"- And when did you start to slip?
- Stray is probably the word to use in this context.
- Or lapse. There is a spiritual connotarion to it that seems fitting
- All right, lapse. Around nineteen seventy. I suppose. But there was norhing spiritual about it. It was all about sex, sex pure and simple. (...)How many times had I betrayed Sonia by then? Three or four one-night stands, and one mini-affair that lasted roughly twoo weeks. Not such a gruesome catalogue when compared to some men, but enough to have taught me that I was prepared to seize opportunities whenever they presented themselves. But this girl was different. You didn't sleep with Rebecca McNally and say good-bye to her next morning - you fell in love with her, wanted her to be part of your life. I won't bore you with the tawdry incidentals. (...) I still had no intention of leaving Sonia, you understand. I wanted both of them. My wife of seventeen years, my comrade, my innermost heart, the mother of my only child -- and this ferociuos young woman with the burning intelligence, this new erotic charm, a woman I could finally share my work with and talk about books and ideas. (...) For several months I managed to make it work, and I was no longer a mere magician, I was an aeralist as well, prancing alone my high wire, shuttling between ecstasy and anguish every day, growing more and more certain that I would (never) fall" (Paul Auster, Man in the Dark, slightly adapted)
A dark room, a dark ceiling, a stupid character of a nineteen-century novel.
Une nature morte?
Or the vireo's first chirp of the morning?
- Stray is probably the word to use in this context.
- Or lapse. There is a spiritual connotarion to it that seems fitting
- All right, lapse. Around nineteen seventy. I suppose. But there was norhing spiritual about it. It was all about sex, sex pure and simple. (...)How many times had I betrayed Sonia by then? Three or four one-night stands, and one mini-affair that lasted roughly twoo weeks. Not such a gruesome catalogue when compared to some men, but enough to have taught me that I was prepared to seize opportunities whenever they presented themselves. But this girl was different. You didn't sleep with Rebecca McNally and say good-bye to her next morning - you fell in love with her, wanted her to be part of your life. I won't bore you with the tawdry incidentals. (...) I still had no intention of leaving Sonia, you understand. I wanted both of them. My wife of seventeen years, my comrade, my innermost heart, the mother of my only child -- and this ferociuos young woman with the burning intelligence, this new erotic charm, a woman I could finally share my work with and talk about books and ideas. (...) For several months I managed to make it work, and I was no longer a mere magician, I was an aeralist as well, prancing alone my high wire, shuttling between ecstasy and anguish every day, growing more and more certain that I would (never) fall" (Paul Auster, Man in the Dark, slightly adapted)
A dark room, a dark ceiling, a stupid character of a nineteen-century novel.
Une nature morte?
Or the vireo's first chirp of the morning?
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