DISCOURSE as quilting

Welcome to the intersection of P. L. Thomas writing about his writing and other writers' writing to explore discourse as quilting.

Archive for May 2014

remnant 60: “I want you always to remember me”

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We came to a stop and stood in the silent woods, listening. I tumbled pinecones and cicada shells with the toe of my shoe, then looked up at the patches of sky showing through the pine branches. Hands thrust in her jacket pockets, Naoko stood there thinking, her eyes focused on nothing in particular.

“Tell me something, Toru,” she said. “Do you love me?”

“You know I do,” I answered.

“Will you do me two favors?”

“You may have up to three wishes, madame.”

Naoko smiled and shook her head. “No, two will be enough. One is for you to realize how grateful I am that you came to see me here. I hope you’ll understand how happy you’ve made me. I know it’s going to save me if anything will. I may not show it, but it’s true.”

“I’ll come to see you again,” I said. “And what is the other wish?”

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

“Always,” I said. “I’ll always remember.” …

“Do you really promise never to forget me?” she asked in a near whisper.

“I’ll never forget you,” I said. “I could never forget you.” (p. 9)

Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami

 

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Written by plthomasedd

May 28, 2014 at 4:45 pm

remnant 59: “the better he might love me for it”

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His [Mireille’s father’s] disapproval was constant and quiet and exhausting. Mona and Michel largely ignored my father’s demands but as the youngest, I took him very seriously, made myself sick with the pursuit of perfection, the better he might love me for it. I had near-perfect recall of most everything I ever saw or heard or read—I was just lucky that way. It wasn’t so difficult to become excellent. My memory drives the people in my life crazy because I remember everything, always, in exacting detail. My memory was a gift until it became a curse, until no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget things I desperately needed to forget so I might survive. (p. 35)

Mireille in Roxane Gay‘s An Untamed State

An Untamed State, Roxane Gay

See also 6 Signs You Could Be a Highly Sensitive Person

Written by plthomasedd

May 22, 2014 at 5:28 pm

Posted in remnant 59

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