Here are some other things:
Inspired by Jenny's blog, I would like to add the following things: hibiscus, peanut butter, photocopiers, double Mondays on Tuesday (I've been walking into everything today), sleeping kittens, long evening phone calls.
I have a new friend. 3 new friends in 4 months. I feel very odd about this. not the person, mind, Just the whole thing where I'm meeting people and then they are my friends - I take a while, I always have - it just doesn't happen that quickly - Ula and I sniffed around each other for like 6 months before we got comfortable - is anyone else having the most deeply layered deja vu ever in the history of ever? Or is that just me. Yeah, this train of thought is annoying me. I have a new friend. It is happy-making, not the kind of thing that should be weird-making.
Sounds like I get to go see King Lear this week. Woot. I lurv Shakespeare performed. Even if it's performed badly - there is nothing to beat live entertainment. 'specially when it's in a cemetery.
Have begun the habit of words again. Enjoying the dopamine rush after writing. I am truly upset about the reality of the idea that it is difficult to create anything worthwhile in a time of happiness. Although, as was once pointed out to me by someone else, I am fueled by angst. my angst tends to be of the shallow variety - while being very sweetly kissed in my dream by a married man (inaccessible and Not In My Goddamn Space All the Time are simply not the same thing. for one, it is much easier to yell the latter and the former is too associated with personal problems.) I suffer because I want to say spam. Yes. Yes. Although it's better than the half-awake rage fueled by the thought of "you fucked her IN MY BED!!!!" stupid half-awake rage. Odd way to begin the day. And I got sleep and everything (whine whine whine).
There is much to be thought about and experienced and spoken of, but for now, these are the ramblings:
I am remembering. I remember now. The stillness of mind, the feel of the pen in my hand, the rhythms of words sprung with an energy that never fails to catch me off my guard and shock me to my core months and years later.
I remember thinking and seeing at once, as if the acts were never separated or unbalanced. The leaves on the tree in the yard out font. The storm whose beginning was the single crack of thunder from somewhere just above my head. The slow smile of acknowledgment - the rain begins.
I remember now that staring at one rain-soaked leaf for 10 seconds becomes an eternity of sound, color, movement, with me, the observer, the speaker, the seer, watching it all - the drops of water leaving themselves spread ever thinner on the veined bit of growth; the gold of the street light and the silver of the lightning; the fine lines of tiny raindrops heavier than mist; and the wind, the blessed wind again, calling me, bending the cobwebs and blowing the dust further away from the bits that once knew this path well. Gears of a sort, levers and firing mechanisms and something like a quiet pulsing metronome that had studied and understood the inherent value of variation.
I remember the language I never fully spoke, never wanted to claim as my own. A language trapped in words, fed in sound, sight, touch, taste, smell.
I remember a walk with a poet. On the way to lunch, across a street and a hole in the sidewalk surrounded by orange cones and yellow tape, guarded by a machine with a name.
"There's a poem right there," he said.
It is that poem. That is what I remember now.
No comments:
Post a Comment