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diaryland
The day Becky left Portland
26 May 2006 - 12:41
4:17 AM * 25 May 2006
Insects art where is the dawn. I'm waiting for the western sky to indicate what the eastern knows...the weather, where will the rain fall? How many rainbows? How should the clouds chase each other across the sky?
Versus
Life as a Pump or a simple series of pumps? Suction... Friction. Warm dark wet grow.
***
Somehow our tastes our worlds the fabric of our experience the same fabric cut from the same cloth now woven together with cowboy stories shacks in Mexico the tumbleweed the viscous dawn the vicious gallop slice across through rip space and time and rearrange the pieces until we can have everything we want. Everything.
I want someone here to take my picture. No, not someone. You.
How can the space that once held you no longer. I want to be a photograph, not a mirror. I want to hold an image still and not let it move. The mirror mocks your camera, the song of the mirror more vivid, more real, too much change for us to hold, we can never be still enough for its fluidity to imprint on our surface. You can make an aesthetic out of any form longing takes, shutter speeds, a needle, hold me still, hold yourself still, hold the world still. You can make such a lovely frozen aesthetic you forget the sentiment behind the longing. Lost in ritual, the stark minimal lines on paper forget the hands.
Get back the sentiment! I miss you means I love you! I want to stop time means I love each moment so! If you want to climb an asymptote and never reach, stick to the sentiment and it will buoy you forever up and you will see how close you can get without touching without holding without making what you love slow down or stop.
Ritual can't drown sentiment, although it tries.
If your aesthetic could freeze you, it would have
blued your lips
taken your breath
used up all your time
made you run out, at last
Of yourself.
Maybe it's a war: mirror vs. photograph, sentiment vs. ritual, spirit vs. aesthetic, Indian vs. cowboy (and is it any wonder we love both?). It's the corrupt Mexican government letting cathedrals rot in Mexico City, sinking back into Aztec lakes and pools of sacrifices where the victims' hearts were ripped out...
And really, it's all EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!
And that is why I can let you go away, why I can sit in your room alone and fill myself with your absence and let my tears trace their water back to the source. I miss you means I love you. I let you go means I love that you change; I love that you're free.
I want you always to be free and we will gallop up our asymptote and yell the battle cry of a war that is a symphony until someday we're close enough.
