I have met my brother again, and even now, after having lived with him over some time, I still cannot comprehend the chaotic discourses of his mind. His home is very much like that which we lived in when we were children. He derives from the same origin as me, I can see evidence of that everywhere. Just like at my home, his door is always open, through all day and all night, always inviting and hospitable.

He greeted me in his garden when I first came.

“This is a bad day to come to me, my brother. But I must admit, I would imagine every day is a bad day to come visiting me. Yet I am glad to see you - my moody mind should not affect my hospitality.”

We shook hands and he bade me sit down in one of the chairs he had on his porch. He briefly stepped into the house and a few minutes afterwards came out carrying teas and biscuits on a silver tray. “I inherited it from my mother in-law,” he explained. “I never had the taste for glamour, but being in possession of this tray, it would be a shame not to use it.”

After we had talked about old days, we went to sleep, since it had already been late when I arrived. It was an uneasy sleep, though, but I did not wake properly up at any point during the night. Or perhaps I did not fall properly asleep. In retrospect, it is hard to tell. Moonlight saturated the soul. Starlight thrilled it. Yet the void was still there, screaming to me not to buy the serenity offered to me. The dark silhouettes of trees beside me whispered silently, “Fake... Fake... Unreal.”

The next morning my brother didn’t speak much - all he said was, “Anger is a strangely profound emotion. The clarity of my thoughts is only justly reflected by the purity of my hatred. I feel at peace like never before. Giving in, chaos becomes order.”

When I asked him what he meant by that, he merely penetrated my eyes with his, and roamed deep within my skull with his stare. I could find no purpose for his words, just more puzzlement and frustration.

During dinner he said something for the second time that day.

“I’m not unaware of my condition. It is a continual choice I make, to ignore the ironies of it, but a choice I make without remorse. There is no going forward if one doesn’t take that step. Giving in, there is no way I can give up.”

A breeze had picked up since the morning, making the leaves in the trees rattle. I shrugged the words off me, wondering only for a moment why I was accepting the insanity of my brother, why I was accepting the sudden change overnight, but the thought had not yet gathered substance before something blew it out with a mighty heave. The leaves rattled.

In the evening, as the sun was setting, he spoke his last words to me.

“Don’t let me touch you, love, I’ll stain you, stain you with an evil that cannot be contained. Stained in life by death. It is an ugly sight.”

His eyes were staring at me, dark, dark, dark, dark as a deep pond, silent, serene. And there I saw my reflection.

What can I do? A hundred thousand souls burning, and I envy them. Mine is merely chilled. I can feel the cold metal of despair touch my spine, my psyche, my life. I can feel his touch sucking up all warmth under my skin, under every layer of defence I have. What can I do? I cannot contain his evil. And there is no hope in this world. There’s no reward. No justice.

And what can I do? Only give in.

It’s dark - The night grips me with great hazy hands of destruction... And even as I realize I do not comprehend the choices of my brother in mind, I cannot resist any more...

It’s dark. Black. Cold. Our horizons have converged and eclipsed and now we have no horizon at all anymore.

Black.


ABOUT SIGBJØRN LUND OLSEN

Sigbjørn still maintains that he is going to be somebody ... carefully neglecting the fact that all the ninety-year olds still singing into their combs in front of their mirrors, they too knew that they were going to be somebody. It is slowly dawning on him that his shot at being a star kid actor may very well have passed, so as a backup plan, he's currently attending university in Trondheim, Norway, studying film.

more about sigbjørn lund olsen

IF YOU LIKED THIS COLUMN...

the first circle
feeling small
by sigbjørn lund olsen
topic: writing
published: 3.31.03


the last loaf
a moment of postmodern being
by sigbjørn lund olsen
topic: writing
published: 12.11.04





COMMENTS

tracey kelley
3.6.02 @ 11:18a

I really like this, but find it hard to discuss because I don't know where to begin. Care to open up a diaglogue?

trevor kleiner
3.6.02 @ 11:36a

Sure, pick a starting point, but then, I'm not the author.


[edited]

sigbjørn olsen
3.9.02 @ 2:31p

Perception depends on the perceptor. I stay silent.

jack bradley
3.9.02 @ 8:08p

I would also suggest that since we already "know" (at least in this format)Sigbjorn, it would help the discussion to know if this is autobiographical or not. I would discuss it more freely if I weren't concerned that I was venturing into very personal territory.

Then again, that may be exactly what Sigbjorn is inviting us to do with our discussion. (Oh, and I apologise for not knowing how to make that "ø" letter for your name.)


sigbjørn olsen
3.10.02 @ 8:01a

If people see properties in this text that can relate to me, I wouldn't be surprised. I don't think writers ever write anything without leaving some of themself in what is written. Autobiographical? Perhaps.

I can't really answer you, Jack, and neither am I that willing to :-)

jack bradley
3.10.02 @ 5:23p

That was silence?

(And what question did I ask that you can't or won't answer? In answer to the "care to open up a dialogue" post, I suggested that if there were more information, I'd be more willing to discuss this piece.) :-)


sigbjørn olsen
3.10.02 @ 5:36p

Don't ruin my argument with *facts* please ;-)

tracey kelley
3.21.02 @ 10:11p

Okay, I'm back again, Sigbjørn. What prompted this particular piece?

sarah ficke
3.21.02 @ 10:50p

“I’m not unaware of my condition. It is a continual choice I make, to ignore the ironies of it, but a choice I make without remorse. There is no going forward if one doesn’t take that step. Giving in, there is no way I can give up.”

I don't know that I understand it, but I really like this line, Sigbjørn.


sigbjørn olsen
3.30.02 @ 12:20p

Tracey: The need for doing something unproductive :-p

Sarah: Thanks.



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