2006-07-14 - 12:53 a.m.
A Sampling of the Work of Sakaguchi Ango
or...
What's Been Eating ELOFTING@HOTMAIL.COM, Articulated Better Than She Herself Would Care to Attempt
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Where did reality reside? There was no evidence that it could be found even in human love. Where, if anywhere, could there be anything so real that it warranted a man's devoting his entire passion to it? Everything was merely a false shadow. But as he stroked the woman's hair, he felt like bursting into tears. He was overcome by the heartrending idea that this small, elusive, utterly uncertain love was the very haven of his life, that involuntarily he was stroking the hair of his own fate...
...Yet he felt that there was something rather fantastic and ludicrous about the whole idea. This was probably because his external triviality had by now begun to erode his very heart in such a way that the frank feeling of love that was gushing up within him seemed entirely false.
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I read this a week ago, and I've thought about it an awful lot since.
Why is it so hard for me to be sincere? This, what Sakaguchi Ango wrote, is it. Isn't it?
It's why it's so hard for me to not smirk, say to myself this-is-gay, and snuff Sincerity out. It's why it's hard for me not to do all of this even though nothing I ever did with that attitude made me happy.
Fuck. I'm doing it. ELOFTING@HOTMAIL.COM is going to be sincere.
