on days like today...
Saturdays in Milledgeville...
There's a whispering breeze in the trees that's got my mind a-thinking. Cast in this slack grey light, Milledgeville seems far from the rest of the world. The coffee's gone cold and a day of god-knows-what awaits me. On the stovetop, an already-eaten pot of oatmeal has begun to crust. We're all out of bananas and yogurt and everything else we eat. Crouched like a kid on the front porch, wearing a stripped polo that once belonged to my father, John tinkers with his road bike. He sizzles the chain clean in a turpentine bath. I feel at once bone-tired and wakeful.
Recently, my dreams have been filled with familiar faces--Jacky boy, Fa, Mike Sage. In them--or at least in the last one--we all sat beside one another in the belly of a giant airplane. I don't know where we were going, but everyone was restless to get there. There was a girl with us, too, though I don't know who she was. Some ghost-like figment, I suppose. Dreams are scatterbrained mummery, but mine always possess one constant: my consciousness oscillates between seeing the world through my own eyes, as I do in reality, to seeing myself from afar, as if watching, say, a movie. To shift back in forth in such a way is a very jarring thing.
My last entry was emotionally detached and relied too heavily on summary. For that I apologize.
There's a whispering breeze in the trees that's got my mind a-thinking. Cast in this slack grey light, Milledgeville seems far from the rest of the world. The coffee's gone cold and a day of god-knows-what awaits me. On the stovetop, an already-eaten pot of oatmeal has begun to crust. We're all out of bananas and yogurt and everything else we eat. Crouched like a kid on the front porch, wearing a stripped polo that once belonged to my father, John tinkers with his road bike. He sizzles the chain clean in a turpentine bath. I feel at once bone-tired and wakeful.
Recently, my dreams have been filled with familiar faces--Jacky boy, Fa, Mike Sage. In them--or at least in the last one--we all sat beside one another in the belly of a giant airplane. I don't know where we were going, but everyone was restless to get there. There was a girl with us, too, though I don't know who she was. Some ghost-like figment, I suppose. Dreams are scatterbrained mummery, but mine always possess one constant: my consciousness oscillates between seeing the world through my own eyes, as I do in reality, to seeing myself from afar, as if watching, say, a movie. To shift back in forth in such a way is a very jarring thing.
My last entry was emotionally detached and relied too heavily on summary. For that I apologize.