Mark Z Danielewski

by House Of Leaves (pdf)

  Easle refused to tell its nature but did end up saying—

  "Now that, that is an unforgivable trick."

  The commotion mounted,

  Zenethic in climate, leaving the sane

  wonderfully disparate.

  Meanwhile Pelican intended to go on a mild wandering through colorful weeds,

  but the weeds were tinder alight in his eyes and God what a formidable headache.

  What will I do?

  — For a French man in Mycenae. August 28,1988

  The Principle that Swung—Rocking Back and Forth—Like a Bead on a String —Hung Between Paintings

  The price failed to respect the effect that four flat bills two flat gold coins

  along with three smaller

  copper ones

  had on the counter.

  "Pelican turn off the lamp" and he clicked off the fortyfive watt bulb used for reading, for lighting his way.

  "Shakespeare's troublesome.

  More than a cafe —un verre d'eau

  Why? Why simply because

  when I was young I couldn't understand.

  I never knew what was going on."

  — For another French man in Mycenae. August 28,1988

  A Pelican Wish

  The ruminations are mine, let

  the world

  be yours.

  — For no one. Olympia, Greece. August 31, 1988

  Before Him reuniting story lines he never knew but was freshly told of then

  The passing promise was just an eyeful glance promising just that —

  and I saw more, usually do —

  the kept oblation for razor'd sight —

  "I really believe you're shredding boundaries"

  The light.

  Dear Elihu, Just wondered if you might reconstruct some wisdom

  regarding the journeyman's decision.

  But another journeyman's passage cut the scape and

  broke Pelican quickly with a genuine

  embrace.

  — For Camille at the Youth Hostel. Naples, Italy. September 2,1988

  If there were a clue worth holding onto

  it was the nail, the strongest point that alone,

  at first, fixed and recreated, the house.

  But Pelican was not a detective and did not follow the process.

  His eyes were old and full and after all the house his friends had spoken of still stood.

  He tapped his fingers playfully on the wall

  —tap! tap! tap!

  He smiled a bit.

  It seemed right to him, not at long last

  but right along the way.

  "Where I've been.

  Where I am," he said and then sighing added—

  "I'd like to return one day if only for a little while to drink something warm."

  — Le Clou De Paris.

  Rue Danton, Paris.

  August 12,1990

  c.

  Collages

  —PHOB^ '

  #1

  (Sheeh^afterM^

  W 8 7 8S?

  #2

  Obituary

  At Mr. Truant's request, we have omitted the last name of his father as well as several other details.

  — The Editors

  Local pilot, Donnie_________________ , died last

  Sunday on route______ when the Mack truck he was in

  swerved into a ditch and caught fire. Reportedly the driver, who survived, had fallen asleep at the wheel.

  Throughout his life, Mr. ___________________ was

  a dedicated flier. As R. William Notes said of his friend, "Donnie always seemed most at home in the

  sky."

  Born in Dorset, Vermont on ____________ , 19___ ,

  Mr.______________ 's family soon moved to Marietta,

  Ohio where he graduated from ______________________ high

  school. After a stint in the Air Force, he worked for several years as a crop duster in Nebraska, a mail carrier in Alaska, and for one winter flew a spotter plane off the coast of Norway. Eventually, he took a job as a commercial pilot for American Airlines, though on time off, he enjoyed performing aerial stunts in regional shows.

  Late last year, Mr._________________ decided to

  take a job as a pilot for _____________________ in order to

  spend more time with his family. Tragically, during the standard physical examination, doctors discovered he had unknowingly suffered some time ago—probably in his sleep—a cardiac infarction. The results were sent to Oklahoma where the FAA voted to suspend his ATP license for six months, pending further evaluation. No longer able to earn an income

  as a pilot, Mr. __________________ sought work at a

  trucking company.

  He is survived by his wife, ____________________ ,

  and one son,_________________ .

  - The__________ - Herald, July _, 1981

  E.

  The Three Attic Whalestoe Institute Letters

  Mr. Truant wished to make known that though some names here were not deleted many were changed.

  — The Editors

  July 28,1982

  My dear child,

  Your mother is here, not altogether here, but here nonetheless. It has been a tough year for her but no doubt a tougher one for you.

  The Director tells me you have a foster family now. Open your heart to them. They are there for you. They will help you recover from your father's untimely death. They will also help you comprehend the reasons for my stay here.

  Remember your mother loves you, despite her crumbling biology. Also remember, love inhabits more than just the heart and mind. If need be it can take shelter in a big toe.

  A big toe for you then.

  I love you.

  Mommy August 30,1982

  My dear child,

  Another family already? That's fine. I'm told you worked yourself up into quite a fit, throwing things and making a general mess of your room. That's fine too. It pays in this world to play out your passions.

  Have no fear, you will find your way. It's in your bones. It's in your soul. Your father had it. Your mother has it (in excess). You have it too.

  If I were with you now, I'd hug you and tender you and shape you with sloppy wet kisses the way mother cats shape their cubs in the wild.

  Unfortunately since such excursions are strictly prohibited from The Whalestoe, this tongue of ink will have to do.

  Felicities my felix feline boy, Love,

  Mommy November 7,1982

  My sweet baby,

  I knew you'd find a home. Are you happy now? Do they serve you hot chocolate and large slices of lemon meringue pie? Does your new mother tuck you in at night and read you stories full of opal and jade?

  I trust your good head keeps you from squandering too many hours in front of the television. Beware of that lazy eye, it only teaches you how to die.

  The Director, who does his best to keep me au courant on your travails, said you're handling your father's tragedy very matter a factly. I'm so impressed by your maturity. Apparently your new family thinks of you as "clear eyed" "exceedingly bright" and "a very strong reader." Imagine that! Daddy would have blistered with pride.

  You have so much inside you that you have yet to discover. As long as you keep striving, inspecting and exploring, you will come into possession of untold glory. I promise you.

  Love,

  Mommy

  January 20,1983

  Dearest Johnny,

  You would have received a hundred more letters before now if the Director had not "strongly recommended" I curtail my epistolary efforts. Apparently your nouvelle mere objected to the intrusive and divisive nature of my communiques. Well, hard as this is for me to say, she's probably right. So is the Director (he is a good man). You don't need to be troubled by your mad mother. You need to build a new life, a solid life.

  As old Goethe wrote, "Wouldst shape a noble life? Then cast no backward glances toward the past, and though somew
hat be lost and gone, yet do thou act as one new born."

  Open your heart to the kindness and stability your new family offers you. All of it will serve you well, and as for me, I only wish to serve that purpose.

  A happy new year. Good things are coming your way.

  You know I love you dearly,

  Mommy

  February 14,1983

  My dear dear boy,

  You have your father's zest for extravagance. Another family? For an eleven year old you certainly do possess a great deal of spirit. Do you know that when you were born all the nurses were absolutely dazzled by your charms and without a single exception all of them declared you an old soul.

  I only found out today from the Director how

  exceedingly unhappy you had become with your last family. He told me you had runaway twice. Good lord Johnny, where does an eleven year old go for three days? He said some policemen found you in a park heating hotdogs over a can of sterno. Is that true? You are sturdy, aren't you?—my cunning, resourceful little boy.

  Send me a postcard if you like. I would love to hear even one detail of such flight. (Though I understand perfectly if you continue to keep your silence. It's your right and I honor it. I promise.)

  Whatever you do, don't despair. You are exceptional and require the company of the equally exceptional. Never feel compelled to accept less. Time will grant you a place. Time always does. Trust me.

  If only I could be there to lick your wounds, swallow your hurt and with kisses mend you whole. C'est vraiment triste. Ah well, once again written words will have to serve the young cub.

  Happy Valentines.

  I remain lovingly yours,

  Mommy April 17,1983

  Dearest son,

  Do not think I did not write you in March. I was just writing badly. Again at the Director's urging (he is a decent man) I didn't send you my notes. Quite rightly, he brought to my attention how indelicate some of their themes might be for a boy your age. I'm silly. I keep forgetting you are only eleven and go on treating you like a grown man. Perhaps in the future sometime, I will share with you my thoughts over the last few weeks and you can advise me on their

  content. Until then savor your youth and I, albeit in absentia, will do my best to protect it.

  Good news to hear you are finally settling down. There are better meals in this world than hotdogs and sterno. The Director tells me you're getting along well with your new guardian—a former marine?—and have a few siblings as well. Hopefully this all means you have succeeded in wrestling a modicum of happiness for yourself. (Modicum? Is that a word you know? If not, let me offer you some instruction in at least one area: get thee to a dictionary and be relentless about your visits there.)

  Never neglect your mind Johnny. You were born with substantial faculties. I'm sending you several books, including a Concise Oxford English Dictionary. The volumes of poetry may be too advanced for you right now but in time your own curiosity will unlock their secrets.

  Eternally yours,

  Mommy May 9,1983

  My dear, sweet, sweet child,

  You are most, most welcome!

  Your letter arrived last week—the first ever!— and I'm still a fountain. Who would have thought such a young boy would succeed where Ponce de Leon failed?

  Never could I have imagined how your tender words would repair so much of my failing heart. I have been walking around on clouds, dancing on air, blushing like a school girl in dark green knee socks. Do you really love your mother so much? I shall guard this letter forever and even if there's never

  another one it will always restore me. I will wear it like a heart. It will become my heart.

  More kisses than you can count,

  Mommy June 21,1983

  My gentle Johnny, —bambino dell'oro—

  Born on the day most suffused with sun, you have always been and always will be my light.

  Happy Birthday.

  All my love, Mommy August 19,1983

  My cherished Johnny,

  I dreamt about you last night. You had long hands which glistened in the starlight. There was no moon, yet your arms and legs seemed made of water and changed with the tides. You were so beautiful and elegant and all blue and white and your eyes, like your fathers eyes, were infused with strange magic.

  It was comforting to see you so strong. Gods assembled around you and paid their respects and doted on you and offered you gifts your mother could not even begin to imagine let alone afford.

  There were some gods who were jealous of you, but I shooed them away. The rest kept close to you and said many great things about your future.

  Unfortunately the dream would not permit me to hear the exact words. I was only privy to an impression, but what an impression!

  Of course dreams are tricky things but since this one seems so full of positive omens, I decided to share it with you here.

  May your summer be full of rootbeer, joy and play.

  With terrible amounts of love,

  Mommy

  September 29,1983

  Dearest Fighter,

  Another gushing letter! Number two! Solomon was a poor man. And yes, I return it all and look what interest you receive in just a few days.

  Do not fret over school yard fights. Marine Man Raymond, qui patriam potestatem usurpavit, cannot be expected to understand. Fire has always coursed though your veins. It's only natural that some of that tremendous heat will now and then forge fists of your wrath.

  Let me, however, correct one misunderstanding: this quality does not come from your father or his family. Your father was an exceedingly gentle man and never once locked horns or even remarks with another person, man or woman. As you're well aware, he loved more than anything to fly. His sole conflict was with gravity.

  I'm afraid responsibility for your sudden interest in pugilism (Get thee to your COED) falls squarely on the shoulders of your mother and her contentious family. You come from a long line of

  aggressors. Some valiant, many down right scoundrels. Indeed, if ever you decide to design some crest for yourself, you would find it impossible to accurately do so without incorporating at least some of the accouterments of Mars along with the consequent symbology of carnage and bloodshed.

  I've little doubt your current lust for physical engagement is the result of this questionable genetic bequeathal. Do what you must, but realize greater strength lies in self'control. The more you learn to command your impulses, the more your potential will grow.

  Adoringly and always lovingly yours, Mommy

  October 15,1983

  Dear, dear Johnny,

  What beautiful words you have in you and so evenly placed and wisely arranged. Daddy would have been very pleased to read such grace, especially coming from his twelve year old son. He might have even been a bit miffed by some of the words which I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have understood. ("Changeling"—did your COED teach you that one?)

  Your mother aches for you. The Director says he's never seen me better and believes the day might come when you and I will even get to see one another. Until then, corporeal detachment must do. My spirit unpaired speeds to your side, protects you from harm and forever and ever lights your darkest moments.

  From the one who will always love you most,

  Mommy

  December 24,1983

  My dearest and only son,

  The Director just told me you are moving to another school following the holidays. I was surprised to learn about it from him and not you.

  You must never be afraid to tell me your troubles. Tell me all. I will always be grateful for everything you do. It's not the what but the doing alone that fuels me with such continuous rapture. You never have to fear angry words from me. I promise.

  Apparently your fists refuse to rest. 15 battles in just one week! Is that true? My you do have a mighty heart. Even Marine Man Raymond must be proud.

  My little Viking warrior! Let the monsters all tremble! Let tomorrow's Mead Halls re
joice. Their Viking soon will come. Micel bif se Meotudes egsa, for Jon hi seo molde oncyrre5.

  (It will take more than your dictionary to unlock that one. You'll have to revisit here once you've got some Old English under your belt. I think I got it right.)

  Well if you must strike then I certainly won't stand in your way. Just remember words can exceed the might of all blows. In some cases they can be fatal. For the rare few, even immortal. Try them out now and then on your foes.