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| october 2004 |
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| Flavor | 3:22pm thursday, 28th october |
Words do not come from nothing: first, there was experience.
The meaning of our things is derived from how we have tasted them:
I speak, I write, knowing the flavor changes — but still, linger.
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| out, out | 2:35pm wednesday, 20th october |
...and we will dream
that death shall die,
and understand
what moves the
rhythms surrounding us,
and imagine far,
farther than can
ever be realized
(for we can stretch
beyond the reaches
of the end of time
if our thought
is of enough light),
and no, we will
not desire ever
to be silent, for
our voice is a precious
inconvenience:
at the oddest times,
out comes the truth…
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| This Is It (Again) | 12:34pm thursday, 14th october |
Sanity: I begin to get a glimpse. Things of the rational world, things not clouded by ulterior consciousness (those artificial eyes of the past, which understood a tenth of the things it realized, if that): logic, though not always crisp, of rationality and color that flavors these sensations: I breathe air that is not new, but the old was such all smoke. I am barely dipping below the surface of the noumena now, the things as they are (I don’t believe Kant, who says it is unknowable), but what I see! Why did I want escape so badly, back when in that other life? I not only want to seize the day, but to give it one big fat kiss! May reason never leave me (except for love); let me not forget when I was born this fourth time over (fifth?). I am part of a dream that is a part of me. This is it.
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| Haunted | 11:38am tuesday, 5th october |
I am still haunted, sometimes, by things that never happened. Did I ever tell you that I sent my father to Hell, once? Or that I sent a troop of Koreans into a well of pain as huge as the sun? And my once hero, Jimi Hendrix, I saw him disintegrate and did nothing to stop it, back when I believed myself all-powerful. When I thought Micha-el the Archangel lost the War in Heaven, I showed my purest cowardice, letting anyone and everyone fill that role instead of me. I wanted to be Lucifer Morningstar, God's brightest angel, but one who never fell from grace. I thought I was the Antichrist who wanted nothing to do with evil. I praised Hitler, tried to save him on more than one occasion (my intent was good, for if he could be saved, could not anyone? though we all know all about where good intentions are the road to). They were just pictures in my head, but I thought it was all so real while it was happening. And I was no hero, given even the countless chances to live up to the hype I was pumping myself with for so long.
I wonder sometimes what these things say about my true nature. I always thought myself one of the good guys, but maybe I just wanted to be on the side that I was sure that won. And we have been taught from so far back that the good guys always do win in the end.... Perhaps I am a little too hard on myself, though these bad things are easier to remember than any small good I may have accomplished to the people floating in my head. Yes, yes: I was messed up; I understand that. That seems of little comfort though, when you believe yourself in possession of the knowledge of what you are capable of, if it came right down to it. I guess, though, if I really try, I can count it all joy. I know what a wretch I was — still am, to at least some degree (I am certain). Given a second chance to prove myself, knowing that what is happening really is happening: second chances like that are few and far between. This second chance of mine (third, and fourth, I sometimes think), I pray I don't blow it. And there are some God given fibers in me that believe — I know not why — that I won't.
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| The Beauty | 2:57pm monday, 4th october |
In the crowd, smooshed together in the subway car, I am near her, right next to someone whose face I half glimpse. I look the other way. I can tell she sees my face for a moment, lingers there, looks away. I can tell this, yet still, I have no idea of what she really looks like because I will not look at her square on. She turns to her friend, and I stare at the back of her head. If she never turns around, if I never see her face, she's still beautiful. She stays beautiful, and no ugly reality to get in the way of this tenth part fantasy. The subway car jostles everyone, and we bump together accidentally, and then there flashes in my head how her whole body might feel close to mine. I let the imagination fly off.
Almost, almost: I almost catch the sight of her whole face, and I get a hint of "plainness", of — not ugliness, but of brute honesty. It's spoiled, somewhat, this beauty of the unseen I have hovering in my consciousness. But I refuse to see her, tell myself I got a bad glimpse, that what I saw wasn't what I thought I saw. If I try hard enough, her beauty stays pristine, pristine unseen.... There have been other times when I thought I saw (or didn't see) such a beauty. Then I always ruin it all by looking directly into the flames, and find nothing there but cellophane in the wind. But no, not this time. She brushes past me, out of the train, and I never see her. She is immortal in me, the beauty ne'er beheld.
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