|
|
Saturday, November 24th, 2007
| |
10:14 pm - longtime no post yes?
|
where i used to be consumed by blogworld at one time, now something else consumes me. before the eyebrows can raise themselves lemme assure you that it isnt anything remotely interesting. work, thats it. my days begin and end there. well for the most at any rate. ive been struck by the nothing inspires me enough to write illness.
so anyway, this line came back to me yesterday; when god wants to punish you, he answers your prayers. ~ out of africa. ha! i suppose we all have stories to tell. each and everyone of us, not the polished grammar, flowery language, or fairytale stuff but stories none-the-less. we leave fragmented stories in everything we do. little doodles in sheets of paper that were meant to hold minutes of meetings, a little flower pressed to be preserved, that you would have forgotten about till you see it again, little things found years later in a little box,... little things live, unknown in some forgotten corner till one day you chance upon them again and are threatened by a potential opening of floodgates. retrospect imho has much clearer eyes.
and again, we are in november, a month im still not particularly fond of. the only month that still reminds me that it -is- that month. a month killed one evening an age ago. a month not yet reborn. the leaves fall even now but im not watching them anymore.
--- this wonder fled.
altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
...
it mattering not how beautiful you were,
or how beloved above all else that dies.
|
|
|
| Thursday, November 15th, 2007
| |
7:16 pm - because it feels like that today ....
|
"When I get out of here," Andy said finally, "I'm going where it's warm all the time." He spoke with such calm assurance you would have thought he had only a month or so left to serve. "You know where I'm goin, Red?"
"Nope."
"Zihuatanejo," he said, rolling the word softly from his tongue like music. "Down in Mexico. It's a little place maybe twenty miles from Playa Azul and Mexico Highway Thirty-seven. It's a hundred miles northwest of Acapulco on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific?"
I told him I didn't.
"They say it has no memory. And that's where I want to finish out my life, Red. In a warm place that has no memory."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
