Tuesday, May 27, 2008

reasonable dives

sometimes you have to let yourself fall. you have to let go of everything you cling so tightly to in order to feel that free fall. in order to feel anything, at all. and sometimes, every so often, you even re-emerge better than you were before. you are free, if only for a little while. if only for the fall. you are free.

i'd found a blood blister on my chest, which no doubt had caused some strange skin discolorations i'd previously noticed. so i took a small knife to it and let the blood burst through. i found myself mesmerized by the rush of the blood, dripping down my torso. fascinated by the way the oxygen purifies it. kills the disease. i stared at it there, on my chest, on my fingertips; so vital. so strange.

i find myself free falling lately. falling away from the frictions and failures. my arms outstretched. my eyes closed. neither full of hope nor anticipation. simply feeling the fall. feeling the lightness. re-learning to breathe. sometimes it seems so hard to exhale. so hard to let go. so hard to just exist.

sometimes you have to let go and do what you might otherwise consider foolish or dangerous. sometimes what you might consider too terribly brave. you have to let go of everything you cling so tightly to. in order to fall. in order to feel anything at all.

don't look up. don't look down. just close your eyes. close your eyes and feel light. love will find its way. you will find your way. you will re-emerge, sometimes better than before. it is the reasonable dives from which we survive. we cannot survive the falls we never fell. we cannot survive until we allow ourselves to fall. until then, we're only traveling through - vagabonds. rootless. barely there.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

meet me beneath the overhang

the weather here has been so unpredictable. we weather it with such grace. we run down burnside, beneath the lightning storm that's taken us by surprise. we run through the trivialities that just quietly subside. because we know what we want. and where we're going. and exactly what to do, for the first time, in a long time. we exhale.

and when the heat surges in, we roll up our jeans and roll down the windows and just drive. under the blanket of trees that is this city. along the river. out of our fragile minds. and we like it. we like it all, no matter, no mind. we've come to expect never knowing what to expect. so we cast and cast aside. we re-mold and re-fold and unfurl our fears, like a red carpet to step out upon, and walk upon, and smile on.

i, as always, tap my feet to the beats. i look up. i sip slowly. i unfold my arms. i crack my knuckles, out of habit. i step out into the elements. i look up to you, and quietly say hello. we glow, like afterthoughts now that we've finally got it right. and when the rain stings our sunburns, we find it so delightfully strange. so rightfully fit. so rightfully so.

i feel like i finally have it right again.

Monday, May 19, 2008

terms of measurement

some terms of measurement are too small to weigh our histories. the feelings that build up over time. the time it takes to completely understand these feelings. sometimes galaxies are too small.

i find myself doing a lot of counting these days. counting down, counting up, counting out everything i have and have coming and have been. sometimes it's near impossible to see beyond the tally marks. too see beyond the miles now behind us. to see anything any better coming up upon us. horizons are such blurry lines. like mirages, mired by the burning sun. you divert your eyes to something easier to see. we strain to make the most of where we've been, so the future isn't so bad for business. so worrisome. so wearying.

our hearts speed up and slow down, moving of their own volition. to protect us. to resurrect us. to cool us down and heat us up. its only in feeling our hearts might just explode that we ever realize this. it's frightening; when you put your hand to your heart, you can actually feel it beating. you can feel your life. the basis of your existence. the circumference of every ache and joy and pain you've ever experienced. right there, beneath your unsteady hand. you can count the beats. you can feel the speed. and make of it what you will.

today i woke up with a sore throat. today i woke up utterly exhausted. from tossing and turning and palpitations and murmurs. i woke up completely spellbound. we try to find reasons. meaning to the events that have unfolded. we try to make sense of everything that has and has failed to occur. we try to negotiate happenstance. we try to measure out the incongruencies of our plans and reality. we try to live up to our follies.

i'm supposed to be on my way to mexico right now. i was supposed to be a lot of things that i wasn't. there is no accurate way to measure all that has passed and will be and might have been. no way to measure the distance from here to there and back again; of all the places we might have been and somehow are. no way to measure the gallons of blood my heart has pumped, by nature, for protection, in my own inabilities. there is no way to place the exact time and location that blood changed. no device to indicate when it stopped saving me and started hurting me. there aren't enough galaxies to measure the moments that come and go and change us and our lives. that change the routes we take and the people we become.

i find myself doing a lot of counting these days. for balance. for self-assurance. for peace. perhaps to assure i can measure and, thus, control some faucet of my existence. i count the boats and the birds, as i cross the bridges in the quiet of morning. i count the steps from one place to another. i count the days, as they slide from the calendar; like ice in this summer sun. sparkling and shining, but silently disappearing into puddles at our feet. and then evaporating away. out of grasp. out of reach. nothing to no one.

i count the beats of my heart, to measure the murky waters of my emotions. i imagine the slaving ships sailing around, trying to find a safe place to tie down. to tie us down. to take us in. out and into the blurry horizons ahead. our hands clasped to unsinkable memories. clasped to hardened realities. to all that we cannot change nor control. to all that surrounds us, so carelessly.

i was supposed to be on my way. i was supposed to be a lot of things. but the courses have changed and our ships have sailed. i quietly count them as i cross the bridges in the early morning sun. before it shines too bright to be seen. somewhere they'll be arriving soon. and i'll be here, counting down the days. counting the days away. counting the ways we've outnumbered ourselves. even though there are no terms of measurement great enough to measure us up.

Monday, May 12, 2008

and we'll say it was good

the cool winds are receding. the flowers are in bloom. the cars, they slow. they slow down, like a show. on parade. past the platforms full of people, waiting for their trains. waiting with the ranks, with their balloons floating so high. full of strange mechanics. full of hope.

we baptize ourselves in showers of sun. reborn for the better days ahead. reborn for the faces out amongst us. reborn for the surprises we know are coming. around the bend. around the corner of this barely there spring. around the sharp edges eroding into smooth curves for you to run your fingers along.

you wait. and we wait. and we wish less and less. we are full of strange mechanics. cranks and levers, disregarding executions and expirations and exhalations. oiled up with hope. the hope we will learn to love or hate. the hope we will dismiss or disassemble or display with our hearts on our sleeves.; rolled up, arms bare, full of curves for fingers.

we see it happening as though its already happened a million times before. we know it by heart before its begun. it clings to us. it shapes us. it parades us around through the light. the days get longer and we anticipate the late nights. we find comfort there, as though its already been in us for centuries. waiting, wondering, full of hope.

and we'll say it was good, while we wait for it to come.

we slow down, like a show. on parade for every passing glance. balloons up high above our heads. mercy is infinite and we are full of hope. because we know: it was good. it was good, good, good.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

oil spills

low lights. a slick of oil. we vanish, like echoes. reaching out and wasting away. the belfries of bodies bursting in the collapsible curiosities of collisions. late night fires shutting down streets. leaving only dark alleys with glistening oil stains. their dirty little spills we step across. running along the overgrown vacant lots, lost in the bustle of emergency and avenue. like echoes. carrying on so quietly, until there's nothing left but a slick of oil under the high lights of dawn. and the ringing of bells barreling down in the distance.

Friday, May 2, 2008


the shot glass on the counter is full only of indication of the direction we are heading.

my blood is thinned by coffee, alcohol. aspirin. it soothes through me so smoothly. i tap my fingers. i tap my feet. i look up. to the trains. to the sky. to the flights ahead. the flights ahead.

i walk along the wooden boardwalk of tanner springs and jamison square. i unintentionally strut. i unintentionally notice everything. the passers-by, the quiet sighs, the way the buildings burst into the sky. like eruptions of butterflies. like the coming eruption of last night's drinks. like you throttling through the motions we go through. in and out. ebb and flow. knowing and unknown. i know.

at least, i used to. lately i'm not so compelled to anymore. i'm happy just to do my thing, look up and wait for whatever's on its way. rolling down the streets we careen. recklessly/restlessly/ relentlessly. i'm not asking for much these days. i won't ask for much. i have enough. for now. for what it's worth. to fill my hands and head.

or, at least, fill my hands instead of my head.