on the fingertips of drowned beatitude we'll see again

. Originally uploaded by snjezana.

when i walk sometimes, i hear piano melodies. single lines, one note at a time. i look around, frightened. i suppose sometimes god is so determined to tell us things, the wind passes and vibrates windows set in panes and the branches of trees and the sleeves of a shirt just in the right order, and some few notes, a temporary leitmotif, a clue about just that moment, just all-of-everything that exists for just one second to support us being us and me being me- the ground and everything beneath it, and me, and the sky and everything above, and me... that point in the hourglass where 10 million ghosts of every generation before me, and every pulse in a loin somewhere, or first-conversations that ended in laughter and love that led to... infinitude, and I, just I, balance the two eternities. The netherworlds of been, and will be. Two kingdoms, both strange and unpredictable, and invisible; ____and don't let them tell you otherwise- the past changes as frequently as the future, green eyes turn yellow, and fingertips are palm-trees, and moments laying in the sun turn into moments swimming in stars... silence grows silent wings and flies, and heavy burdensome despair grows two-red eyes and a butcher's beak and its aftertaste stings in new ways, all that. all that.

i am scared of life it is soo large. so unimaginable, so impossible- i'm here but i don't often believe it. and i fear it... and no one understands...; kicking rocks, spending my time comparing the protruding roots of too-large-trees, dreaming of love, and being in love and being sorry for love, and staring aimlessly away while my body runs on a treadmill from nowhere to nowhere, no one understands how many deserts worth of grains have to pass through me every decision, and the fate of every dead-(great)-grandfather anyone ever had has its natural conclusion in me. in one lifetime, the opportunity to put 10, 000 phantoms to rest peacefully, or to join their ranks, and watch, eyes-wide and whispering piano-melodies into the cold ears of mine (or some other's) grandson, to make one right to conclude history. to conclude a history of wrong, and mistake, and miscalculation, and to make the natural consequence of all my mistakes his virtue____ and my grandfather, sits on some other arm of this (or some other) milk-way, and stars aimlessly at stars he's finally close enough to determine the colors of, and sighs, and the sigh drifts (like a falling feather), and lives a whole life, and grows slowly old, and eventually dies into an autumn leaf, and eventually falls through a cloud, and disturbs some wind, and the wind shakes a tree the wrong way, and an apple falls precisely at the same time as a bird squeeks and a bicyclist falls off his bike up the road and says loud fuuu&^! and these sounds combine to play three notes in my ear, and i turn around and look, ...__... __... anyone there?
(and behind trees ghouls and saints and phantoms and the unpeacefully resting and the merry angels, all huddle and giggle, and my grandfather always too serious, and still too serious, shakes his head, sitting on equuleus alpha, and one ghoul, more long-suffering than the others, stares at my back tears in unvisible eyes, and hopes i win back what he lost.

do you see what i mean?
do you?

and in a dark place, besides a smooth, wet black rock the size of a bear, Sisyphus stops his task for a smoke, and stares up at the dark sky while his quadriceps shake from the last effort. He rubs the sweat from off his brow, exhales and comes to sit besides an olive tree, misjudging roots for black snakes he leaps back surprised. The snakes scurry away, hissing at him his reminder. __he picks up his cigarette, looks up into the black starless sky- the roof of a cave more like, and wonders if someone somewhere might with some word or deed, redeem some single of his kindred, and thus redeem them all. (us all he sighs). Dropping his cigarette, he steps behind the rock, now smooth, and tries to find two jagged spots to hold his hands into. His sweaty palms make this hard. With an grunt, he starts again. (the olive tree will be here too)

Dear God,

my failures You know. and that they have not ended You know. and that they cannot end You know. and of my mistakes You know. and of my prayers, which scratch at Your silence while in repose You try to imagine new futures for people who perhaps deserve it more than i, You know. of all these things You know. and of fatigue. and of hopeful(lessness). and bananas. and rolled-up jasmine leaves that open in my tea, with scent but without color, which make me happy. all these things that You drew into Your notebooks You know. (and me too, You know, in a notebook somewhere...

and dear god...
i don't know.

Best Regards, and wishing you a Happy Eternity
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