i knew this time would come. all time comes eventually. it never matters how much time has come before, we're never truly prepared.
now is the part when i'm supposed to reflect on my life's deeds. what have i done worth noting? what have i done that reflects a life's work? i have been a son, i have been a husband. an adversary. i have been the law, and an obsession of the law.
the obesession is coming over that ridge. i was camped there last night. moving here, it bought me an extra day, and what happened today? i built a fire, i washed each of my wounds. i thought of my love, cold in the ground, warm in the Sky.
they are coming quickly, and i have finally come to terms with a final, violent blow.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
#97
everything was dramatic with her. each moment of her life was met with a certain flare, and it was understood that she was born that way. even those who found her abrasive were still intrigued, driven to know more about her.
innately red lips, a smile you could see from a mile away; she was not content for people to like her, she wanted them to love her. her little sister's girl scout troop held a bake sale. she was not content to simply supervise the table. after a yellow pages search, she convinced a local auctioneer to donate 2 hours of his time to raffle of homemade cookies, gooey pastries, and powdered sugar covered brownies.
it came as no surprise when she got a full ride to college, and again as no surprise when she became the first non sorority member recieve the university homecoming queen.
goodwill workers were stunned when she was not content to simply donate items; she donated her time to wash baby toys, sterilize dinnerware.
her quiet, oddly uneventful fall into alheimer's was so unlike her life. her friends were granted brief moments of respite when she would declare "what about Everest?!", her favorite inside joke about her various impressive conquests.
those moments, and each one leading up to that strange time of her life were the moments they all remembered after. they remembered her passion, when she couldn't remember it herself.
innately red lips, a smile you could see from a mile away; she was not content for people to like her, she wanted them to love her. her little sister's girl scout troop held a bake sale. she was not content to simply supervise the table. after a yellow pages search, she convinced a local auctioneer to donate 2 hours of his time to raffle of homemade cookies, gooey pastries, and powdered sugar covered brownies.
it came as no surprise when she got a full ride to college, and again as no surprise when she became the first non sorority member recieve the university homecoming queen.
goodwill workers were stunned when she was not content to simply donate items; she donated her time to wash baby toys, sterilize dinnerware.
her quiet, oddly uneventful fall into alheimer's was so unlike her life. her friends were granted brief moments of respite when she would declare "what about Everest?!", her favorite inside joke about her various impressive conquests.
those moments, and each one leading up to that strange time of her life were the moments they all remembered after. they remembered her passion, when she couldn't remember it herself.
#96
under the cumulus clouds hovering in a bright blue sky, below the very sky itself, the air turns darker, grayer. the fog not made of clouds, but of atmosphere and hope long thrown by the wayside: a town.
tired bricks settle into the earth a little more each day. fatigue characterizes everything, from the passers-by, to the flowers in the park. they all ache, they all stretch, hearing their bones, their stems, crack and press and loosen for the smallest moment of relief.
through the fog, blocked by an aging mahogany door, a man sits on a bench in his living room.
the piano is big, obsidian, bold and defiant. he begins to play, and with each passing moment, his arthritic hands become smooth, lithe, young. suspenseful trills, violent runs, the Romanticism of Mendelssohn, the simplicity of lullabyes.
the vibrations race through the open window, into the dampened street, shaking buildings to life. tired workers shudder off their chill, look up, look at each other, one even dares to crack a tiny smile at a child. with each note, tinkling in the upper register, booming contradictions from the left hand, he brings life to the city. the muted notes gain resonance as the fog lifts, and the tiniest bit of sky beams through.
tired bricks settle into the earth a little more each day. fatigue characterizes everything, from the passers-by, to the flowers in the park. they all ache, they all stretch, hearing their bones, their stems, crack and press and loosen for the smallest moment of relief.
through the fog, blocked by an aging mahogany door, a man sits on a bench in his living room.
the piano is big, obsidian, bold and defiant. he begins to play, and with each passing moment, his arthritic hands become smooth, lithe, young. suspenseful trills, violent runs, the Romanticism of Mendelssohn, the simplicity of lullabyes.
the vibrations race through the open window, into the dampened street, shaking buildings to life. tired workers shudder off their chill, look up, look at each other, one even dares to crack a tiny smile at a child. with each note, tinkling in the upper register, booming contradictions from the left hand, he brings life to the city. the muted notes gain resonance as the fog lifts, and the tiniest bit of sky beams through.
#95
she said, really. you're great. but i just got out of a bad relationship.
heard that before. and before that.
a split second later, and you would have avoided the pileup entirely!
thanks officer. i feel strangely optimistic now.
oh, i'm sorry sir. the deal on athletic shoes is over. the current one is for sandals.
i can't even take advantage of the deals at shoe carnival before the half hour expires.
i am an anachronism at all times.
heard that before. and before that.
a split second later, and you would have avoided the pileup entirely!
thanks officer. i feel strangely optimistic now.
oh, i'm sorry sir. the deal on athletic shoes is over. the current one is for sandals.
i can't even take advantage of the deals at shoe carnival before the half hour expires.
i am an anachronism at all times.
#94
it was his version of an apology. his share of the rent, pulled from the pocket of his jeans, fresh from the washing machine. a soggy testament to the way he'd lived his life up till now.
she took the money and separated the bills. all singles. apparently, just a share of his share of the rent.
she pushed it all back into his jeans pocket. told him to put it all in the dryer.
sitting at the table, she scribbled out and signed a check for that month's rent. plus $10.
her car was waiting; keys in the ignition.
she took the money and separated the bills. all singles. apparently, just a share of his share of the rent.
she pushed it all back into his jeans pocket. told him to put it all in the dryer.
sitting at the table, she scribbled out and signed a check for that month's rent. plus $10.
her car was waiting; keys in the ignition.
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