I wish I knew how to better articulate my feelings. Unfortunately I am always assuming you know everything I am thinking and feeling and the words that come pouring out of my mouth are like thousands of pounds of garbage filling a landfill much too fast. I am creating an island of trash for me myself and I to inhabit. I am filling my island with stories of which you are already a part, a silver statue of junk that will someday combust due to flying too close to the sun. When all is engulfed in flames I will be the one putting out the fire and saving relics from a forgotten era alive in the present moment. There is magic everywhere and I am not sure if people are blind or just too dumb to see that as all is passing, the trash on the road is composed of folklore too tired to speak, so instead of thriving becomes entombed in the casket of the displaced streets, a time capsule of Atlantis that abides not within the metal carcass of a decaying space ship, but rather within my very own arms where I will tenderly keep all that has found its way to my embrace safe, carrying it with me till death do us part. I am addicted to lost treasure. I have married myself to trash and the stories it tells. I am in love with forgotten lives because all I want to do is remember.
I love you.
I want my ideals and fantasies to come true, which is why I am happiest when I allow myself to imagine, inspired by the road and driven by a persistence toward carrying out my dreams which I have found become real when I get 'lost.' In order to get my head straight, reflect on all I have thus far collected and to free myself from what had become a burden of obligation, I felt it was necessary to retreat from civilization to the very essence of nature and creation, which was the woods.
I was living by a lake that I could not leave because in the morning as the sun rose it broke my heart to see the reflection of fire on water, like a million sparkling flames that rippled with the breeze while wild trout would leap up from the brilliant surface, birthed by the lake, dancing in the air, snapping up mosquitos and plunging back into the water, breaking the sparkling surface to reveal the dark abyss of the lake's endless bottom. I would swim out into the lake's middle each morning until an overwhelming sense of fear would shake through me as I would franticly realize I had swum too far out where the water was cold and dark, when all I had wanted was to reach warmth and light. Getting back to the shore I would lay out on the mossy forest floor and imagine myself growing into the dirt and leaves and sucking up all the elements of the earth, becoming like a tree I would try and feel myself growing up old and wise and strong with a mossy tree beard and a birds nest for a hat. I made paper boats out of the newspaper I had been collecting from each town I would visit (it always amazed me how much the news would change from town to town) and place nuts and twigs and pieces of my hair in them and send them off to sail before becoming soaked with water and pulled down to an inevitable watery grave. I imagined the nuts and twigs and hair becoming part of a primordial soup which I imagined to be the lake, where my delicate strands of DNA could safely co-mingle with the fish and trees and water and air, a part of me going on to live forever there. I embraced the idea of myself as infinity and fearlessly walked the forest making friends with birds and foxes knowing they were all an extension of myself through the perception of sight and sound. I felt wonderfully alone but never lonely. I felt at home and at peace.
You too have also been home to me and I am trying to find my way back in the dark. I am exploring new ways to reach you. I am discovering new forms to take to try and get there. I am learning how to stay safe. I am trying to speak different languages. I am disguising myself in funny costumes in order to surprise you. I am trying, with reckless abandon, to build a nest on a cliff that I know has already crumbled, the preservation of memory now my sole concern. When called a 'fucking cunt,' I can only hope to one day be that again to someone who cares enough about love to remember with me what it was once like to become alive. I am hoping that someone is you...
I know I can't follow you but I can sure as hell try and blaze my own way to try and find.....
US?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
-July 16, 2011
i am free to be loved
i am free to be hated
i am free to be
i am free!
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