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블로그 > NorthAz8inch > 내 블로그

my best  

NorthAz8inch 49남  
0 게시물
5/30/2017 2:30 am
my best

I stand there in the rain a foot outside her umbrella. She looks like she's already wet and may have forgotten she had an umbrella. She may simply not know how to use one. It's small and red and cheap and the perfect accessory for her. Perfect because it changes the world around her just enough to separate her from it,merely a small dry spot in an otherwise dreary, cool, wet day. I wonder what else differentiates her as I stand there talking and trying to think of how to talk. How to ask questions without asking questions. How to care while looking careless. She reminds me that we have plans for the weekend. I remember she was going to go geocaching with me or “Go do that thing. “ as she put it. I tell her it's supposed to rain all weekend but I'd still like to see her. I want to say love to see her but I also want to run away at the thought of how strange it would be. Up until this point she has seemed semi normal for a person wearing heels standing in a muddy yard. Her jeans look nice though, but the baby -T that says sexy girl somehow puts me off. It seems unnecessary like me wearing a shirt that says I have brown hair.
All desired affectations become portentous omens as I play it off like I'm fine getting wet. The truth is if is stepped closer to her and shared that umbrella I might never want the rain to stop. I can't believe I never noticed her eyes and how blue they are. I'm so off balance I agree to her idea and only upon saying bye and walking across the street to work do I realize the craziness of it. Upon me telling her it will be too wet for the hiking she says”Well cool, we'll take my boat out.” I think about it and the idea of being in an open boat on a rainy, semi cool, Christmas eve day somehow seems like fun. It should seem crazy to any normal person but to her it seems like a fine idea and to me it seems like it may not be that strange after all. I guess this is suspending judgment until I ride this strange train for a few stops. I'm sure it may lead somewhere interesting for a time and I'm sure I will pull the emergency stop cable at a sensible time.
I recount the events of the conversation to my friends who have seen her close up for the first time as she walked toward us to say hi. They turned away as I walked to her but somehow it felt nice. They call her crazy and go back to complaining about their crazy wives who are average. I realize if I never allow myself to hold her I will never be hurt. I realize she's manic in a wonderful way but know the dark side of that. All will be fine if I never make a move but somehow it already feels like I've stepped under that umbrella just the tiniest bit. Still my options are so open my Fu Man Chu has a magical affect on peopele. .
Check out the new Beck album. It's great and read some Walker Percy. The combination of the two has made my writing border on fiction but oh well at least I'm writing.
I fear that America may simply cancel itself out. All the hate of those on the right and all the smug love of those on the far left will simply smother us in the center and then explode like a star condensing on it self. You can see it everywhere.
I sit on a plane 40,000 feet above some red state heading towards a blue state slowly drinking myself into a happy state that I'm sure a few days with the family will kill. I'm sitting behind a man reading a book entitled Radical Ecological Education in Action. It looks like the kind of book Alison would read. It would look right at home on our bookshelf beside her copy of Ecofeminism. I think it's funny that he holds the book two feet in front of his face and reads it through bifocals and I read it from over his shoulder five feet away.
The lady in front of him sleeps now. I hope she has strange dreams with me in them but I'm sure she won't. She is perfect. She is tall, healthy, robust yet feminine. She's dressed a little hippiesh but in an expensive way. She actually makes rhinestone jewelry look good in that way that only women from Sante Fe or Taos can. Her hands are even perfect. They are just weathered enough to show she can do hard work yet just delicate enough to show good genes. I wonder what a hand job from her would feel like? I'm sure her last name is something Danish and she's probably flying to New York or Maine to visit her blue blood family. She's probably the dark sheep of the family because she opened an art gallery or natural foods co op instead of a law firm or dentist office. There Name is probably Vanderkelen if not Vanderbilt. She reminds me of Jamie Lee Curtis with heavenly freckles. She's reading a book entitled Emotional intelligence. It's thesis states that emotional intelligence can matter more than real intelligence. I think I lack both and am therefore am doubly screwed. The bookmark says it's from a bookstore in some small idyllic sounding Arizona high dessert town. Those places always seem so perfect. They have more art gallerys than convenience stores. More book stores than Check into Cash shops. They seem perfect for three hours until you want to buy a real pack of cigarettes and all you can get are bidis from a hippie street vendor. They seem perfect until you realize you cant find Miller High life but they have 5 varieties of Rogue beer. Even though Rogue beer is wonderful nothing can quench the thirst of a 20 mile mountain bike ride in 100 degree weather like a High Life
The guy to my right looks like some middle class rancher. He stowed his stetson in the overhead and carries a laptop case that looks like it was stolen from Indiana Jones. He reads American Rifleman and I'm sure smokes camels and drinks high life. I like all three of them simply because they all seem to neutralize each other. I feel like the fuselage of the jet is a giant highball glass and these people are the alcohols that while individually range from tolerable to horrible collectively make something amazing. I almost want to call that amazing thing America but that would be to easy. That would be to cheap to convenient wait that would be America.
You are laying so still
as if for your last rights
It's 12 o'clock noon
but you had a rough night
Your living your life like it's
a Morissey song
But I no longer worry
bout your rights or wrongs
You stir so gently
I ready your cigarette
Moments like these I
try to forget
But at moments I know
I will miss them
Moments in futures
with new friends
I will be trying to
explain you to them
But oh my love lies dieing
There are no last words
for last thoughts
No wreath to lay at the
tomb of an unknown scar
Still you look so pretty
without thought
Sleeping so soundly
I ought not
stir you and start a new
day with words

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