2001-06-30 - 2:39 a.m. - baseball etc...
today we hit baseballs and dreamt of being ten again. dan hit a ball over the fence and cracked the old wooden bat that his grandfather gave to him. after that the little league claimed the field for a friday night game and we watched and felt strange about how we were the same way ten years ago and how in only ten years we have changed so much and learned how terrible and beautiful our world can be.and theres a fire in your back yard right now, burning the dead grass so that tomorrow morning when you go to get your newspaper you will walk on ash and track black footprints across white carpeting. i kept a photocopy of your footprints at birth so and now we can identify you and follow your footseteps through the neighborhood until it rains and you walk through puddles that will wash your feet and make them wrinkle up.
and i have never been the best at returning phone calls. i know i'm always supposed to call you but somehow i never get around to it. i hope these scribblings on electronic paper, as transient and temporary as they are will suffice for now. i know i could never remember your number and maybe its jut because your voice on the telephone is never quite as comforting as when you are three feet away from me.
and i remember when we actually used to believe all the foolish dreams we spoke of. tonight, thinking of you, all those years ago, i wondered where you are, if I'll ever see you again, which I probably will because I guess I see you sometimes now, but what's the point?
and your heart is made of glass, i tried my hardest to be sweet, wrap you up in newspapers and carry you gentley through half finished ballrooms to where the floor is a hard wood mirror and we glow in the gentle kiss of a chandelier. casting sillhouetes( i could never spell that word) across the floor, covering the line that divides concrete from wood, the dead from the living. and you look at me and say: "its not the ballroom, love. it's the way we dance."and you are right. it is the way our feet move to the same rhythm and we avoid stepping on each others feet without table talk or dance lessons. i could hold you up forever if there weren't hexes in our bones that can never be removed, not by surgeons or withdoctors. and wires around our wastes anchored to the walls with duct tape and paste. it's like the cover of that old pink floyd album that columbia put out just to make money off of a dying band. a collection of great dance songs. a collection of broken hearts. i'll promise i'll be careful if you promise me you'll try.
i am fragile to.
and somewhere in the cement that hold our eyes in place, staring circles around all the myths of disenchantment and growng old we will be unbreakble as ever two people have been.
and when i was a boy i was afraid of sparklers because i thought they were burning lines in my eyes and then i realized it was only smoke. you made a heart of smoke and i traced it with my finger, splicing the line and creating two hearts, one inside the other.
and now you have a baby and i felt like a stranger watching you hold it in your arms and wrapping it in a blanket. nobody ever tells me anything anymore but thank you for telling me when you first found out. i wish you well.
and now i've got blisters on my hands from wooden baseball bats and too much typing and i think i need to go to bed.
i know i will probably dream of you tonight. can i be so bold? you tell me. i have never remembered my dreams but a couple of nights ago you were in one and we were talking and then you melted into one of those rubber erasers that we used when we were in elemntary school and they were always in the shape of baseball players or nintendo characters and you looked like the princess from super mario brothers and i picked you up and erased every word i had ever written and when i was done the eraser had dissolved from friction down to just the crown and i put it in my pocket knowing that you were gone forever and so was every word i had ever spoken or written ("everyone's talking in the language of corpses") and a crown will never take the place of the occasional smile that steals your face and makes it mine. and then the moment passes and we are back to talking about politics or religion and there is just way too much of that these days.
we need to get back to redefining the geography of the human heart and i know i shouldn't be saying any of this shit and i think at this point it is all just meaningless shit because it was meant to come off as sincere but amounts to nothing more than a series of fractured images like underdeveloped polaroid pictures.
take fewer pictures.
write me a letter.
sing along as loud as you want.
walk barefoot on hot asphalt.
remember that i love you.
sleep well.
sorry about all the bleeding.
xoxo
listen to: saturday looks good to me, 60's girl groups, Lovesick, and Aloha
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