Something of Myself
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Why I Am Mad About The Queen's Language
Read this excerpt in The Guardian; ended up in a sense of awe and pure, uncorrupted admiration for the language she uses (not to mention the imagery)- it is, let's say, exquisite:
What is desire?
Desire is a restaurant. Desire is watching you eat. Desire is pouring wine for you. Desire is looking at the menu and wondering what it would be like to kiss you. Desire is the surprise of your skin. [...]
Time has been here before us. History has had you - and me, too. My hand has brushed against yours for centuries. The props change, but not this. Not this single naked wanting you. [...]
I will cross continents of history and geographies of time. I will be the place where the story starts. [...]
My heart is beating. The second that beats between your life and mine. I am leaning over the water, but it's not my own reflection that I see, the water is too troubled for that. What I can see is the world turned upside down, a watery city, the mirror of the solid world that I have now. But everything solid is turning into its watery equivalent. There is nothing to hold on to, I shall have to let go.
There is something to hold on to. You have put out your hand. For the first time I touch your skin, skin close enough for grafting. Graft this moment on to time and take it with us when the clock starts ticking again, which will happen very soon. Time stops rarely and not for long. The door opens but no one can say when.
Make love to me. [...]
Open me. Pass through me, and whatever lies on the other side could not be reached except by this. This you. This now. This caught moment opening into a lifetime. [...]
- Jeanette Winterson, The White Room.
Read this excerpt in The Guardian; ended up in a sense of awe and pure, uncorrupted admiration for the language she uses (not to mention the imagery)- it is, let's say, exquisite:
What is desire?
Desire is a restaurant. Desire is watching you eat. Desire is pouring wine for you. Desire is looking at the menu and wondering what it would be like to kiss you. Desire is the surprise of your skin. [...]
Time has been here before us. History has had you - and me, too. My hand has brushed against yours for centuries. The props change, but not this. Not this single naked wanting you. [...]
I will cross continents of history and geographies of time. I will be the place where the story starts. [...]
My heart is beating. The second that beats between your life and mine. I am leaning over the water, but it's not my own reflection that I see, the water is too troubled for that. What I can see is the world turned upside down, a watery city, the mirror of the solid world that I have now. But everything solid is turning into its watery equivalent. There is nothing to hold on to, I shall have to let go.
There is something to hold on to. You have put out your hand. For the first time I touch your skin, skin close enough for grafting. Graft this moment on to time and take it with us when the clock starts ticking again, which will happen very soon. Time stops rarely and not for long. The door opens but no one can say when.
Make love to me. [...]
Open me. Pass through me, and whatever lies on the other side could not be reached except by this. This you. This now. This caught moment opening into a lifetime. [...]
- Jeanette Winterson, The White Room.
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