The Universe in Miniature in Miniature by Patrick Somerville

Author:Patrick Somerville
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Featherproof Books
Published: 2010-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

I’d like to say the previous entry was inspired by grapefruit juice. My glass is here at my side. Me, my glass, my glasses, a table, a notebook, a pen. Here we all are. Reading the entry, I’m for the first time (in my life, I mean, with regards to any record of me, in any medium, ever) feeling this feeling that yes, pretty close, I do feel that way. Still. Days later. For once it is not a shifting, disgusting mountain of unidentified emotion burbling below the layer of trash that floats atop my consciousness and serves as my “personality”; for once it feels whole. Cohesive, firm, strong, permanent, alive, raw, honest.

It’s okay. It’s an okay feeling. Does this mean I’m actualized? Or dead? Jane came to see me. Prompting this entry. Yesterday, she was here. She cried. I didn’t. Consoled her. It’s amazing; it would be impossible to tell which one of us was the psycho, given a photo. Minus my mustache. You have to be insane to have a mustache in this day and age. I should have known—I should have known some storm was brewing within me the day I shaved the beard and left the mustache. I had a vision, life called, I decided to act. Closed my eyes and saw a sort of glorious me, Tremendous Jerry, shirtless, no chest hair, probably forty pounds lighter, muscles, all of that, standing I think on top of a mountain or a cliff with a flag? With the wind blowing? Hair waving? One leg up on a boulder, knee up? Very close look and you can see on the waving flag that the flag has a red background and then an image of me standing on a cliff holding a flag. And I had a mustache in this, and in the little one. (You’re wondering if the flags and the images within them went on forever, smaller and smaller? Don’t know.) Just one of those visions, this whole thing was, but now that I reflect I see too that it was a precursor to the big one, but then it felt more like a daydream. No biggie. I opened my eyes and there I was in the mirror, and a wonderful feeling of power came over me, this sense that I could truly go to that mountain. I have no interest in it but they say Finnegans Wake has a sleeping giant and this is a tremendous metaphor for humanity, they say we haven’t even woken up yet. All this sadness and we haven’t even woken up. Imagine that. Imagine, say, being an amiable young lad walking through a field in the easternmost regions of Europe sometime in the thirteenth century and looking up and a Mongol with a ten foot pike comes around the corner on horseback, screaming, he goes, “Ha!,” and he drives his huge pole right through your heart, all the way, and you go down to your knees right there as the rest

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