12:01 p.m. - 2005-06-19
people do belong to each other.
And maybe I'm playing favorites. In fact, I'm almost positive I am, but I don't want you to understand. I don't want sympathy from someone who needs it more and that certainly defines you. Lovers are whiney and lawyers are argumentative and competitive. It's really no wonder they need each other. hand raised, swear to God "I did not cheat. I couldn't. I wouldn't." But no one can believe what has taken them ages to convince themselves is not true. This cd is putting me to sleep and i'm floating. We draw pictures on our hands with glue- a game we learned in elementary school out of boredom and the restricted freedom that comes with art class. It's entertaining to get stuck and then pick your way out of the mess. Now we draw pictures and then congratulate each other. Hand against hand and we want to know if we are going to be stuck together. These games are just games and my insults are unintentional and my dreams are too accurate lately. I'm going in reverse with fogged mirrors and just your word to depend on. The thing is, I don't trust you. No one takes another's word without checking. The cars speed by too quickly to depend on honesty and friendship. I hope it stays dark forever. "I hope the worst isn't over." I'm using songs to get through this because it's not what I mean and it's not what I'd say if asked, but it's something. It's out there. It's something else. And like i said, I don't want to let someone else figure it out before I do. Maybe I know what it's like to be free. Maybe i know that I'd give my last breath to help someone else and maybe that's foolish, but that's how I am. I'd hate to be selfish and I'd hate to be forgotten, but the first is not the reason for the second. I don't want anything in return. I don't want poetry. I don't want slogans. I don't even want pictures of happiness after the fact. Not for that reason. We do what we can. We pray for what we can't do and maybe it helps and maybe it doesn't, but it isn't to be interfered with. We can explain it away. I have to stop trying to find logic in the illogical. Hearts break, but they keep beating and people cry, but they keep singing and artists break bones-arms especially- but they don't stop seeing all the opportunities to paint or stop having ideas for a piece they'll surely fall in love with. And when i say fall in love with, I picture tying a piece of something to your heart so when you think of it, your breath catches and you just want to hug it. But that's not a definition, just an illustrated talk. There are too many possibilities of what to do with our lives and too often does potential get lost in unexpected places. But there are angels. Bedtime stories that promise there are anegls, watching over me, endlessly caring, and always holding my hand when my potential is lost. It's hard to believe, but it's so much more hopeful and I'd prefer to stay hopeful because as long as i'm hopeful, I can lend my optimism to lonely strangers. It's sad how we've all become strangers, but we have and if I were feeling brave, I'd introduce myself, but I'm not. I'm actually pretty scared. Hiding under covers, telling myself stories to pass the hours. This is taking far too long and shadows dance around my walls, inviting me to join them and what's better then dancing with your fears? So I do and I laugh with them because they grip my eyes and everything turns blurry and suddenly I'm dizzy. When the walls get closer and closer and the ceiling starts to fal, what do you do? Do you scream? Do you cry? Or do you lay very still and pray to God it will be over soon? I don't do anything at all. If I had to command myself to breath every second, my life would have ended years ago due entirely to an inconsistent memory. But that is not the case and my head and heart are not placed close enough to each other to understand. They can't communicate and i find that typical. Vultures cry wails that would wake the dead if that were possible and when i look up to see them trapped in a burning house, i understand. They look out of the third floor window and rest their heads against the last remaining bit of cool, fresh air that sneaks into the house, but it won't me long until their ashes cover the city and cities far away- the widn is the enemy. On-lookers cry at the loss and I stand, staring, wondering. What happens now? Does time stop? Do we stop living? Do we freeze and spend forever looking at what is left of a life? Several lives at that? But Japan is far from here and They are waking up right now- the fathers off to work, the children watching cartoons, the mothers making breakfast- a stereotype, but deal with it. In Australia, also far from this mess, a widow is answering a phone call and a father is swimming with his children and a mother is somewhere, it matters little. She is alive. If she were dead, it would be a different matter. So very far away, these worlds will never know what happened or why, it's local news, not worth a story, really. It matters little, because so many people are alive to care who isn't anymore. When they're close to you, it only matters when they're alive, but when they're far away, it maters when they're dead. It's a difference of opinion, perspective, and credibility. Credibility because you'll always be doubted for how much you care.
I'm planning trips around the world and then maybe I'll know more people and give myself more opportunities for funerals and more chances to be sad and it is sad, but it's worth it. I'm told death is axiomatic- a pointless word that sounds ridiculous in every day conversation- but that doesn't make it any less ridiculous. It's ridiculous to write about, think about, talk about, have nightmares about, but somethings just have to be ridiculous. Like you and me and our smiles when people are happy. Like the perfect cup of tea and being afraid of the dark. Like thinking the moon is following us and trying to run away from it and like dancing in the rain, but even more when people won't dance in the rain. All truly ridiculous, all mostly happy and all hopefully unchangeable.
There's a girl who smiles at the sky because it's constantly changing and it's always for the better. Her opinions don't matter and she'd prefer to be asked for them before she gives them away, but she has them. And when it rains, she dances alone and when she's lonely, she tries to be her own friend and when she's sad she tries to cheer herself up. she's ridiculous and painfully obvious and likes when her hands are warm, because angels hold them and she can scream when she feels like it, but she wouldn't. And you don't know her and i don't know her and she's in most of us, but that's how we are. And I think I like not knowing her, so i'll keep it that way.
My potential gets lost on the way to the post office, so I pray, but that's no excuse because excuses are for the guilty and only lovers need lawyers.
