XV.
For my autobiography, I write about a time in my life when my
language was not so developed, and maybe that meant I wasn't so calm
as I am now. I sometimes get an idea that talking and even writing
helps making sense of some feelings, it's like I am making a pattern
out of bits and pieces of rags, and sewing them up.
In those days, my talking was random and pretty limited by lacks
of enough words. I remember master's first present to me was a
dictionary. I still have it now but it is a bit falling to pieces.
It was after a few years of living with the master, long before we
came here, about ten years ago now maybe 97 or 98 - Don't want to
dwell in history that's why I'm living now, New town calling me - I
accepted an invitation for going away with a handsome man who was
talking of living on the road playing a world of art and music. I am
making these memories into a story and I have begun the book about
this time. I have begun writing the parts I am remembering and later
I am making the parts into a patchwork carpet to lay on the bare
wooden floor of the hallway.
That man was not what he seemed, but I believed in appearances then.
What you see is what you get, and I never wanted more. Now I believe
in appearances and my mind-seeing as well. Master calls it my
loss of innocence, but sHe says sHe likes me better now anyway.
It makes me frown, sHe must have a very good memory to know if
those likings are better now. I remember if I like, but not in
grades. Anyway, his words were pretty and I was persuaded easily,
he talked other people into doing things for him, so fascination
took a part of me.
I don't regret curling up in his lap like that, I don't think it was
a bad thing to follow him, tail high in the air like that, and the
master stroked me and smiled and told me I should go and get fucked,
and come back when I was sick of that. So I did. The master can
predict the future or I can do what sHe tells me, it's neither here
nor there.
That man's name was Leige and me had a few adventures, and for a
while I forgot, I remember, about master's kind looking after me
after sHe had made me an orphan by running over my mother that day.
SHe even used to laugh about that and say how I was a victim of an
anti eat-a-puss complex. And then run around the little apartment
shouting 'I've given Freud the slip!' and other stupid things I
still can't understand. I'm going to write about all that, and
before that even, in the book. In my autobiography.