ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- start maybe this time last month i was thinking about if the winter would ever end, or if the last one ever did, or about why all my musical heroes were suicides, and about why all the people i could call geniuses lived such sad and struggling lives, and also thinking about when nick drake was at the end of his days, having lived a life that went from quiet melencholy to raging, unbreakable depression that made him unable to speak, unable to look up and face people... someone said "Nick, what happened? You weren't always so hurt, so sad.. what went wrong?" Nick said nothing went wrong, it had just changed. and maybe this time four or five weeks ago, i was watching the winter drift by like water rolling down a hill, or more precisely, like ice waiting to melt. wondering if my life had changed in a similar way to that of my dead hero. and the truth of it was what the truth has always been and probably always will.. everything had changed because everything is always changing. but inside of my heart, and under who knows how many sheets of ice and snow, under which who could count the amount of bad timing and missed wishes.. i felt frozen. and everything continues to change, probably at a rate that happens faster than the beating of my heart.. but sometimes my heart beats faster than time has time to notice. he says spring can really hang you up the most. let's hope. having listened to the entire 9-cd richard pryor box set at least four times in the last two weeks, i have officially decided that winter can really be a motherfucker, jack. the first day of spring found me in the sunshine, blue tape holding together my right shoe where the laces broke off, running through my neighborhood as fast as i could, and doing as many sit ups as i thought was fair to me or the rest of the world. there were friends back from far away, new ideas and old truths, lights and letters to and from across the ocean.. all the things i really fucked up or felt fucked up by this winter, it is up to me to melt them with the snow.. it's not as easy as just "Ok, cool, it's spring! I'm happy again!" but, fuck.. something connects the spring with wires and wings directly to my hands, and to my legs, and i can run over hurt.. the night before you left, i wrote with your refrigerator magnets.. "I was always spring." you probably didn't even see. i wonder if we can hang out when you return, and when the grass turns green.. there are woods behind my neighborhood, and trails for bike rides, places to fall and to rise. and just like the leaves that clung to the tops of the trees in november looked just like fire, so is there fire in the first leaves we'll see, the green that doesn't need a name. the angels that don't need names. waiting for truth, because as i've been remembering and forgetting to tell myself for the past six years.. truth is marching in. today, we continued our march. up as early as four hours of sleep would see fit, and off to royal oak for priya wednesdays. i ate and for the first time in years, my body kind of buzzed and glowed from the food i ate, my arms felt like spice. then awful car hugs and off to mix and assemble saturday lp #3.. "It Sounds Like They're In Love With You". remember? do you like new order? how about big star? what about the last record, did you hear it? it came out like four days ago... anyway, i really think you're going to like it. they're all going to ask me about you, with kind of catty looks and weird upturned speech patterns.. and i'll just shrug, and maybe say "i don't know what you're talking about", but i feel like i could either smile or jump or smoke a cigarette or fall asleep or just continue blushing and hope we can move on.. with any number of seemingly sweet but perplexingly contradictary documents to remember this year by.. don't look back. maybe this time next month, i'll be somewhere where spring never starts, it only continues, dancing under the ceiling fans, eyes and lips in a direct line with eyes and lips, hands together and in perfect symetry, and cheeks pressed strong and true to one another, moving less like a waltz, and more like a march. ******* listen to: albert ayler, joy divison, nick drake, chris bell, bobby fuller four. day 2*spring - 3.22.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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