Tuesday, November 03, 2009
remembering tuesdays
some days are darker than others . . . I've never seen a blue sky so white, so white as to be of no color, of no thing, of nothingness fading from consciousness, only the song of wind, as I remember a quarter century ago, one afternoon in Iowa, standing on a porch, nobody home and nothing between me and the horizon, but wind, just the blowing . . . as one breathed as if breathing loneliness. I wore jeans and my hair was longer and most all I know now I didn't know then, but the wisdom of darkness doesn't count years or skin or even bathrooms with locks . . .
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12 comments:
You sound like a solitary soul. I guess we are all left with our thoughts in the end. A quarter of a century strikes me as 1984... Orwells recreation of Yevgeny Zamyatin's 'We'.
Much to the chagrin of all who have to live with me. The year, now that you mention it, was 1983. I spent the summer selling books door to door--my territory was very rural, mainly farmers. Quite an education although it seems the lessons have faded, as if another life I lived then.
The scenery must have been beautiful. Difficult business venture I should imagine? As a former rural veterinary nurse i know that getting moey out of farmers can be very difficult!
As an introvert, it was hell--and I did it for five summers in five different states. Had to support myself and pay for school and as difficult as this was for me, it beat the alternative, which was living off the teat of my father.
What will we not endure for freedom, the soul's oxygen for light, and dark. When we're young, trials involve the body, the will, the days, other people. Later, battles are fought within, the invisibles, and other people. Heroic.
This porch you write of, I know it's planks and breathing loneliness. How tangibly you describe it.
Will you grow your hair longer again?
It seems the world is not made for introverts, or perhaps we are not made for it.
I don't think the wisdom of darkness made it much past preschool. Doesn't count at all. Not that linear. Think it had adhd and was busy jacking off in the corner.
Beautiful imagery, Tree, you center porch.
xo
erin
Erin, your hewn diction, naked as the plop of first light, of the smack of breath on the pink crevasse, makes my knees weak. If you were my babysitter, I'd be very bad; and you would spank me often; and I would dream of that sweet sting and burning denim. And hope too, you might use your language upon me with voluptuous vivacity!
Constance, I look like hell with long hair, so probably not, since hell can wait just a little longer. ;-)
So much spanking today.
Tree, you would not believe...
Now, straighten up!
(Plop of first light...I so like that, thank you.)
xo
erin
I'm feeling better already Ms Erin. Thank you.
there is something which endlessly draws me into the quiet, dark rhythm of this prose... and if i close my eyes, i feel that breathing slowly become mine, that loneliness becoming my life as well...
beautiful!
A rhythm like the wind I think, the gentle susurrations of nature coming and going.
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