2001-08-06 - 12:54 a.m. - outside the nursery door.
"there's nothing at the end of the rainbow, there's nothing to grow up for anymore."**********************
as of fifty-five minutes ago i am twenty-two years old.
everything you love will someday be dust. or ash.
i was driving to a friend's house tonight out along country roads that sing lonely songs of car wrecks and broken hearts and the sky was a violent shade of red, somewhere between the color of blood and the color of new love all dark and red with a touch of pink. and suddenly i was overcome with that overwhelming sense of dread that only arrives with dreams of death, stapled to wings and clouds, and screaming the high pitch scream of never.
i've never known forever.
I rarely think about death and dying because there is so much beauty in the world around me but when i do my heart beats a little bit faster and my skin sinks into the shade of ash, painted on with white out and then handed in as an in-class essay written in fifty-five minutes to be judged and graded. and in the shadow of these thoughts ( have you ever noticed that the word ghost can be found in this word) you feel nothing but futility and hopelessnes.
cut. flash. sip. pop.
and then you realize how similar mrecords are to life. how every beautiful record you ever own begins with perfection and gorgeousness that pulls you in and makes you listen to every subsequent song in order. and then after the final strains of the final song there is white noise. static that means nothing to the human ear but which is comoforting and beautiful just before the needle is raised and the record left spin itself out.
and then when it is all over you realize that you have left nothing behind. that every photograph and every poem written on fading and dissolving paper is meaningless to the people who sort through all yer shit and decide what to throw out. i desire nothing more than the immortality of poets and authors and singers and filmmakers. i somehow feel th eneed to be validated and forever remembered. to brand stop signs in my hand and trace fallen leaves over top of them and be named a saint by all my peers.
and still there are barely familiar songs playing themselve on repeat in my ears begging to be heard again.
i've only seen
forever through silk-screened
photographs, inked
on walls we know
will never crumble
all the greatest walls
fall.
foreevr is a myth.
and when i got home, racked with fears and longings you had left a voice message on my telephone wishing me a happy birthday. and you told me i was amazing and i can only say the same back to you a hundred-thousand times with all the speed of light and all the grace of whispers creeping across your living room floor in the morning with the sun.
and my parents gave me a cheap, but priceless camera today for my birthday and its beutiful because now i can take every picture i have always wished i had a camera for to take so that i will neevr be alone and someday they will be ashes and dust and turn themselves into the soil and grow into the petals of new flowers, smiling all of those 'say cheese' smiles and barrels up flagpoles and boys with guitars into the night and somehow, subliminaly reminding everyone that beauty is everywhere.
its all over the place and sometimes it hurts so much.
every piece of dust that falls in to my eyes. helps me out. allowing me to cry. slowly.
i love you.
xoxo
listen to: richard and linda thompson, pig eye jackson, aloha, lovesick, saturday looks good to me.
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