it's just like this
when I am alone and all I see is the blue light
and the sun climbing all over my hands and the contrails
are writing quiet calligraphy, lit by the gossamer moon
like a shell too old to breathe anymore
washed clean and smooth by a million years of tide and wind.
I breathe the salt of the air
and it soaks into me.
it has burrowed into my pores, seeped deep
into the furrows of my mind.
And all you see is the empty sky.
I have very little to say and I hope I might say that which I do possess unpretentiously. The profundities of the greater world, the lessons of tragic break-ups and equally tragic hook-ups, even the peculiar, everyday wisdom of paying bills with one's own money and cooking one's own food are not mine. I am not experienced, I am not bright, I have lived an unremarkable life.
But I do live and I do seek to understand. I feel keenly, perhaps that is worth something after all is said and done. I have stood under this sky. I have walked upon this earth. I have looked upon this ocean of men and women who surround me. I have loved, eagerly and earnestly. It is not much, but in the end, what does anyone have to offer but the recollections of one, small, flickering life?
Hmm... tommorrow's my birthday. I get to wreak havoc with friends and eat lots of Chinese food. Should be entertaining, even though fate exacted its fee by requiring me to clean the ENTIRE house today. I got to scrub a toilet. This is a tremendous rite of passage. Scary that I've managed to avoid the task for 17 years, less a day. Well, now that my lily-white, bougeoisie hands have been soiled...
How strange it is that 17 seems so much more than 16...
Yet, no matter. Still straining hopelessly to reach that fabled summit of 25 writeups. It boggles my mind that others can have writeup counts in excess of 300.