inklingfair I was going to say something about the heat and hunger and Hunter S. Thompson pounding away on his typewriter, but… never mind. It’s cooler downstairs, but I like it here. It reminds me of the room above Mama Nora’s carinderia in Taytay with the ancient TV with channels going up to 13 and its dusty wooden box.
Last night, over kaya toast and tea, J gave me four reasons why he believes: (1) & (2) God/the universe conspires for his life to be filled with things of growth and be shielded from harmful/needless things; (3) God speaks to him through his word; and (4) He sees God in the lives of people who surround him. He reminds me more and more of Calvin O’Keefe – whom I would totally pair with young Amy Pond. /crossover
Today I watched Amy give up her Raggedy Doctor for Rory, and I cried, and I watched The Pandorica Opens and The Big Bang, and I cried some more. Last night it was Vincent and the Doctor. I’m so glad Pampanga did not push through today; I’m a wreck. I asked Patty if she wanted to go to Drink & Spell later, but she hasn’t replied. She’d get a kick out of that, spelling circles around everybody else.
But the wreck. Not an absolute one – a minor one – because of different reasons: How I forget (can’t, won’t, don’t remember – does that matter, really, when the point is the loss of knowledge?) things out of sight – this is the slow horror of the Silence. How Rory is Mr. Pond and the Doctor is a bit terrified of River. How Amy dies at 87, Rory at 84 (to me, Amy is three years older; to me they died at the same instant and turned into intertwined trees). How the Doctor is the time-traveler’s husband. How River can pop in and out of his life – perhaps because she knows all too well that to him, she is but a glimpse of Amy? Why else does she collect all those degrees?
Doctor Who: one episode and you’re entertained; dive into the mythos and you get a proper mindfuck.
I’m coming up for air. Maybe The Princess Bride.
Photo: somewhere in Coron, 2008
