Abandoned Journal Wandering
In my old hometown, there is a road called Hillside and older homes were built here and there among orchards. After the second world war, orchards were not as important as suburbs, especially after Route 21 was made into the Willow Freeway going north into Cleveland. So the orchards were divided, but one man named Filipowitz had his orchard in behind all the others. He sold the property to the school board after his long driveway was paved (into Filip 'Boulevard') and a series of side streets made for Independence's first real suburban section, all of three streets, plus Vineyard, which no one lived on because it was just a connector. The school board built the High School on half the property, and let the rest -- including the old Filipowitz home, just go back to nature. (PS. Recently they cut down all the trees and built the NEW High School on the second half, using the first high school now for grades 5-8.)
AS a kid, I used to wander through the rustic part of the property, and investigated the ruins of the old house, trying to imagine a place of life and living -just as the place I am sitting now- and suddenly it is just rotted wood and a hole in the ground. All the spirit, all the emotion, all the living, all gone, not even an echo left behind. No sense of laughter, of pain, of frustration, of great events or silly petty things. Are the greatest passions we ever endure as substantial as sand castles on the beach?
I am reminded of these thoughts as I updated some of my interests on the profile page. I was curious because sometimes the interests turn up blue (shared) and once and awhile they turn up black (you're on your own, buddy. Or you misspelled it. lol) The few new blue cues (^_^) I added led me to lists of other users, and I did a random stroll in those I guessed most interesting.
Rotting timber and holes in the ground. All the spirit, all the emotion, all the living, all gone, with just these echoes left behind.
People afraid. People disgusted. People going all-friends. People defiant, saying they no longer care what others are saying. People wondering why someone doesn't come around anymore. People wondering why no one comes around anymore. People closing old journals to start new ones that have just that single first entry, that single last attempt, and realizing however many journals you start, maybe the problems just come right along, too.
People who hate the politics, gone a year now. People who love Japan, gone two years or more. People who sound just like people I care about, now gone and out of reach. People who sound like just like people I've really hated, now off destroying elsewhere.
I walk around, wondering at these lives, a soft melancholy at intriguing souls now off adventuring beyond these pages. Angry, hurt, tired, perhaps just too mature now, but gone, whatever the reason. Yes, I come away from this feeling, but with no answers to my questions. These echoes remain, until - like the school board- someone decides there's better use for the space than my daydreaming, and wipes it clean for the future.
AS a kid, I used to wander through the rustic part of the property, and investigated the ruins of the old house, trying to imagine a place of life and living -just as the place I am sitting now- and suddenly it is just rotted wood and a hole in the ground. All the spirit, all the emotion, all the living, all gone, not even an echo left behind. No sense of laughter, of pain, of frustration, of great events or silly petty things. Are the greatest passions we ever endure as substantial as sand castles on the beach?
I am reminded of these thoughts as I updated some of my interests on the profile page. I was curious because sometimes the interests turn up blue (shared) and once and awhile they turn up black (you're on your own, buddy. Or you misspelled it. lol) The few new blue cues (^_^) I added led me to lists of other users, and I did a random stroll in those I guessed most interesting.
Rotting timber and holes in the ground. All the spirit, all the emotion, all the living, all gone, with just these echoes left behind.
People afraid. People disgusted. People going all-friends. People defiant, saying they no longer care what others are saying. People wondering why someone doesn't come around anymore. People wondering why no one comes around anymore. People closing old journals to start new ones that have just that single first entry, that single last attempt, and realizing however many journals you start, maybe the problems just come right along, too.
People who hate the politics, gone a year now. People who love Japan, gone two years or more. People who sound just like people I care about, now gone and out of reach. People who sound like just like people I've really hated, now off destroying elsewhere.
I walk around, wondering at these lives, a soft melancholy at intriguing souls now off adventuring beyond these pages. Angry, hurt, tired, perhaps just too mature now, but gone, whatever the reason. Yes, I come away from this feeling, but with no answers to my questions. These echoes remain, until - like the school board- someone decides there's better use for the space than my daydreaming, and wipes it clean for the future.