On the incongruousness of things
People are uncomfortable with incongruousness.
I was speaking to a neighbor about a mutual friend’s parents, who I didn’t get a chance to meet because I was sick and they are leaving tomorrow. I asked, “What are they like?” – my neighbor replied, “Midwesterners, white bread, nice.” I said, “Oh. I wish I could describe my family in a similar fashion. Instead, I was speaking to someone the other day when my brother called and I said, ‘I’ve got to take this, it’s my brother calling from prison.'”
I thought about this again as I crossed over the Magnolia Bridge tonight with the dogs and saw the Buddhist prayer flags strewn from one end to the other flapping in the gentle breeze. When the KVille production people were here filming they took down the flags. I reckon you think New Orleans, you don’t think Buddhist prayer flags. But I like those flags and I know who sneaks them up there.
I look like an Irish Catholic – but I am a Spanish Jew.
I know someone whose physical self is young, but whose mind is old.
There are lots of things in this world that don’t quite match up – that are incongruous. I’d like to write a book about such incongruousness – about a woman who has flashes of brilliance but is a fuck up, who loves profoundly, but can’t stay focused, who moves through life at lightning pace just trying to be still, who thinks God tapped her on the shoulder but feels guilty she’s so lucky, who had small dreams but real life exceeded her fantasies – I’d like to try to describe that incongruousness.