The Pipes of Heaven
Description
</picture>The pipes of earth, these are the hollows everywhere; the pipes of men, these are rows of tubes. Tell me about the pipes of Heaven.
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Who is it that blows the ten thousand disputing voices, who when of themselves they stop their talk has sealed them, and puffs out of them the opinions that they choose for themselves?
—Zhuangzi
Yes, it’s ok, come in. Take a seat. Don’t worry, this isn’t—I know how you are feeling right now, that anxious sense of imminent derealization. This is not Hrönir. This is just normal whatever-you-want-to-call-it. Real life. I want to start by acknowledging that even by coming here today, that might be a small accomplishment, depending how you look at it. In a way, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
I’m going to go over the details of your story, what you sent to me. Please let me know if I get anything wrong, or if there is anything you want to add. You met a girl on a dating app named Lydia. She loved to travel and she was on a mission to find the perfect banh mi. You didn’t really like her that much but of the most recent cohort of girls who were responsive and seemed like they might actually meet you in person, she wasn’t that bad. You could talk yourself into being attracted to her, maybe.
You started talking online. You joked with her, flirted. She disappeared for a few days, then came back. You searched for her on the internet and you found her Instagram and her twitter. She didn’t post very often. Her Instagram was mostly food, a few selfies. Her twitter was all retweets of memes, and her most recent post was months ago. There was nothing relevant or personal to her on these sites, nothing you could use to make conversation. Ultimately, you believe that whether you can “hook” any particular girl is predicated on a confluence of invisible factors that are totally beyond your control and totally unknowable by you. Lydia was no different; she didn’t have the common decency to post online about the circumstances of her personal life in a way that would render her transparent to prospective suitors.
So you gave up on that and tried to ask her about her favorite banh mi and she seemed to be totally unaware of what she had written in her terse online dating profile. You consider this to be typical. Despite what you thought was a bland conversational gambit, she kept answering you, and eventually you exchanged numbers and suggested a meeting at a café that was conveniently located halfway between you. They had house-made sourdough breads and a seasonal latte with figs in it or something. You tried to make the joke about meeting in the daytime in a well-lit public place because you never know if she might be an axe murderer. When was the last time an axe murderer made the news? It sounds like something from the 1980s. Did gen-X girls like that joke, back in the day? Anyway, she sent you a laugh emoji, as if it were funny.
On the day of your date, you put on a sweater that looked kind of business-casual but was slouchy enough that hopefully it conveyed that you care but not too much. You carefully calculated everything to seem like it was not carefully calculated. You went to the coffee shop and you waited for her. “I’m in a burgundy sweater,” you texted her. Burgundy, was that trying too hard? You once saw a study which concluded that purple is the least trustworthy color for a man to wear. Green or blue seemed too docile; you hoped dark red was sensual but understated. You believe you should have said “dark red” instead of burgundy. What are you, some kind of interior designer? You speculated that she probably now thought you were gay. After about fifteen minutes, she sent you a text to say she was running late. You wondered if you should order a coffee or just leave. Most girls don’t actually show up for online dates, in your experience. You decided to give her fifteen more minutes, but she never turned up.
When you got back home, you mentally wrote her off but you still chose to check her socials, not that you were infatuated with her or anything, but maybe there would be some explanation, some kind of closure. What did you see? Pictures of you and her together in the cafe. You were wearing the dark red sweater. She was smiling with her eyes. From the outside, you believed the date had gone well. But how was this possible? You sent her a message, but she never received it. In the following days, she continued to post more photographs of you. Selfies. Photos of you and her together, holding hands. Her head resting on your shoulder. You were together at a museum. You went for a walk on the wharf. There was a video of her singing a silly song, just the two of you, in what you surmise is her apartment. Her hair was up and she was wearing sweatpants and it looked like you just fucked. It triggered an impossible memory of what her hair smelled like and her sweat and her bed. It was all a bit saccharine but in a way that you’d be lying if you tried to pretend you didn’t actually long for it. And you wondered: were you somehow blacking out and living a double life? Were these
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