extract from “seducing the zeitgeist” by artemis cocteau (2002)

“i met joan sloane in a crowded amusement park back in ’63. her hair was inconsequential and her eyes said nothing about her soul. i approached her with a peevishness long used by my forefathers to attract women. as i got closer, i noticed her teeth immediately. her canines were alsatian. to my surprise, my attempt to mask my rude interruption as her rude interruption didn’t work as well as it had in the past. but she smiled hungrily nonetheless and handed me a business card, embossed and ensconced in her pocket. i left immediately, of course, and returned home. i hurriedly dialled the number and was greeted by the following recorded message:

it began when i left newport pagnell for the final time. life had become far too scenic by this point. i mean, every day contained another ‘scene’, another set piece of my own construction – a carefully planned argument, a well-timed withdrawal from emotional elaboration…it was exhausting and ultimately unsatisfying. so, when i should have gone home, i decided to keep walking. my cat had died a month ago so i had no one left to take care of. i walked through the city, then the surburbs, the countryside after that and arrived at an airport. when i got there i boarded a plane. on the other side i continued to walk, through the countryside, the suburbs and the city. i haven’t stopped yet and, while i can’t say i never will, i’m not looking for a reason to go home again.”

extract from the diary of joan sloane (1869)

joan:

“it took me almost a century to discover how little i’d done with my life. my middle name held me back, for sure, but i couldn’t blame my misfortune on that alone. i would have to find another culprit. i thought of that rabid dog i met on my eighth birthday and how, on the verge of tears, i’d begged it to bite my leg and it refused. but i know, in my recycled heart, that the alsatian was only the beginning of my problems. i blame, also, the elderly gentleman who refused to rob me in newport pagnell. and the harm he did was nothing compared to the adolescent funeral director who insisted on taking my pulse. yes – i am quite sure that if i were lucky enough to suffer some grave injustice, i may have spent my time on this earth doing more than stitching epigrams on kitchen towels.”