Talking in Code to Myself
The last few days have been a bit of a head trip. As I drove back to Austin in the rain, listening to a poorly burned copy of Saturday Night Fish Fry, I couldn't help but feel comfort in the gray sky over my head. Like Andy said, the dark gray pulls down the heavens, makes them heavier, creating an intimate space. It was nice, just to zone out and drive, listening only to the patter of water on my windshield. I couldn't help but accelerate too fast, not often checking my bearings, watching the country blur out into a sheet of silence around me. Restricting myself to 80 mph was the most painful part.
My windshield wipers jerked back and forth rhythmically like the black hips of two dashboard hula dancers on their way to a funeral, the few stray leaves from Andy's front lawn forming their skirts and slowly slipping off in the wind, in the excitement of driving. Such contrasts are captivating; the dance with an impending doom, perhaps not directed at oneself but just lurking there--if nothing more than to remind you that your time isn't yet up, so you might as well tap your feet a bit harder to the rhythms of life, risk looking the fool, and actually get something accomplished before the hula girls don their dark garb to visit your little spot six feet under, shed a tear, and head home once again in the rain.
I'm ready to take those risks. In fact, I have been. And with the highs, (and there were highs, small moments this week that made the world earn its keep) there's always that fear of what is to come, what will those little ignited sparks grow to become--will they light a candle or a fuse?
"I think it will have to wait for now. "
Seems like a good piece of advice, but time is a jealous keeper and days grow dark from the indefinite. The last four have been, perhaps, dimmer than they should have, but if one can recognize the source, the confusion is easier to bear. Good days traded for bad, even at a lower than going rate, are still worth the exchange. Especially if they appreciate in value over time, far outweighing the bad.
I'll ante up any day for the challenge, and give a big "fuck you" to the blue chip stocks. Gotta wager things at some point.
Austin is a ghost town--both exactly what I need and what I disdain. I suppose everyone needs a breath of air before the plunge back into the depths, so it'll do me good. Walking down the drag is nearly creepy, and the wind cuts through one's clothes like...
[where to place a metaphor.... place as in put a finger on, not choose a position on the page...perhaps it doesn't cut through them, as that is already a metaphor in itself, and a tired one]
Oh well, what difference can a word make anyway? No one ever trusts a single word, but rather relies on a context, a mood, a tone to define meaning. Sarcasm is lost on the single word.
Which leaves me high and dry, as without sarcasm and a wry smile I'm hardly afloat at all. And yet I'm still fixated on the singularity, rather than the plural. Sometimes, even the single one is hard to locate. You find a target and pierce it-- hunting two targets would make an indecisive shot and and empty stomach. But what if you're dealing with parts far more symbolic than stomachs? The ones that beat, break, and have their strings tugged. How to refill these?
I'll do what I can, I've taken my shot in the dark and all I can do is hope for the best.
Its been a good vacation. See you all in a few days.
And Merry Christmas, even if it doesn't feel like it. Ask for a present and you'll get it, even if all I can give are words. I'll make sure its not just one.
Anyone down for a dance?
My windshield wipers jerked back and forth rhythmically like the black hips of two dashboard hula dancers on their way to a funeral, the few stray leaves from Andy's front lawn forming their skirts and slowly slipping off in the wind, in the excitement of driving. Such contrasts are captivating; the dance with an impending doom, perhaps not directed at oneself but just lurking there--if nothing more than to remind you that your time isn't yet up, so you might as well tap your feet a bit harder to the rhythms of life, risk looking the fool, and actually get something accomplished before the hula girls don their dark garb to visit your little spot six feet under, shed a tear, and head home once again in the rain.
I'm ready to take those risks. In fact, I have been. And with the highs, (and there were highs, small moments this week that made the world earn its keep) there's always that fear of what is to come, what will those little ignited sparks grow to become--will they light a candle or a fuse?
"I think it will have to wait for now. "
Seems like a good piece of advice, but time is a jealous keeper and days grow dark from the indefinite. The last four have been, perhaps, dimmer than they should have, but if one can recognize the source, the confusion is easier to bear. Good days traded for bad, even at a lower than going rate, are still worth the exchange. Especially if they appreciate in value over time, far outweighing the bad.
I'll ante up any day for the challenge, and give a big "fuck you" to the blue chip stocks. Gotta wager things at some point.
Austin is a ghost town--both exactly what I need and what I disdain. I suppose everyone needs a breath of air before the plunge back into the depths, so it'll do me good. Walking down the drag is nearly creepy, and the wind cuts through one's clothes like...
[where to place a metaphor.... place as in put a finger on, not choose a position on the page...perhaps it doesn't cut through them, as that is already a metaphor in itself, and a tired one]
Oh well, what difference can a word make anyway? No one ever trusts a single word, but rather relies on a context, a mood, a tone to define meaning. Sarcasm is lost on the single word.
Which leaves me high and dry, as without sarcasm and a wry smile I'm hardly afloat at all. And yet I'm still fixated on the singularity, rather than the plural. Sometimes, even the single one is hard to locate. You find a target and pierce it-- hunting two targets would make an indecisive shot and and empty stomach. But what if you're dealing with parts far more symbolic than stomachs? The ones that beat, break, and have their strings tugged. How to refill these?
I'll do what I can, I've taken my shot in the dark and all I can do is hope for the best.
Its been a good vacation. See you all in a few days.
And Merry Christmas, even if it doesn't feel like it. Ask for a present and you'll get it, even if all I can give are words. I'll make sure its not just one.
Anyone down for a dance?