Blessed are the forgetful…

...for they get the better even of their blunders.

I am starting to think I did went to the empire’s capital to get my mind wiped out. They were there as well. Lacuna Inc was on Grand St., Rockville Centre. I’ve seen the movie twice, but never before noticed it, perhaps because Rockville didn’t meant a shit to me back then. Hell, I even bought the copy in Rockville! I must confess there was something about it (the real one) that reminded me of that movie (often). It just lacked the snow. Not that I actually missed it.

It was just too coincidental. It was right there where I erased my eternal feminine. Lucky me, since it had become a ruthless monstruosity. Yeah, just take a couple of long, unsuccesful and significant relationships and overcook them. Let them marinate overnight in their own outcome and address them with the sour drops of unconsummated relationships. Put some of the nice girls you didn’t even talked to and voila! Please serve cold. I always thought this reassembly would have the fine need of puking. But it didn’t.

As in Kauffman’s script, it took me to meet an uncommon girl to find my mind getting shattered again, and then rebuilt. Always a girl. And then I noticed. That movie is a hoax. Because we always perform self-lobotomies after a breakup! At least when the real breakup finally comes. A friend once told me to go back to the places holding dear memories and to breath the memories away. To regain the energy left there. It was Tai-chi. Or Reiki. Can’t recall. I don’t know if it works, I never actually did it. I used to call it “to wipe the astral cochambre from the mind”. Going to those places again and again ‘till the memory was gone. Or the feeling, to be more accurate. It didn’t worked… completely. I would’ve needed another eight years some six times to get it done. It’s just my life reeked of her. Of them, actually. Each and every physical and metaphysical corner of my mind had their scents. Individually or mixed. It was helplessly, maddening, hopelessly, despairingly desperate. It was that or get totally rid out of my life… my own life! Then it came Rockville. I was taken out of context to somewhere without family, lovers, friends, colleagues… without past. To a place where, in average, you’re not liked. At last you find yourself face to face with that very person you love the most and dislike the most. Or at least fear a bit. You. And in my case, it made me cry.

However, there was a main difference: at the end, I didn’t ended up missing to death all I have lost (or everything I never did), but actually remembered. After that incomplete and unsuccessful lobotomy, I remembered what I was (not who). What I had lost somewhere between the warm sheets of shared beds, between the cushions of those films in the cinema, along those wet and windy paths in the university, amongst the fallen leaves on autumm streets and most of all, between the two pairs of lips of all unaccomplished kisses. And fuck it worked! I don’t think I’m any better than before, I haven’t been enlighted. My epiphany is still waiting to be found. I’m just happier. Happy to be back in some track. My own. It’s more than enough to keep up with the living. And to consummate all those pending lips closures.

Thanks to all who where there and those who weren’t. It’s always helpful to be left alone. Specially to those two from abroad whom gave me hope. And I correct: everyone should visit Rockville. Rockville Centre. To get your heart wiped out and stitched back.

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot?
The world forgetting by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of a spotless mind
Each pray'r accepted and each wish resign'd
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, andsighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

-- AP, "Eloise to Abelard"