(no subject)
I am always defeated.
I let shit like the tides or the moon push me and pull me and ovulate me and make me believe that there is always something more, always something left undone unsaid uncreated, always somewhere fresh beyond bigger greener MORE.
My father has a certain way of not speaking. He'll fold his arms and tilt his gaze a little toward the sky, his single emotionally active facial feature obscured by the glare on his glasses.
Or maybe he won't. Maybe his arms will remain at his sides and he'll look to the floor, or maybe he'll put one hand in his pocket and stare straight ahead. The thing about it is its unpredictability--its unlikely and unromantic poignancy. It's like the way a sunset always means something, but no one is ever sure quite what. It's like the way we all leave pieces of ourselves behind the best way we know how, but no one is ever sure quite why. I have been marked by the words he couldn't say in a way I have never been able to quantify.
(mostly, i am afraid of what i
can't. i am afraid of what i
can't say.
when i look to the sky-- for
whatever the fuck
reason--
and i see visions of
unknowable and
unspeakable
places and words,
i am astounded in a way that is
almost embarrassing. i
find no definition, no
clarity, no
comfort, no
faith, no
concrete symbol to hold
in front of my face
and call
belief. but still,
i am left with the
great notion
that i have found
something. (sometimes
i get a great notion...)
every day i search
harder
for a way to dramatize this
something,
to give life to things i am
97% sure only
exist in
my imagination.
and i'm not so good with truth, but
it's true that i
try, and it's true that i
will keep trying, and it has never been more
true
that you are the one
i want to try for.)
I let shit like the tides or the moon push me and pull me and ovulate me and make me believe that there is always something more, always something left undone unsaid uncreated, always somewhere fresh beyond bigger greener MORE.
My father has a certain way of not speaking. He'll fold his arms and tilt his gaze a little toward the sky, his single emotionally active facial feature obscured by the glare on his glasses.
Or maybe he won't. Maybe his arms will remain at his sides and he'll look to the floor, or maybe he'll put one hand in his pocket and stare straight ahead. The thing about it is its unpredictability--its unlikely and unromantic poignancy. It's like the way a sunset always means something, but no one is ever sure quite what. It's like the way we all leave pieces of ourselves behind the best way we know how, but no one is ever sure quite why. I have been marked by the words he couldn't say in a way I have never been able to quantify.
(mostly, i am afraid of what i
can't. i am afraid of what i
can't say.
when i look to the sky-- for
whatever the fuck
reason--
and i see visions of
unknowable and
unspeakable
places and words,
i am astounded in a way that is
almost embarrassing. i
find no definition, no
clarity, no
comfort, no
faith, no
concrete symbol to hold
in front of my face
and call
belief. but still,
i am left with the
great notion
that i have found
something. (sometimes
i get a great notion...)
every day i search
harder
for a way to dramatize this
something,
to give life to things i am
97% sure only
exist in
my imagination.
and i'm not so good with truth, but
it's true that i
try, and it's true that i
will keep trying, and it has never been more
true
that you are the one
i want to try for.)