Nausea

" Something has happened to me, I can't doubt it anymore. It came as an illness does, not like an ordinary certainty, not like anything evident. It came cunningly, little by little; I felt strange, a little put out, that's all. Once established it never moved, it stayed quiet, and I was able to persuade myself that nothing was the matter with me, that it was a false alarm. And now it's blossoming. I admire the way we can lie, putting reason on our side."


"I think I am the one who has changed: that's the simplest solution. And the most unpleasant. But I must realize that I am subject to these sudden transformations." Nausea Jean-Paul Sartre


I Am Bursting My Stomach
My life is beginning to unfold like the chapters in Sartre's Nausea. But what is changing is my memory, forgotten words, forgotten "isms", memories erasing slowly. When I catch myself concentrating, obsessing on trying to remember that something that has slipped from a synapse, an overwhelming feeling of madness erupts, nausea, nausea. And then I become Joel Barish, completely separated from reality, chasing thoughts and memories in my unconscious mind, childlike and nervous, facial expressions displaying themselves, fidgeting, fidgeting, causing real people to ask me if I am okay, at first I am not there to answer, then I slip back and I must quickly, quickly produce some untrue excuse. When we were walking today on a path between tall trees, the fog creeping in, I forgot where I was, it felt as if I was on the campus of U.C Santa Cruz, walking to class. When we reached the castle I realized how mistaken my orient was, how mistaken I was, mistaken and the nerves crawling like slugs, slithering synapse by synapse, too slow, too late. But in reality I must try to remain collective, collective, inside the mind I am basket-holding collector of memories, one by one, hovering tightly over the woven willow flesh as it overflows. I should have bought two baskets, I should have made more room. I should slip back now. I should, I should, I should.