Thursday, January 22, 2009

negative space

He couldn't do it. Too much frustration and a page covered in abortions. All he could manage to write was everything in between all the things he wanted to say, all the black space between his thoughts. He gave shape to things by writing with negative space like the painter who creates a white vase by painting everything around it black. What was left sometimes made a picture, and sometimes he could recognize it, but filling the in-between spaces was never his intent; it was simply all he could manage. He felt like a mute. Every time he read over what he had written, he heard a voice in his head quoting Prufrock: That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.

People who are able to drill into their core and extract their innermost thoughts and feelings have the duty to find whatever is in them that justifies having such a gift and extract it for everyone to marvel at, he thought.

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