Disappearer

Don’t believe that it’s impossible to disappear. It is. Don’t believe that it’s impossible to step off this whirling world for a few precious breaths, or even longer, and excuse yourself from the screaming hubbub, the voices in your head, the doubts in your soul, the banal and the everyday. It is.

Your route is lined with gaudy hoardings, each of them lighting your path. Follow the subterranean rumble even as your skin resists the heat and noise and your mind tries to rebel against the claustrophobia. Nervousness may well descend in the shape of ticking and twitching, but keep walking the gloomy, unfamiliar corridors and lightly dragging your fingers along the damp walls until you find the door. Open it nervously, step inside, close it behind you. You’re gone.

Stand at the stained and streaked window and pretend that you can almost see your house from here. Gaze down at the city’s patchwork and know that at this moment, you are just one anonymous number amongst the teeming masses. No one can see you up here. No one ever raises their eyes in this direction, since everyone is trapped inside their solitary sphere and too intent on reaching their own destination. Hidden behind these misty panes and fluttering curtains, you only exist for one pair of eyes.

Freeze five seconds so that they last for an hour, freeze five minutes so that they last until dawn. Press play and let the spectral essence fill the darkened room, increasing in intensity until the speakers are blown and you fall to the floor. Then repeat the process so that moment after moment after moment is drawn apart and rent asunder. Don’t even give this music the slightest pause before hitting rewind and starting all over again. Give yourself up to the glorious noise and swim towards the sound of submerged strings, drifting in the salty water and sucking in deep breaths of the elsewhere.

And all the while, you wonder if you are really here, if this is really happening, if you have really disappeared. The answer only comes as sunlight invades your tired, heavy-lidded eyes come morning, and you step out onto the baked and burning concrete to rejoin the human race.

Comments: 20

    This encapsulates so many situations, could be interpreted in a hundred different ways, or might mean a million and one things, but I know what it means to me. And within that thought lies the essence of excellent writing. Beautiful.

    Miss Vertigo | 08.05.07, 18:57

    Disappearing is a great trick. If you could give specific directions to that door, people would beat a path to it. Which might then defeat the purpose, of course. Nevertheless, congratulations if you have found the secret to that temporary escape.

    bohémienne | 08.05.07, 19:07

    Your blog is the first genuinely interesting, compulsive blog I have come across. Still working on my blog. Was starting to feel like I would quit, as all blogs I have come across seem to be such perfect little sparkling globes of goddamn excellence (yours is a sparkling little globe of excellence too! Just not a self-regarding globe of excellence!).. This post is inspiring. Maybe I won’t give up the ghost yet then….

    little moon gate | 08.05.07, 19:25

    I love that. I used to long to be able to step outside my life sometimes - even if only for 5 minutes, in order to gird my loins for the next onslaught.

    Melograna | 08.05.07, 19:25

    Mmmmm… orange lolly…

    Ani | 08.05.07, 19:39

    i love it! i’ve blogrolled you awhile ago, and may have forgotten to mention it. ;) hey, i’m vesper.

    vesper | 08.05.07, 20:02

    it’s sort of important not to just disappear…sometimes.

    Miles Away | 08.06.07, 00:05

    I don’t want to disappear. I want everyone else to.

    Angelalala | 08.06.07, 00:28

    I’m invisible. Which is virtually the same as disappearing.

    NAGA | 08.06.07, 00:59

    Miss Vertigo - It’s what it means to you, yes. Thank you for ‘getting it’.

    Bohémienne - If only it was just the one set of directions. How simple that would be.

    Little Moon Gate - Welcome, and I do hope you keep blogging. This site is like a sparkling little globe, true. I am imagining a reflective disco ball.

    Melograna - It’s a long time since I have heard the phrase ‘gird my loins’.

    Ani - Lyons Maid? Walls? M&S?

    Vesper - Thanks for your link, and for your comment.

    Miles Away - Sometimes. Yes. Sometimes it’s important not to just disappear. But sometimes it isn’t.

    Angelalala - Yes, I agree with that too. Although I suppose that in the same way as that question asks whether a tree makes a sound if it topples over in a forest without anyone to hear it, it might be wondered whether everyone hasn’t in fact disappeared if you choose to do so.

    NAGA - Not quite invisible. I can see you.

    An Unreliable Witness | 08.06.07, 06:57

    I have to confess I’m a big fan of these nocturnal journeys of yours, mr unreliable… more please!

    edvard moonke | 08.06.07, 20:37

    Thank you for your kind words.

    I know this post…know it because I left a similar world to this in the big rat race of a city for a quieter, simpler life…

    You use words well.

    Nimbus | 08.06.07, 22:34

    I’m with Edvard, I enjoy your nocturnal emissions, er, journeys, also.

    callisto | 08.08.07, 07:31

    Edvard - They only come out at night, apparently. Ahem.

    Nimbus - Welcome. Your journey from the big city to the a quieter, simpler life is often a very appealing one to me.

    Callisto - I have never had comment passed in public, either favourable or unfavourable, on my nocturnal emissions. So thank you, I think.

    That’s quite enough innuendo.

    An Unreliable Witness | 08.08.07, 08:20

    Intriguing post - thank you!

    Richard | 08.09.07, 05:17

    You have a wonderful writing style: effortless and flows so beautifully. Have you ever read anything by Haruki Murakami? I think you would like his books. This passage reminds me of the atmosphere he creates in “The Wind Up Bird Chronicles”. Keep writing, you are very talented!

    www.akiterises.blogspot.com | 08.11.07, 20:17

    By the way, I was a ‘littlemoongate’ but have disappeared into the cyber-ether and when I emerged, I found I had metamorphosed into a rising kite. Thanks for your msg to me earlier. Yes, a a sparkling disco ball! (and all the girls handbags are in the middle and all the boys are airguitaring to Down Down Deeper and Down…oops think I’m flying my kite to close to the truth there…

    www.akiterises.blogspot.com | 08.11.07, 20:23

    Hello, a kiterises, and welcome (again). Hmm, Haruki Murakami? Funny you should mention it, but as anyone who knows me will readily tell you, I am a bit of fan, to put it mildly. Incidentally, you might also like to read this from way back in the archives.

    An Unreliable Witness | 08.12.07, 11:31

    Hot diggety dog! You love Murakami! Me too…point of information-I am a slow and infrequent reader. A book really has to GRAB me by the roots of my hair and YANK me in to its pages. So few books I have come across do this for me. Murakami does. The days that I spent reading “Wind up Bird” I still remember as the most ravishing and intoxicating days……I could do nothing but immerse myself in that deep, hypnotic, smooth pool…mmm, I have no well, but I do have a shed. There is a small spider and a dancing washing machine in there. Perhaps through the porthole of the washing machine there is a vortex via which I can….

    www.akiterises.blogspot.com | 08.12.07, 19:46

    But did you go down, or up?

    clare | 08.14.07, 11:29

Leave a comment