That Bright Moment May 10, 2015Posted by The Typist in Toulouse Street.
I have lost that man, and wander through my thoughts as if stapling his image to telephone polls and asking passing strangers if they have seen him, hoping in my wander to find him by chance lounging in the shadow of a familiar bar, cigarette in his mouth, fumbling through his pockets for a light. He is Mark I, and I dream this search from inside the bubbling vat of a madness, curled in the fetal position, almost wholly formed but still bound by umbilicals of memory and fear, not quite ready to be reborn Mark II. And that is my doom, waiting for that bright moment, the slap of the master which opens the eyes, unleashes the old cries from my lips reborn.
YOU ARE TRAPPED IN THAT BRIGHT MOMENT
WHERE YOU LEARNED YOUR DOOM
— Samuel R. Delaney in City of a Thousand Suns
Trapped not as you might think, given the juxtaposition of the word doom; trapped instead in the complex web of postdiluvian New Orleans in the way light is said to be trapped by a cut and polished gem, refracted by the complex play of facets until made into a flashing thing of beauty: that is how I try to live with what was once the shadow of The Flood, the rafts of ghosts it unleashed.
I have not finished Delaney’s novella trilogy Fall of the Towers, so I am not certain how the moment described by that recurring line will play out, the mass, simultaneous discovery by an entire society that a key assumption about their lives–that there was an enemy beyond the barrier; that they were…
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