one another, and grass was growing on that platform on which no human foot ever trod now. The structure showed a ghastly silhouette against the sky—especially at night, when the moonlight gleamed on whitened skulls, and the evening breeze, sweeping through the chains and skeletons, set them all rattling in the gloom. . . . To that deep charnel-house, where so many human remains and the memory of so many crimes have rotted and mingled together, many a great one of the earth, and many an innocent victim have contributed their bones. . . (Victor Marie Hugo, Notre Dame of Paris , 1917).
As for the mysterious disappearance of Quasimodo, this is all that we have been able to discover.
About a year and a half or two years after the concluding events of this story . . . there were found among all those hideous carcasses two skeletons, the one clasped in the arms of the other. One of these skeletons . . . was that of a woman. . . . The other skeleton, which held this so close a clasp, was that of a man. It was observed that the spine was crooked, the skull compressed between the shoulder-blades, and that one leg was shorter than the other. There was no rupture of the vertebrae at the nape of the neck, from which it was evident that the man had not been hanged. He must, therefore, have come of himself and died there. When they attemped to detach this skeleton from the one it was embracing, it fell to dust.
There we are, the grotesque grabbing onto beauty, beauty embraced by the grotesque, the light surrounded by the shadow. Our lives rounded by a little sleep.
perception
I’ve been in a lot of hospital waiting rooms over the last years, waiting for x-rays, waiting for tests. The usual emergency room wait is about three to four hours. Every time an ambulance shows up add on another hour because they tend to go to the head of the line. Sometimes whatever I was in there for quits doing what it was doing before I can see a doctor, so I just go home.
Waiting rooms are very different, depending on what part of the country you’re in. Up north they’re really quiet. Northerners are very private about their pain. They disapprove of being a “show-off,” of that unappealing quality associated with attention-drawing sound or movement, even when it’s from pain. When I was down south in a Virginia waiting room, people were telling everyone else their whole life stories. On and on they went. One woman talked about her foot and her gall bladder and that they are still finding shards in her head, and she wasn’t even there to see a doctor—she’d brought her friend in.
As I watched her I completely forgot I was in pain. It’s amazing how distraction can relieve pain. I went to a website that talks about chronic pain and one constant in all of pain management is the use of distraction.
It’s true. I’m in a theater company called Interact and most of our actors are disabled, but whenever we’re on stage our disjointed twists and turns ease out a bit. I’ve never been in pain while I’ve been performing; I wish I could say the same for the audience.
According to one Greek story, when the god Hephaestus was born his mother Hera didn’t like what she saw so she threw him off Mount Olympus. Hephaestus dragged his broken form to Hades and started to work, forging metal into beautiful objects: Eros’s bow and arrows, Helios’s chariot, and Hermes’ winged helmet and sandals.
From what I can tell Hephaestus, the disabled god, was the only god that actually held down a job. I think that’s why Aphrodite, the most beautiful goddess of all, married him. He had a job. She knew what she was doing. But Hephaestus’s work went beyond usefulness. He had used his craft to take him out of hell. A job will do that.
Perception.
There’s a folktale about a man who goes to town for supplies and finds a mirror. He has never seen a mirror before. He looks in it and thinks he sees a picture of his father. He brings the mirror home and
As for the mysterious disappearance of Quasimodo, this is all that we have been able to discover.
About a year and a half or two years after the concluding events of this story . . . there were found among all those hideous carcasses two skeletons, the one clasped in the arms of the other. One of these skeletons . . . was that of a woman. . . . The other skeleton, which held this so close a clasp, was that of a man. It was observed that the spine was crooked, the skull compressed between the shoulder-blades, and that one leg was shorter than the other. There was no rupture of the vertebrae at the nape of the neck, from which it was evident that the man had not been hanged. He must, therefore, have come of himself and died there. When they attemped to detach this skeleton from the one it was embracing, it fell to dust.
There we are, the grotesque grabbing onto beauty, beauty embraced by the grotesque, the light surrounded by the shadow. Our lives rounded by a little sleep.
perception
I’ve been in a lot of hospital waiting rooms over the last years, waiting for x-rays, waiting for tests. The usual emergency room wait is about three to four hours. Every time an ambulance shows up add on another hour because they tend to go to the head of the line. Sometimes whatever I was in there for quits doing what it was doing before I can see a doctor, so I just go home.
Waiting rooms are very different, depending on what part of the country you’re in. Up north they’re really quiet. Northerners are very private about their pain. They disapprove of being a “show-off,” of that unappealing quality associated with attention-drawing sound or movement, even when it’s from pain. When I was down south in a Virginia waiting room, people were telling everyone else their whole life stories. On and on they went. One woman talked about her foot and her gall bladder and that they are still finding shards in her head, and she wasn’t even there to see a doctor—she’d brought her friend in.
As I watched her I completely forgot I was in pain. It’s amazing how distraction can relieve pain. I went to a website that talks about chronic pain and one constant in all of pain management is the use of distraction.
It’s true. I’m in a theater company called Interact and most of our actors are disabled, but whenever we’re on stage our disjointed twists and turns ease out a bit. I’ve never been in pain while I’ve been performing; I wish I could say the same for the audience.
According to one Greek story, when the god Hephaestus was born his mother Hera didn’t like what she saw so she threw him off Mount Olympus. Hephaestus dragged his broken form to Hades and started to work, forging metal into beautiful objects: Eros’s bow and arrows, Helios’s chariot, and Hermes’ winged helmet and sandals.
From what I can tell Hephaestus, the disabled god, was the only god that actually held down a job. I think that’s why Aphrodite, the most beautiful goddess of all, married him. He had a job. She knew what she was doing. But Hephaestus’s work went beyond usefulness. He had used his craft to take him out of hell. A job will do that.
Perception.
There’s a folktale about a man who goes to town for supplies and finds a mirror. He has never seen a mirror before. He looks in it and thinks he sees a picture of his father. He brings the mirror home and
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