Quotes: Pablo Vision

NEWS OF THE WORLD

Character is like a tree and reputation like its shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing. - Abraham Lincoln


You sold that child into slavery; you have suffered every parent's worst nightmare; you left her alone; we have never done anything like that, ever; you are victims of the cruelest crime imaginable; you killed her accidentally; you murdered her; you had the audacity to try and get on with your lives; our hearts go out to you, we will stand by you, forever; we have taken down the posters; we are still looking; you played tennis; you wore make up; we saw her; it was not her; you courted us for the publicity which we could give; ungratefully you questioned our opinions; you used us; we abused you; you phoned the police straight away; you didn't; there is an innocent explanation; you are as guilty as sin; you washed that cat; we can see the pain on your face; we can see through that charade; you are in our every thoughts; you went to church to pray; you hid her body; your loss is our loss; you cold heartless bitch; (with tears in our eyes) you poor, poor, woman; we want to forget and get on with our lives; we will never forget, we will never stop looking; we are obsessed; we are bored; why are you and your one white child worth more than a continent of starving black children; we can so identify with something so close to home, and too close for comfort; we know you so well; we know all the details of what really happened; we don't know you at all; we have no idea what really happened; but you will be judged; we will judge you; we already are; the shadow of the tree that extends over so many countries, over so many lives; lives like yours, and lives not like yours; what really happened, and who are you?

Character develops itself in the stream of life. - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

(A version of this story previously appeared in Word Slaw.)

Two by Pablo Vision

My Sister

My sister?

I could say that she was beautiful, vivacious, funny, bright, intense, and just so alive. I could tell you how she had this kind of slightly cross-eyed look when she laughed; how she used to paint her toenails on the dashboard of my car; how she would shriek with excitement when a certain song came on the radio. I could go back in time and show you a pretty girl with ponytails and bangles talking to her dolls, oblivious to the world around her. But the thing is you don't care about this: your eyes wanted to race on as soon as you read the word "was."

The only "is" for me now in "sister," is the sister-shaped hole – a jagged and raw wound – a gap that only ever gets filled with guilt. You're oh so polite and all, maybe you can even empathize with my loss, but really all that you want to know is just how she died.

Well okay then, this is how it was. A road accident: metal, flesh, glass, and bone. I survived and she did not. I got a couple of scars and a broken leg; she didn’t even get an open casket.

So you think you know me a bit better now; you can see where the guilt fits in; you might want to tell me that it is not my fault that I am still alive; that this kind of guilt is natural. But what I did not tell you is that I was six-beers drunk at the time of the accident, and that I was screaming at her that if she wanted to drive the fucking car that she could take the fucking wheel.

#

she said she said

she said
i had no
prospects
money
charm
personality

she said
i lacked
in both length and girth

that i did not have
the necessary
skills

she left me

for a guy
with a vibrating
tongue-stud

with no
prospects
money
charm
personality