One day I shall burst my bud of calm and blossom into hysteria.
Christopher FryI've never seen a world
So festering with damnation. I have left
Rings of beer on every alehouse table
From the salt sea-coast across half a dozen counties,
But each time I thought I was on the way
To a faintly festive hiccup
The sight of the damned world sobered me up again.
What after all, is a halo? It's only one more thing to keep clean.
Christopher FryI seem to wish to have some importance
In the play of time. If not,
Then sad was my mother's pain, my breath, my bones,
My web of nerves, my wondering brain,
to be shaped and quickened with such anticipation
Only to feed the swamp of space.
What is deep, as love is deep, I'll have
Deeply. What is good, as love is good,
I'll have well. Then if time and space
Have any purpose, I shall belong to it.
If not, if all is a pretty fiction
To distract the cherubim and seraphim
Who so continually do cry, the least
I can do is to fill the curled shell of the world
With human deep-sea sound, and hold it to
The ear of God, until he has appetite
To taste our salt sorrow on his lips.
And so you see it might be better to die.
Though, on the other hand, I admit it might
Be immensely foolish.
Your life, sir, is propelled
By a dream of the fear of having nightmares; your love
Is the fear of being alone; your world's history
The fear of a possible leap by a possible antagonist
Out of a possible shadow, or a not-improbable
Skeleton out of your dead-certain cupboard.
I am very much in love with something;
What it may be I can't remember;
It will come to me.
That was a roundabout drive in the snow,
Owing to my erratic sense of direction!
... we have given you a world as contradictory as a female, as cabbalistic as a male, a conscienceless hermaphrodite who plays heaven off against hell, hell off against heaven, revolving in the ballroom of the skies glittering with conflict as diamonds: we have wasted paradox and mystery on you when all you ask us for is cause and effect!
A copy of your birth-certificate was all you needed to make you at peace with Creation. How uneconomical the whole thing's been.
We are all of us lost. The best we can do is make whatever we're lost in as much like home as we can.
Christopher FryThere may always be another reality to make fiction of the truth we think we've arrived at.
Christopher FryTag: inspirational truth fiction cristopher-fry
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