XXIV She opened the door. Port lay in a strange position, his legs wound tightly in the bedcovers. That corner of the room was like a still photograph suddenly flashed on the screen in the middle of the stream of moving images. She shut the door softly, locked it, turned again toward the corner, and walked slowly over to the mattress. She held her breath, bent over, and looked into the meaningless eyes. But already she knew, even to the convulsive lowering of her hand to the bare chest, even without the violent push she gave the inert torso immediately afterward. As her hands went to her own face, she cried: “No!” once-no more. She stood perfectly still for a long, long time, her head raised, facing the wall. Nothing moved inside her; she was conscious of nothing outside or in. If Zina had come to the door it is doubtful whether she would have heard the knock. But no one came. Below in the town a caravan setting out for Atar left the market place, swayed through the oasis, the camels grumbling, the bearded black men silent as they walked along thinking of the twenty days and nights that lay ahead, before the walls of Atar would rise above the rocks. A few hundred feet away in his bedroom Captain Broussard read an entire short story in a magazine that had arrived that morning in his mail, brought by last night’s truck. In the room, however, nothing happened. Much later in the morning, probably out of sheer fatigue, she began to walk in a small orbit in the middle of the room, a few steps one way and a few the other. A loud knock on the door interrupted this. She stood still, staring toward the door. The knock was repeated. Tunner’s voice, carefully lowered, said: “Kit?” Again her hands rose to cover her face, and she remained standing that way during the rest of the time he stayed outside the door, now rapping softly, now faster and nervously, now pounding violently. When there was no more sound, she sat down on her pallet for a while, presently lying out flat with her head on the pillow as if to sleep. But her eyes remained open, staring upward almost as fixedly as those beside her. These were the first moments of a new existence, a strange one in which she already glimpsed the element of timelessness that would surround her. The person who frantically has been counting the seconds on his way to catch a train, and arrives panting just as it disappears, knowing the next one is not due for many hours, feels something of the same sudden surfeit of time, the momentary sensation of drowning in an element become too rich and too plentiful to be consumed, and thereby made meaningless, nonexistent. As the minutes went by, she felt no impulse to move; no thought wandered near her. Now she did not remember their many conversations built around the idea of death, perhaps because no idea about death has anything in common with the presence of death. She did not recall how they had agreed that one can be anything but dead, that the two words together created an antinomy. Nor did it occur to her how she once had thought that if Port should die before she did, she would not really believe he was dead, but rather that he had in some way gone back inside himself to stay there, and that he never would be conscious of her again; so that in reality it would be she who would have ceased to exist, at least to a great degree. She would be the one who had entered partially into the realm of death, while he would go on, an anguish inside her, a door left unopened, a chance irretrievably lost. She had quite forgotten the August afternoon only a little more than a year ago, when they had sat alone out on the grass beneath the maples, watching the thunderstorm sweep up the river valley toward them, and death had become the topic. And Port had said: “Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don’t know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It’s that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don’t know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.” She had not listened at the time because the idea had depressed her; now if she had called it to mind it would have seemed beside the point. She was incapable now of thinking about death, and since death was there beside her, she thought of nothing at all.
I don't quite understand sometimes. But when ever I watch Brandon, I get tears in my eyes. I just recently lost Mum the same way I lost my Sister. So I know life's going to be hard now without sister & mum. But for some reason I always come hear & watch this. I Feel like I'm at peace ✌🏿 . & In The same boat as Shannon, I feel even when hope is a down fall, it's like there is still strength to go forward, even now when the difficult settings have been raised.
Rufus dearest one I guess in my experience above Jericho exists a judas how the place above me Lin 8 unusually gay w many twins wanted me w Lukas Nicola we will save his life love is there he and more his people chose utter ignorance of my blessed life after I contacted yoko Harry everyone and in part made him wealthy....everyone from Egypt came and they knew no dear they are ignorants he's Sam 825 1998 red heart broke the nile river of life the white bandage savior judas is Jericho Jude is Sam I grieve Lukas we really love each other thay liv on him like leeches love you Rufus....[jajinek his twin and River eternal love]¿¿¥??
You who were born with the sun above your shoulders You turn me on you turn me on You have to know You who were born where the sun she keeps her distance You turn me on you turn me on But so does she You who were born there where beauty is existence You turn me on you turn me Your body heals my soul You who were born where you shiver and you shudder You turn me on the girl is gone so come on Let's go All the pearls of China Fade astride a volta Don't sew beelines to anybody's hide Save your poison for a lover who is on your side One way is Rome and the other way is Mecca On either side on either side Of our motorbike One way is home and the other way is papa On either side on either side and prepared to strike. When I get back I will dream in Barnes and Noble's Oh leave me here oh leave me Where angles fear to tread When I get back I will bleed after my beating Don't leave me here don't leave me here I'm scared to death All the pearls of China Fade astride a volta Don't sew beelines to anybody's hide Save your poison for a lover who is on you side All the pearls of China Fade astride a volta Don't sew beelines to anybody's hide Save your poison for a lover who is on your side.
I watched this interview when the movie came out well over 20 years ago when I was 16 or so and this quote changed my life. I read the book and it’s one of the most unsettling books I’ve ever read. But this quote and this idea totally changed my thinking about life and I keep coming back to it. RIP Brandon Lee and thank you. X
It’s supposed to be about sensuality and unrequited rapture. The tempo here sounds like he’s wearing flip flops on 5th Avenue in a rush to get to the Subway train.
Ahhh memories. My safe place. When my life was beautiful. To be back there again and not be depressed and sad. To go a day without thinking of suicide.
How precious. He’s actually living the song as he sings. Lost in his own world. I get the feeling it wouldn’t matter if there were no audience to hear him.
Rufus doesn’t thrive off an audience, from what I’ve experienced he isn’t fond of meeting them much either. He lives in his world when he sings, his sound checks sound like the real thing. I think he truly does go in his own world. I love him. He is truly like no other.
Happy Heavenly 55th Birthday, Brandon! You are missed dearly. Hard to believe it’s been 27 years 😢 Your final movie, The Crow, is superb! R.I.P. Brandon Lee
