Breathe in. Shwoook. Breathe out. Pheewww. One more time. In... Shooooook. Out... Pheeewwww.
My fingers feel as shaky as my thoughts. I think I drank too much coffee. I think I want this... no that. This and that. I want to find a bigger house to live in. I want to feel that I have more space to move in. I want to take more photos. I want to write. I want to draw. I want to do them all, and collect them into books. I feel like I should have started one of them already. I feel like I should be doing one or the other, or the one after that, instead of writing this right now.
I just want to feel satisfied, despite our human nature to feel otherwise. Backspace. Backspace. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Just click publish already. Get it over with and move on.
23.9.08
15.9.08
The Bike Ride
There’s a knock at my door. It’s Christopher Meloni. I open the door and invite him in. He asks, “What you doin’?”
“I was just sitting here writing about wanting to do something.”
Christopher smiles. “Well, that’s why I stopped by. Let’s go ride bikes.”
In one swift move, I close my laptop and slip on my shoes. “Let’s go!”
We ride off down the street, and just as I am about to say how nice it feels outside, Chris says, “Its nice out tonight!”
I look up. “There’s a full moon!”
“Indeed. There it is.”
He is riding just ahead of me. I watch him pedal. We are peddling at the same pace. He must be in the same gear. I look at the houses creeping past us and feel as if I am watching the Showcase Showdown on the Price is Right. I calculate their closest values to the actual retail price, and place my bid.
Chris cheers me on. “That’s a big TV. You can see what those people are watching from the street.”
He rides up into their yard and I follow. We stop right in front of the window and see a whole family sitting in their living room. Their backs facing us. Their eyes glued to a television set.
Watching the people watching the television, Christopher puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “I feel like we are in that Christmas movie... A Christmas Carol... with the ghosts that haunt Ebenezer Scrooge. I’m the ghost who shows you the present, and you are seeing yourself as you are now.” He raises his hands in front of his face and wiggles his fingers. “Ooooooooohh…”
He stops, mid-oooh and freezes.
I hold my breath and jerk my head back to the window expecting to see someone alerted to our presence.
“Wait!” Christopher pauses, holding the moment’s silence captive for a few more seconds. “How can you see yourself in the present, if you are presently with a ghost? They should have called that ghost the ghost of Christmas a few minutes ago.”
I chuckled... relieved to know we were still invisible. I turn my attention back to the window and the people in their living room. “Look!” Christopher leans forward and squints. I rap the window and feel the adrenaline shatter through my veins. We take off laughing into the street. I hear people yelling behind me in the distance but can't make any sense of it due to Christopher’s laughter and my squeaky gears.
We twist and turn through a few back streets, ride through a park, bomb a hill, then duck into a shadow. We stop to catch our breath.
"Hey, Christopher!"
I lift my hands in front of my mouth and wiggle my fingers.
“Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!”
“I was just sitting here writing about wanting to do something.”
Christopher smiles. “Well, that’s why I stopped by. Let’s go ride bikes.”
In one swift move, I close my laptop and slip on my shoes. “Let’s go!”
We ride off down the street, and just as I am about to say how nice it feels outside, Chris says, “Its nice out tonight!”
I look up. “There’s a full moon!”
“Indeed. There it is.”
He is riding just ahead of me. I watch him pedal. We are peddling at the same pace. He must be in the same gear. I look at the houses creeping past us and feel as if I am watching the Showcase Showdown on the Price is Right. I calculate their closest values to the actual retail price, and place my bid.
Chris cheers me on. “That’s a big TV. You can see what those people are watching from the street.”
He rides up into their yard and I follow. We stop right in front of the window and see a whole family sitting in their living room. Their backs facing us. Their eyes glued to a television set.
Watching the people watching the television, Christopher puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “I feel like we are in that Christmas movie... A Christmas Carol... with the ghosts that haunt Ebenezer Scrooge. I’m the ghost who shows you the present, and you are seeing yourself as you are now.” He raises his hands in front of his face and wiggles his fingers. “Ooooooooohh…”
He stops, mid-oooh and freezes.
I hold my breath and jerk my head back to the window expecting to see someone alerted to our presence.
“Wait!” Christopher pauses, holding the moment’s silence captive for a few more seconds. “How can you see yourself in the present, if you are presently with a ghost? They should have called that ghost the ghost of Christmas a few minutes ago.”
I chuckled... relieved to know we were still invisible. I turn my attention back to the window and the people in their living room. “Look!” Christopher leans forward and squints. I rap the window and feel the adrenaline shatter through my veins. We take off laughing into the street. I hear people yelling behind me in the distance but can't make any sense of it due to Christopher’s laughter and my squeaky gears.
We twist and turn through a few back streets, ride through a park, bomb a hill, then duck into a shadow. We stop to catch our breath.
"Hey, Christopher!"
I lift my hands in front of my mouth and wiggle my fingers.
“Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!”
14.9.08
Nothing Is Unreadable
If nobody reads the words that I have written, then they never will have existed.
Words unread are words that don't exist.
Words unread are words that don't exist.
Blue Bird
While sitting outside smoking a cigarette, I was visited by a strange blue bird. He said, "Hello."
I put the cigarette to my lips to see if the smoke tasted like a dream. I exhaled a reply. "Hello and how do you do?"
"Fine just fine... feeling blue... and you?"
"Feeling fine and feeling blue? How can that be true. Is it because your feathers are blue?"
"Are you rhyming because I am a bird who happens to be blue? I was born that way... blue through and through."
"Oh, I meant you no insult. It's just that I have never had a bird speak to me."
We stared at each other for a moment. He turned his head. I thought he was about to fly away. Instead, he looked back at me and chirped.
I laughed, "You're a funny little bird. I like your chirping. What does that mean... I mean, how would you translate that sound into words that I would understand?"
"You will never know."
"Is that what the chirps mean, or are you being difficult?"
I was confused now, and could see that the blue bird knew I was confused too. He could not smirk or smile, but I could see it in his eyes. He was waiting for my next move.
Waiting still.
I flicked my lit cigarette at his beak, and immediately felt guilty for this smug reaction. The ashes sparked. The feathers fanned. The smoke swirled. I fled as the blue bird flew.
I put the cigarette to my lips to see if the smoke tasted like a dream. I exhaled a reply. "Hello and how do you do?"
"Fine just fine... feeling blue... and you?"
"Feeling fine and feeling blue? How can that be true. Is it because your feathers are blue?"
"Are you rhyming because I am a bird who happens to be blue? I was born that way... blue through and through."
"Oh, I meant you no insult. It's just that I have never had a bird speak to me."
We stared at each other for a moment. He turned his head. I thought he was about to fly away. Instead, he looked back at me and chirped.
I laughed, "You're a funny little bird. I like your chirping. What does that mean... I mean, how would you translate that sound into words that I would understand?"
"You will never know."
"Is that what the chirps mean, or are you being difficult?"
I was confused now, and could see that the blue bird knew I was confused too. He could not smirk or smile, but I could see it in his eyes. He was waiting for my next move.
Waiting still.
I flicked my lit cigarette at his beak, and immediately felt guilty for this smug reaction. The ashes sparked. The feathers fanned. The smoke swirled. I fled as the blue bird flew.
Spout It Out
Words used to pour out of my fingertips. Unfiltered, rusty words. The source of the words must have dried up recently, as my fingers only seem to be capable of coughing up dust. I hear the pipes rattling and moaning. I am half-expecting a spurt of letters to rush out and surprise me. I crack my knuckles, turn the knob off, then back on. Off and on. Another moan. Things just might be happening. A trickle of letters has already formed a puddle of words. It's not much, but its something.
13.9.08
Battery Powered Words
Battery powered words last the same as those written by hand. Forgotten when the current expires and the lights go out. Here are some words to add to the rest while things are still illuminated. The time will come when one of us will forget the other. I can say I will forget you first, but one can never forget until nothing can be remembered. Today, for now, we are here in front of each other. Making a memory to be forgotten.
