ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- red and gold i woke up at eleven minutes past eleven am. i made as many wishes for your travels and your ideas and your heart(s) as i could before the minute changed. the wind was from part of heaven that i haven't heard of before today. you can feel the signals and sounds of a winter passing, and the world would have you approach it like some sort of celebration.. you know, some sort of grand extreme reaction. like as soon as february's over, it's instantly spring, and flowers and true love bloom up and down the block until summer melts them or fall uproots what you plant. no, i think today's gusts of beautiful, not-quite-freezing wind made me aware that spring (as it begins) can be so much more menacing that the ice and threats of winter... someone told me april is the cruelest month? i've been making up songs, and trying to remember what's important, and running exactly one mile around my neighborhood at least once a week. sometimes when i run, i go into some unbelievable trance, and the rhythm of my steps and the panting and gasping for air is all i can really hear, tops of houses and melting mounds of dirty snow rushing past me. then after a few minutes, i stop hearing the same sounds as the rest of the world. the noises of my breaths and my heart beating as fast as i can make it, these sounds become words. a repetition that goes as fast as i can run, sometimes a song, or something i might be trying to tell myself. when i lived at the crooked house in ypsi, i'd run forever all over the neighborhood, and invariably by two miles, i would be oblivious to anything except the sound in my head of the make*up song where he says "Baby it hurt, baby it hurt, down in the center of the earth", over and over again, just that line. a few weeks back i found myself out of breath and out of thoughts, with the words "don't hear what you want to hear, hear the truth" clicking in time with my heartbeat. today the sun made circles in my vision, and i raced to the overpass that hovers above 94, mind locked and repeating the words "find me". i wonder where you are, and what amazing thing(s) you're finding or losing or remembering or forgetting or have forgotten. the new thrift store made me feel like a twenty year old who has fallen in love with xylophones and tight pants. i could go every day if i wanted to! pure genius. dancing under the ceiling fans, holding hands. heaven will make you remember us. when we went to detroit and danced, all the old friends and unknown names and faces.. i sometimes freak out about dancing, i wonder if i'm giving up part of myself to dance too much or with the wrong partners... i couldn't dance on friday night. i felt more like watching and waiting, talking without moving my mouth. the way your heart breaks after a while, you feel less like getting drunk or getting laid or even something as common and classic as writing a really bitter song that maybe whoever hurt you will hear someday and never feel as lost and as old as they are with your words.. no, after a certain point, your only reaction to having been made feel like nothing is to want to hand someone a flower and walk away. "thank you". "drive safely, thank you for a nice evening". maybe someone is waiting for you in some awful smoky bar, on either side of the world, stuck in an impossible reality, lodged between cruelty and awful music, lies and longing, but dressed in the clothes they thought you would like. in their left hand, hidden behind their back, a white flower that could only ever belong to you, and falling off of their lips in a whisper so low that only the angels of mice could catch it.. "find me". 11:11pm - 2.27.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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