I’ve finally matriculated, and I expect to feel nothing? she asked while I stared at the daffodils at her feet, daffodils you’d think someone might have cleaned up by now, at least if there was any dignity in this place. Or any justice in the world. When your father greeted me just a moment ago he referred to me as “Toyota Camry” and explained that I have a fine engine in me and began wistfully repeating “if only… if only… some of the upholstery out of the back, strip the air-conditioning…” while gently caressing my single headlight. She explained nudging one of the daffodils with her foot that she’d worked hard for years and had she thought certain ideas borrowed from Jewish, Christian and Marxist thought (not being she said too well-read on Islam) that matriculation meant the end of history and that her time of suffering was over. And so this feeling of nothing coming when she had reached the end disturbed her. For my part I slipped the chain back on the axle and ever-so-slightly agitated my back wheel in order to dislodge a daffodil caught underneath the fender. Standing up from her seat she turned to the glare of the door as it opened and shielding her eyes asked Hello? Have you come about the flowers?


  1. I think you wrote elsewhere a question about whether some things must be thought in order to recognize their triviality later, and so I wonder if I should take these Jewish, Christian, Marxist thoughts on matriculation seriously or file them away for later amusements concerning frivolous youthful thought. Ring me up after she dies and tell me what our wizened daffodil girl knows.

  2. Don’t let the fact that it took me a week to approve this comment fool you (my internet’s been obsoleted and I can’t seem to work this site from my T9 phone): I am “into” this comment. I can’t remember where I said that, but it’s true I think, and I’m glad you brought it up. Borges often writes of “heretics” who, in order to make sure their next life is really great (or their life in heaven is awesome) commit every unspeakable act they can think of, under the theory that it won’t be repeated. I don’t know, maybe writing is like that, or maybe it’s all flow and personality isn’t “sited” in a constant (in some sense) perspective. Does that even make sense, how I’ve written that?

  3. Oh jesus, I wrote the entry you’re talking about, what, two days before this one?

  4. Yeah, you wrote it, and then you like… you act like I’m busy bringing up stuff from the past… it’s this constant thing with you, man!

  5. Reading your comment, I’m not sure if you took what I wrote as a statement on your writing, or on the character herself? I totes meant the character, man! I kind of assumed this was based on a hodgepodge of real people, if not a single person.

    Also, I like the daffodil metaphor, because even though I don’t know what it means, I’m sure if I were there I’d say something like “C’mon man, everytime I come here its always these daffodils. I like you guys and the service, but like, you know… when you have a moment.. you know what I mean?” So I’m fairly certain that despite having no idea what it means, that my reaction to those daffodils is indicative of my own personality in such away that perfectly synchronizes with whatever the actual meaning of them is. That’s art right there, when you’re in the art and you don’t even know it!

  6. Damn, I don’t know why I do that. I do do that. I do that all the time? I didn’t know that.

  7. I took what you said as a statement on the writing, maybe because of the reference to the “canon”, maybe because (in a very limited sense) her thoughts (kind of) echo my thoughts (maybe). Your last sentence makes more sense now, I thought you were referring to her as an actual person living inside me and I wasn’t sure what to do with that at all (“She’s going to die?!”).

    I agree about the daffodils. That’s a good way of putting it. That’s my (subconscious) goal when I put in details like that but maybe I’ve never clarified it to that extent.

  8. Yeah, I was posing the question to you as the writer, but more I guess wondering what your view on your character is. I think this is a good way to be, and a good way to be a friend! Everytime, for instance, that I turn in Erectesian fiction to my creative writing professor, it is always supposed that the extremely graphic and detailed murder of my professor (A VERY IMPORTANT SET OF DETAILS, KNOWN TO ANYONE FAMILIAR WITH THE WORKINGS OF THE ERECTESIAN STYLE OF FICTION) is in fact a comment from the writer. Nothing could be further from the truth. The writer, in fact, spends most of his time considering the humor of the word boner. Why, in a recent example, the writer considered not even three to four seconds ago the humor, or humour as some might spell it, which would arise should we begin spelling boner as bonour. So I pose to you, Mr. Babyn, how could such an innocent mind, a simple mind, truly intend harm? Certainly, the cause is less a desire to murder and more the writer’s insistence on adhering to the guidelines of orthodox Erectesian fiction.

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