anything is possible.
the closer one is to a particular set of circumstances, the more likely something will happen.
one’s world consists of what one is aware of (i.e. senses: sees, hears, has read,…)
one is defined by, in physical terms, and ends at, one’s skin.
one is always thinking, even if it is nothing
a. worth saying, or,
b. in particular.
one is given only three things from birth: a mind
a body
a life.
in any given situation, one has three options:
a. react
b. act
or, c. remain perfectly still
two people can not see the exact same thing from exactly the same space, at the same time in the same way.
one can only ever offer one’s self to anyone.
everything is,
is filtered by,
and, adds to
one’s experience, in one’s mind.
there is only, and ever, just now, always.
Monthly Archives: April 1995
the stand
they’ve come to take my hands
what will they make of me
(my fingers can no longer curl)
will you take for me
they’ve come to take my hands
when will they come
I see you with such careful hands
will you pass it on for me
they’ve come to take my hands
what about the trembling
(I no longer see your nails, memory escapes me
no longer even in my mouth)
they’ve come to take me
but what of the ashen voice, will you speak for me
would I see you with tears, how did you get here
are they coming for you, will they strip you
they’ve taken my hands
the wrists still shake
they are coming for yours, give me them
they’ve come to take your hands from me
(I will not open my wrists, they cannot uncurl)
they’ve left without me
motel scene
‘It isn’t always quite as easy as this.’ he drew across the floor a line in the dust with the mangled branch he found outside. ‘We’re lucky that there’s still time to catch the flight.
She turned from the motel window. Making sure that the curtain fell back over the view. She could barely see him or the stick, even though she had been the one to find them both. Kneeling down where there was a huddled mass of something thicker than the rest of the room, she tried to make out the dust or the line in the dust, rather than the floor, she had enough of floors and things to be standing on. Gently her hand found his and he was shaking, by then she could make out the stick in his hand and she could see that it had done drawing the line across the dust piled on the floor, and that it was steady. ‘Of course’, she whispered.
‘What?’ he turned to her and could see her fascination was somewhere else and he didn’t mind, not that he could have any say in the matter. that was how things were between them, not much thinking about aloud, no harassment to spare, or even subject the other to, neither had considered it for a long time, and besides, the sun was setting, they were little time left, and left only to each other. Trust had to be a somehow come out of this, something as impossible as that, not sex, not love. Not a night’s worth of passion and just plain old dangerous liaisons as one would say, nothing Hollywood happening here, just them and the stick and an overfilled parking lot that hung outside the door with dread and silence.