Au Recherche de Temps Fondue (grand)
David Burke, Victoria
Volume 26 Issue 1 & 2 | Posted: February 29, 2012
I stopped having major deja vues about ten years ago.
I stopped having major deja vues about ten years ago. Deja voodoo, the heraldry of the past, the glory of remembrance and Proust’s immortal dissection had been one of my favourite parts of childhood. Deja vue was replaced by high anxiety, aphasia and general grogginess and endless cups of coffee became by deja vue. Starbucks again. Starbucks produced a line of madelienes to be dipped in something. I don’t know. Blood? Proust would have been thrilled but it was too little too late. I took various pains to induce the state of having already seen nothing. Then I discovered Vix Vapor Rub, which always reminded me of my early childhood outside London, England. Before I went to sleep I would slather the stuff on my nostrils, inhale deeply and turn on my side. To no avail. Did I dream of green forests. No. I dreamt of gay sex at the Johnson St. bath. Well and good for your average Monday reader but I was far from happy, so I took to niacin and orange juice before sleep and dreamt of swastikas floating down from the sky above beacon hill park. Well and good. I found myself volunteering to sell tickets for the Shriners over the phone. I bowed at the last minute. Was that deja voodoo? Had I done it all. Space the final fatigue? Anticipation of sex. Deja screw? Anticipation of nothing. Deja void. Wanting to see my godmother Prudence. Deja Pru? Was it tied with the depression that had plagued my life for the last three years. Fear of wildebeasts. Deja gnu. I was dumfounded, in chronic pain, alienated and somewhat lost without my drug. Pot didn’t cut it. Deja glue?
Fear of being busted by local intelligence agencies. Deja clue? Does anyone recall clue, bastard cousin of CSIS, the bane of knitting circles. With an office on Cadboro Bay Rd. that burned down? Hatred for my Yiddish mentor Midas Cohen. Deja jew? Having just paid the phone bill in time? Deja phew. O there were plenty of dejas to go round, even deja degas, who walked the streets unrecognized for hours at a time in later life. Let’s all hope we won’t get fooled again. Deja Who? Visiting Atlantis this summer. Deja Mu? Would I never again stop everything and stare deeply into space while the all too fragrant and familiar reeled by like the credits of Raiders of the Lost Arc. Fear of the Moka House? Deja Zoo? Cosmetics commercial with popstar. Deja Drew? Previously seen port. Deja blue? I was bored and wanted to pack it all in. Perhaps I would take my dozen blue sleeping pills. Bi polar depression. The polar bear on the toonie and what will a toonie buy? A medium dark coffee. There’s bipolar depression and the nearest thing to deja true. Get used to it.
David Burke, Victoria