-

I recall that this particular Sunday, hit harder than other Sunday's, that the moment of recognition that the day had to end, would be lost somewhere between the bookend of the evenings sleep and the following weekend. I might recall the next Sunday of this particular moment, or look back to this photo as a reminder of that transient feeling of wading into the streaming flow of time, held afloat on the back of another day of the week. That we all feel this envy of ourselves tranposed upon the ideal of the day, is less comforting and more alarming, that we don't do more to create these moments in the majority of hours that make up our actual week. I close my eyes to envision this lighthouse, caught in the haze of my subconscious fog, and dwindling in the distance, the day has finally given us it's beauty just a few moments before it takes it away. I wake each morning, and in a sort of karmic jest, drive the half a block to the Sound's edge, and glance across the water to this lighthouse, stop every so often in these morning strolls, and snap off a picture of the same lighthouse, only just out of true reach.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Breach

-
Where do I stand? Now, days out from New Years, on the cusp of the entry into my 31st year; needing a thesis; hoping for answers to questions I have already forgotten the likes of by the time I've gotten to the end of this sentence. Clearly, having a point or meaning is valuable to me at this point. But why when I am so apt to consecrate the process, do I stammer, stumble, shutter and slip. I walked blocks of Manhattan on Saturday, knowing, as I meandered the street blocks back to my temporary abode, that these moments, and the warmth of the late December weather, were fleeting at best; less tangible objects to be cradled beneath my arms, to relative obscurity to those around me, nestled deep in my chest maintaining some grasp on them, like holding one's breath to the point of...I dig in to these thoughts much deeper now, realizing even my skin is slinking itself off daily, from lips, from scalp, hands, palms, knees; at which point am I shed of my next me, is my anaconda shell
Read more

Correspondence 7

-
So many things, Frederick, then, quiet now they all disperse, and disperse only to resurface when tension builds. We walked today and you were quiet, a silent judge, hailed above the rest, an exception to the rule in many senses. What is it that we do exactly to make things easier. For me, Frederick, you said it was the fact that I was able to realize all things do not eventually come to a crashing halt, but that the things we have to do, those that need to get done, life tasks, will get done; regardless of any extra effort exuded by myself. So we are merely quiet and frail as humans, calm and controlled, doing our piece to create a whole, of something, not necessarily of a "whole of existence", or of a "whole of society and community", but a whole of ourselves, pieces of a puzzle to create an "image of a train station in the rain, with blurred outline of a man or woman waiting at the station edge, for a light in the distance, to come and take them away!"
Read more
-
Recollection I remember the steady flow rabble rouser battling from head to toe saying set me free but dont let me go hoping the break is clean as the ax is thrown I spark like flint when the pressures on a diamond in the rough, yeah those heads'll nod they know i dont shimmer but im worth bettin on so lay your money down, watch me ramble on a snake in the bush dont have much to say just lie in wait so patiently for his prey hoping a wayward soul will simply lose his way cause when it does man there is no need to pray knelt in the pew, in an empty church my back is bent like a winter birch frozen cold components that i need to nurse but sheltered in the warmth, man it could be worse i could be somewhere lying in a shallow grave so criminal that even the lord won't save the western wind whips striking me like a wave trying to stand, you watch as my body cave the crest of the ridge asks the sun what are you hiding from but soon those shafts of light beamin
Read more