Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Joan, another Karen...

always liked to like something well said.
i should have written this story in another way. I should have made a story. I should have used names. made up names.

It could have been brilliant.

well, from one thing to another - like in weird dreams…today I started reading that book by Joan Didion that I bought in a bookshop on Bergmanstr yesterday. it was a tuesday. I had had lunch with Guergana.

i found these books by Didion. I should have bought them all. I suddenly remembered this interview with her - how much I felt with her. She talked about writing about the loss of her husband - or was it her son...anyway, I had never heard of her before. well I bought 1 book. and after reading 10 sentences I knew I liked her. a lot. after 1 page I knew we were related. and wow, wasn't that a great feeling?

(like when I got the strong urge to go and see Karen Blixens grave in Denmark. She was buried next to her beloved dog. what a woman she must have been. She always wondered if it was raining over Ngono...)

to know somehow that you did find home?

it's all there. the language, the references…amazing. i love that I found her.
I feel so lonely sometimes.

wishing for that grasping feeling of a story that you want to hear but that is not being told as you wish to. and because the storyteller knows better than you what you need and want….but who writes it? who is the storyteller? how do we read a story?

i want to create that story. or a story.