One from the archives:
a moment in march 03/07/04 dabbed colors blur on the edge of vision and what cost is our sight worth? forgive me for the moment surrendering to the melancholy to fatigue, to often grim realities etched in stone for history. this night is hopeful maybe because of lessons learned- sometimes it’s in the breathing, still others, when it abruptly stops... do we perceive ourselves as those few lines in newsprint? or is this, “the stuff of life” greater than that? are my dreams still real? are any of us where we imagined ourselves to be? open hearts are, sadly, more in the realm of surgery than something looked upon with awe and understood when we remember days of “ill show you mine,” and how as children, we were transparent- love and anger, happy and sad all from moment to moment in lyrical necessity living, breathing existing on the edge of what we were- unborn, and commingling with what we saw, what was heard, phrases uttered carelessly, examples shown, learning to grow in ways maddening and unexpected. innocence slips silently away in small bits dreams die in collisions with expectations of conformity. sit right here young man and tell me why you did that. you don’t really think that way now do you? it’s a stage he’s going through, it’s the medication talking, it’s a mid-life crisis, senility, he was just a little eccentric... these cycles, these universes we inhabit where does time go? how do we get there from here? can you show me the path? can you show me the way? strings attached to one another, chaotic conclusions, levels of hell, planes of existence. whatever it is, we are but a pea in the soup, in the fog catching fleeting glimpses of something other than here and now, once remembered and forgotten lifetimes in beautiful streams of suddenly coherent and cohesive space and time. and just like that fading and lost, gone, untouchable and we can’t quite put our finger on it- out on the edge of vision.