invisible

Finished reading The Informer by Akimitsu Takagi last night. It’s not a bad summer escape read. Although sometimes the translation reminds me of overdubbed Japanese movies, the plot did suck me in and is sort of clever. It’s a industrial espionage mystery novel.

Akimitsu Takagi

Spent the day yesterday doing domestic stuff: Farmers Market, Grocery store, cleaned kitchen (again), laundry.

I think I was taking a bit of hiatus from the harpsichord and working on the Aug 5th gig.

I grilled hamburgers and portabello mushrooms for Eileen and me for lunch.

My dreams have been very vivid lately and last night was no exception.

I had a dream that reminded me of Anthony Burgess’s description of dreaming that this dead wife had not died, but had returned to life and wondered who this new woman was in Burgess’s life.

In my case, my father was back.

Mary, Paul and Sarah Jenkins.

It was like we had a made a mistake and somehow he hadn’t died. My first reaction was to hug him and tell him I missed him. But quickly he began to be a problem. In my dream, my Mom and Dad lived near me. They had been staying at my house where I could keep an eye on them (not unlike what actually happened). But we would go back over to Mom’s house occasionally. Now that Dad was back from the dead he wanted to return to living alone with Mom in their house. I could see the stubborn look on his face when someone┬áprecipitously┬ámentioned returning to my house for the night. I pulled them aside and explained that if Mom lived alone with Dad she would have another breakdown. The anxiety in the dream was a return of the real life anxiety I experienced around Dad’s unpredictable misbehavior. Interestingly I remember that in the dream part of the time my Mom spoke with an aristocratic English accent. I had the BBC playing as I slept and I can only guess that I was incorporating a voice from the real life radio into my dream. I remember in the dream wondering about Mom’s voice and thinking that she usually talked differently. Heh.

I have been thinking about being invisible lately.

I guess I’m anticipating today’s church service. I notice that often at church people act like I’m not in the room. No biggie. I experience this quite often. It’s probably a result of my own personality and stage of life.

In the movie, "End of Violence," the hispanic landscapers are invisible. Bill Pullman's character hides out with them in plain sight.

I tend to think that having relationships with people means having direct contact with them. I notice that direct contact with me is sometimes uncomfortable for people. This is probably due to an array of reasons.

The cultural part reminds me of my Dad.┬áMen don’t do intimacy. Older people don’t matter. Myths of our time. Recently a woman explained to me how it was no wonder a wedding was being planned badly, the planning was left to the groom. I was so taken aback that I couldn’t come up with a response.

So I have a slight inkling what Ellison describes in his wonderful novel, “The Invisible Man:

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.

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0 thoughts on “invisible

  1. I suppose that the only reason for responding is that a lot of people dream of the ones that they love in the same way. I have that now with Bret. I am a little disturbed by the dark ending of your journal. I believe that you are seen by many people and that you have great impact upon them (you understand this, I’m sure) It is a condition of reacting to criticism. As a play or any presentation,it takes many parts to make it whole. As a Tech. director in a play they are invisible to the audience, but they are essential to the perception of the presentation by the audience member. Should they be visible?

  2. I was trying not to use the idea of “invisible” in the classic theatrical sense of directing attention elsewhere (e.g. puppeteers who dress in black but are on stage). Instead I was trying for Ellison’s nuance in his book. People who looked at but not seen. In our society it seems to happen all the time: the black cook, the hispanic landscaper, and so on. That’s how Ellison uses it. It’s another form of lack of awareness. That’s all. No biggie.

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