A girl with a side ponytail, red lipstick and a leopard-print jacket, sitting outside the canteen of the Barbican, taking a photo of the table while talking animatedly to the guy across from her. She puts her phone down, facing up. She bobs her head and chews and lifts her eyebrows up and down to emphasize her point. I’ve seen her through the large floor-to-ceiling windows from my booth tucked away in the corner against the far wall. It is, in colours and style, reminiscent of a mid-century public swimming pool; pale duck-egg blue leather seats and white tiles, stained yellow by the golden, halogen lightbulb hanging exposed from above.
I have seen this too:
My open journal, not offering the genius and insight I’d hoped to find there, no beginnings of some brilliant project, a future book that would matter, or make my name, whatever that means. I have seen, many times before, this laptop (secondhand, warm and humming with age), my empty glass and stained coffee cup, my pinkish, blueveined, typing hands. And again. And again.
I’ll tell you other things I’ve seen, in the meantimes:
I’ve seen the body of a Mexican man in white jeans lying on the side of the road, a gun resting not too far from his outflung hand. I’ve seen people gather round to stare, close but not too close, fearful, as people and animals always are, that the violence of his recent death may prove catching.
I’ve seen my mother’s breasts, drooping into points as she dries her legs and feet after a bath; one foot on the closed lid of the toilet, towel down between each of the toes, around by the heel, then swapped over for the other.
I have seen the cast of Friends grow thinner (the women), fatter (the men), older and wearier. I’ve seen them do this again and again, on syndication. I’ve seen photo montages of the changing face of the one who died above the text outlining how it happened: of how apparently he was alone and on ketamine in his hot tub in the Hollywood Hills.
What else?
I’ve seen geese flying in formation. I’ve seen footage of tsunamis, both silent on the horizon and roaring and violent up close. I’ve seen Italian men expertly thrust pizzas into stone-built pizza ovens using a long wooden utensil with a flat, round part at the end. I’ve seen the sun rise above the mountains in Montenegro, and the spines of dolphins crest the sea in Killiney Bay. I’ve seen red-faced middle-aged people who’ve never read Ulysses dressed up in long skirts and boaters for Bloomsday. I’ve seen period blood turned dark on my tampons, period blood turned dark on my underwear, period blood bright red and freshly slicked on a penis. I’ve seen the tip of other strained, eager penises ejaculating directly into my face, and I’ve seen a vagina like a permanently flayed wound spurting liquid in an elegant arc into the mouth of a beardless man. I’ve seen the foundations of buildings being built, I’ve seen endless miles of graveyards stretching along freeways in the United States, I’ve seen Macaulay Culkin slap his face and scream, every year for years and years. I’ve seen people take medicine: placing pills daintily into their mouths with a thumb and forefinger, or tossing them in more roughly with their palms, followed by a sip of water, or in liquid form, on a spoon, with sugar, to make it go down. I’ve seen people tie tourniquets around their arms before sticking needles into the soft, baby flesh on the underside of their elbows. I’ve seen the inside of an elephant’s womb. I’ve seen presidents address nations after and before catastrophes, from which place and time, they’ve solemnly assured me, things will never be the same. I’ve seen cities destroyed after bombs have hit, I’ve seen skylines bristling with slowly swaying cranes, the grey and metal spines of elevator shafts going in first. I’ve seen sheep graze on steep cliffs in rain, I’ve seen how you’re supposed to light a fire in a fireplace, by building a little house of fuel and placing the matchstick’s flame in the middle. I’ve seen a Black man fuck a white woman in an extremely clean kitchen, somewhere in California in the 1990s. I’ve seen men punch walls, and women snort cocaine from a proffered key in a tight bathroom cubicle. I’ve seen my hand going into and out of a giant bag of tortilla chips until there are no more. I’ve seen cracked bones burst forth from skin. I’ve seen roast meat being expertly carved, and I’ve seen roast meat being inexpertly carved. I’ve seen an aeroplane taking off, I’ve seen an aeroplane burst into flames, I’ve seen a lightsaber in action, I’ve seen Hannibal Lecter suck his teeth, I’ve seen the Eye of Sauron, and I’ve seen countless people killed by bullets and fistfights and swords. I’ve seen the slow, mesmerising progress of brown crabs shuffling along the ocean floor fathoms below where I stand, atop a concrete harbour in West Cork on a late summer’s afternoon, before the band starts up. I’ve seen a homeless guy trying to sleep on a subway get jostled by irritated, busied commuters. I’ve seen another guy throw a half-eaten burger and chips and the packaging from the window of his car on a motorway. I’ve seen another guy look directly into the camera in a grey room somewhere in Romania as he tells me how all women want to be dominated. I’ve seen a baby being born, plenty of babies being born, and I’ve seen my grandmother’s desperate, contorted face lax into fallow emptiness as she dies. I’ve seen how the clouds look when viewed from above, stretched pink and goldtinged for miles and miles and miles. I’ve seen a single cumulus cloud against a blue sky from my seat outside a café below, thrumming still in upness. I’ve seen the making of The Matrix bonus feature on the DVD, Keanu Reeves being lifted in his harness, Harvey Weinstein smiling and slapping backs on his way to somewhere else. I’ve seen dirty clothes pile up in a laundry basket, and hairs in the drain. I’ve seen smoke rise from the bonnet of my car. I’ve seen couples receiving therapy for free on television talk about how much they hate each other but how they love each other too, and how anyway, there are the kids to consider. I’ve seen men in bars make the decision to go right on ahead and place their hand on my knee, or on my better-looking friend’s knee instead. I’ve seen my own shit sitting in the toilet, unwilling to flush. I’ve seen swans do their courtship dance on a still lake. I’ve seen brown foam and a beer can and an old styrofoam takeaway box collected in the reeds by my feet as swans do their courtship dance on a still lake, and have then looked up to see a plane pass overhead. I’ve seen advertisements selling coffins in instalments, a certain amount per month over a certain amount of years. I’ve seen the swollen, starving bellies of African babies, flies landing unheeded on their large eyes as they look straight back at me. I’ve seen old and fresh scars on old and young wrists, a tattoo of a brain rising like smoke from a box, a tiger wrestling a snake, a stillborn baby’s name and date of birth (and death) in florid cursive on a young man’s neck. I’ve seen the chicken mush they use for chicken nuggets moving quickly across the screen on a conveyor belt. I’ve seen flurries of snow circling Westminster at dusk, I’ve seen inside the all-white minimalist pad Kim Kardashian once shared with Kanye West, and inside Kendall’s room specially designed for art-making with her friends, filled with new, untouched easels and new, untouched paint brushes and paints. I’ve seen Dr Jennifer Melfi get raped in a stairwell. I’ve seen the Dalai Lama appear as a guest judge on Australian MasterChef, smiling benignly as the others give their pithy, camera-ready verdicts on the food. I’ve seen (and heard) a tree fall in a forest. I’ve seen friends go by the wayside. I’ve seen teenagers make love. I’ve seen a man expose himself to small children in a playground. I’ve seen a Chinese lady making hundreds of thousands of dumplings at lightning speed in the brightly lit window of a restaurant in Chinatown at night. I’ve seen bread fresh from my oven, taut fresh sheets, the sheen of freshly washed hair. I’ve seen a robin eat oats from my hand in a white, sharp winter somewhere high up in Killarney National Park. I’ve seen a sailboat afloat on water made almost invisible by the brightness of the light. I’ve seen the person I love laugh and cry and rage and vomit and come. I’ve seen his face asleep and have thought, ‘he will look like this when he is dead’. I have seen photos of us both together, laughing, smiling, on beaches, and have thought of how we, along with everyone else alive, will soon be dead. I’ve seen all this and other things, and still have infinities more to see.
