Thursday, April 28, 2005

Correspondence

So, I replied to my brother’s last email, the one in which he stated that I was a Montreal bagel. I said, politely, that I wasn’t sure what he meant by this. His response:

A Montreal bagel implies that you aren't posing, that the eye follows you around because it sees you and that you've taken a lot of care while making up your aura. Your aura. The reason you make the news and are seen by young adults (builders) in the lounge/airport bar/city. Soul, not white flour which is blown around by the wind, itinerant and has no ties to the community. You've got soul V., where'd you get it?

I am realizing that my relationship with my brother now consists largely of reciprocal acts of interpretation.

I have noticed certain recurring metaphors. For example, my brother conceives of the university as an airport lounge, something akin to Marc Augé’s non-places. The lounge is remarkably Platonic, a sphere of ideas that is at a remove from everyday life. It is weightless and arid; I can almost hear Eno’s Music for Airports playing over the PA system. It is where he thinks I spend my days.

I haven’t the heart to tell him what it’s really like.

5 comments:

Caron said...

He posits a very serious question, though, Vila, Where did you get your soul? More importantly, Where can I get some of that good stuff?

Hey, just trying to make a potentially awkward/saddening situation a little lighter...

Vila H. said...

There are way better souls out there, Caron, trust me. Mine has eczema and smokes too much and can't sleep, and it certainly doesn't go rock-climbing in Costa Rica!

Major congrats on your new job, btw, and for whatever it's worth, I think you look fabulous in that picture.

Anonymous said...

Vila, nobody has a soul better than yours. If this was the middle ages, your brother would be considered holy--someone who can see the faint outlines of what others cannot. xo ada

Caron said...

Thanks for the kind words, V... Sometimes others do indeed recognize what we cannot see in ourselves.

Next time I am in Toronto (if I am EVER in Montreal -- which I do hope to visit), we must share a cig and a drink; for all their yoga and clean living, these L.A. folks are far to fearful of some of the purest joys in life.

Anonymous said...

I remember the last time I sat in your family's living room, with your brother. Before. Different guy.
Fuck.

m.