#177 Hunting Knife- Haruki Murakami
This is a tiresome piece. I don’t mean boring I mean
literally sleepy:
--“He yawned. A long formal kind of yawn. Elegant, almost.”
--“He sank back into an insomniac silence.”
--“The waves lapped at the rocks, leaving white foam behind;
by the time the foam vanished, new waves appeared.”
Life seems meaningless when nothing changes. The helicopters
came at the same time, the sun crossed the ocean in the same way, the
mother/son duo appeared on the beach at the same time everyday.
“One listless day followed another, with nothing to
distinguish one from the next. You could have changed the order and no one
would have noticed. The sun rose in the east and set in the west, the
olive-green helicopters zoomed in low, and I downed gallons of beer and swam to
my heart’s content."
Perhaps, life is a dream, or we are in a purgatory holding
pattern waiting for salvation: “Was it all an illusion? Or was I the illusion?
Maybe it didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, I wouldn’t be here anymore.”
The things that change are the things that we remember, but
change is what makes us sick, or hurt, or injured. Change is a knife cutting
whatever it can reach.
Notable Passage: “It was as if my whole life revolved around
trying to judge the right point in the conversation to say goodbye.”
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