Christophe Guest Blog

This is my younger brother's second guest blog (his first one is here):


To begin with, Hannah is clearly way too full of suppressed stress. Sometimes I worry about her worrying about me. She sleepwalks and sleep does-laundry and sleep cleans and even sleep worries. I know that her bursting heart has a lot of worry over me and...I dunno...global warming perhaps. But I wish it didn't.

Anyhow, all in all, it's better for her sleeping and dreaming mind to be wracked with such concerns than for it to cripple her in waking life, as with some.

Right? Right?

Wouldn't it be odd and entirely surprising if Hannah snapped and offed us all in her sleep? I mean, of all of us to do that, Will, me, Alex...Hannah? Oh that would be rich.

She could carve the letters "OGK" into our bodies and smear it with our blood on the walls as her calling card. You know what that stands for. We all do, but the cops would never figure it out! It's perfect.

Iz late, me'z sleepy. You? You'z sleeping. You iz making all little "Zs" coming fromz your headz now. I go to check and....yepz, you iz doing that. All little Z's is floating above your sleeping head.

Iz cute.

So I just read approximately fourteen pages of your blog. I wanted background so that I could be suitably cheeky while having some modicum of knowledge regarding what your reading audience already thinks about me based on your comments.

I discovered that:

1) You don't write about me much. Thank you. But also me hurt. But also we lived far apart and you only called when you were walking home and had no one to talk to and I only called when drunk so....all in all....understandable

2) Also we both called with questions and trivia bits, this should be remembered for the sake of both of our images.

3) Your blog is perceptive and tells me things that you don't.


Those things and more I learned from your blog. Also that you cultivate much more dynamic and healthy friends than I do. We really are classic drawn-to-good-kids/drawn-to-bad-kids parallel. Well not bad, but the folks I fall in with tend to be philosophically disgruntled, passionate, full of life and death, existential, drunks, tireless workers, lovers of life and people and love, physical wailers and mourners and touchers and tasters.

Alexandra, she's quite the number, eh?

Found a piece of paper on the table today addressed to Peter. Commented on his pleasant smell. Said that she didn't want to have to "wait a week" before his arrival but she "would wait".

So what happens in a week?

My heart aches for Alexandra so much that I fear sometimes that it will break. I love you all and each so deeply and so much, truly, but I tell you, she inspires a particular feeling. Perhaps what Hannah feels for me? I don't know.

I've never felt a drug or pleasure that has come on harder and faster than yesterday when I rode out with mom to the store. The sky was a bluing greying mass whose sharp-edged clouds pooled low over-head at odd angles and dropped thin shadows over the water. Wind crested through, the temperature was ideal. Normally the clouds would bring on dull pain or depression in my mind but that day it hit me with crisp vitality and clear bucolic reality.

It was much realer than my thoughts. It pressed low and wide and broader than my eyes could see. I took it in peripherally while riding and feeling and moving. I could barely speak "It's gorgeous" to mom, but when I did it burst out with sober energy and I jerked up my back straight, thinking of how she would want me to.