Friday, May 20, 2011


someone speaks on the phone. i don't like the sound of people speaking on the phone. there's a time for sad songs, this isn't it. i change the song. try something else. but eventually come crawling back, maybe this is the time for it. it's always a question of time. (what is? she wants to know, everything i say. She isn't much impressed with me oh. just like that she says.) It's been raining, this i can see. i awake feeling like i missed out, it's already sunny. i hear dogs barking and wish i had a cat that could wake up with me and feel sorry to have missed the rain. i make some inquiries, they tell me i can bring whomever i want because they have VIP seating set aside for me. i make a joke of it while we eat dark chocolate and raspberry muffins but i feel really embarrassed. wrong guy i want to say. there's a part of me that's not looking forward to it at all, there'll be questions. i'm not so good with those at times. are you sending out many applications? a friend asks, no no, i'm trying something new i respond. she wants to know what i'm trying so i explain that i'm spending my days wearing pyjama pants walking circles in my bedroom. somehow this will make everything ok. she laughs. i guess she's not sorry to have missed the rain. maybe i should grow a beard. i'd like that. skip the haircut too. draw a big black circle on the street outside and then step on pieces of chalk into it so it looks like smudged stars on the nightsky. maybe it'll confuse birds too, but that's not an end in itself (if it's an end at all i don't know because i don't know much about ends (i might know a little bit about little ends though - as in endings, which are small, and come and go not like a 'goodbye' more like a 'see ya' or an 'until next time' but there's always a next time that seems to be the thing). no one in particular wants to know why this is written in a single paragraph but i didn't think it was being written at all it was more something i was thinking or am thinking or - all words that just stumble around in all ours heads in one out the other or the other way around growing and dying waiting for a decent one to come along and ring our doorbell and give us a thing or two to do to remind us we're worth more the hair on our heads that we can sell for wigs that third world countries might buy. i'm not a rich man but i do love the sound of a violin when played right and a detuned piano when played right and i try my hands again (it's been 10 years since i tried it) Rachmaninov's elegie in e-flat minor it moves along nicely until i get a headache from all the flats and my fingers can't find the keys and my brain can't process it anymore - it feels like i've managed half a conversation in a foreign language but now the whole thing's fallen apart and my eyes hurt and my hands aren't sure what to do <-- which is nothing new right. i don't know the word for this feeling and it's not in this paragraph but i hoped it would be and now i feel like... i don't deserve the VIP seating.

1 comment:

Bailie said...

I love this. I love all of your writings and rambles. Terribly interesting and inspiring. Thank you.