October 29, 2009 at 1:11 pm (Life, the Universe and Everything, RL)
(fort minor)
There are times when you are feeling just delicious: you want to hug yourself and be happy. Then the words interfere – there is you, labeling, defining, explaining, talking to yourself, creating a story about what you saw, what you felt, what you were.
The Magic just dries up when you cage it in words.
What is is.
And if you don’t let it be, you are left wondering… where’d you go?
July 27, 2009 at 8:48 am (Life, the Universe and Everything)
Tags: remember
bleed inside, not onto others.
heat + wood -> flames ->burning. but also ashes.
and ashes are to ashes.
July 26, 2009 at 1:48 pm (Life, the Universe and Everything, RL)
Tags: confession, miles to go before i sleep, nostalgia, pain, remember
every little thing has a consequence and sometimes they don’t go the way you’d like. somedays you meet a stranger in a tea cafe and there is a shift from one end of the spectrum to another. other days you cling so rigidly to what and whom you are, so very sure you are, that you let a precious thing slide.
but when the moon shines on the bough of the tree outside my house and the porch looks ever so inviting, i can’t think.
and the third of the greatest forks so far fades until there is no choice at all.
being what you are and who you are is no choice at all.
March 31, 2009 at 1:09 am (Life, the Universe and Everything)
Tags: musings, paths, philosophy
We are the patches of our parents, teachers, heroes, villains. We’re the quirks we picked up from old friends, habits we learned from family. We’re a little bit of everyone we meet, by being what they want or being what they don’t. We’re touched and moulded and changed by every little thing, some more than others.
Beneath this all there is a pattern to our absorbtion, the things we choose to be. There are influences that are stronger than others, are there not?
We are patterns. We are a legacy of a life lived and a journey undertaken, the final product of an unfolding story.
March 5, 2009 at 3:26 pm (Life, the Universe and Everything)
Tags: impermanence, moving on, nostalgia, pain, truth, writing
I remember a glorious time, beautiful, painstakingly wrought. It was not complete, but the foundations were laid and I knew where I was going with it. The story had begun. Then I lost it. After an appropriate period of mourning, I spent forever imagining it and telling everyone who would listen of its beauty. And it grew in the telling, until even in my mind, the pearls were turned to diamonds, the rough edges were smoothed away. Where there was age, I saw comfort. Where there were cracks, I saw character. Everywhere the work of the hammer was softened by memory to the delicate work of a GrandMaster’s chisel.
Today I pulled out that book. Flipped through the pages. Read some of those words that I thought were … just beyond description. And the pages crumbled beneath my fingers, and even my memory turned to dust. The words that remained were painstakingly put together, true. The attempt to be mysterious made them merely opaque. And none of it had the magic I wove into the memory of my beloved.
–
I found an old “manuscript” today. Needless to say, it makes my dead writing look good.
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