all the news that print will fit.
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| notes from underground - societal whispers all the news that print will fit. |
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Monday, September 20, 2004 np: wilco - yankee hotel foxtrot ah, preparation for seeing wilco this saturday. how thrilling. i may post more later this eve, but i found this hidden in my email. i love when i find things i'd forgotten i'd written. hope you enjoy and please comment (critically) if you please. "seaside town of s-" late, my car rumbles in winter air april; the seaside town of s- built hapless and hobbled, with debonair certainty and quaint romantic flare. near the battleground my breath is smoke, stoked with chimney sweeps: high school aged kids, coal blacked faces, minstrel fare. i come prepared with everything useless i can possibly fit in the trunk of an auto for park endeavors and hairpin thoughts. letters addressed to my residence in s- show delayed postmarks and crippled words left haggard about the page to be caught. i gather the detached and lonesome and build a frame of a shape of a bed without mattress or inhabitants or recognizable face. clarity when i inhale sea air, take deep breaths of saline solemnity, that hang in my lungs and weigh down any sincere trace. there is ever evolving truth in the lap of waves against my shins, high water attire allowing access to the song of ages: 'i'm yours and i am always forever here in this seaside town where all your kind come to find persuasion that all their thoughts are justified in the peaceful, constant movement of my aging white hands that are not new, are not new to your plagiarizing eyes. when you show me a kiss that is new to lips i think only of how i knew this time and knew it long before you stepped outside.' and i retreat against the idea that i am nothing new under the sun; that i honestly thought had been made just for me. and in the seaside town of s- there is little for me to do but race myself in streets abandoned to the season until the winter light turns in me the softest, stillest seed of harmony and belief in the words that my lips speak: known truths. that what i thought i discovered i'm only remembering. and when i abandon my space by the sea that it will continue to exist without me. my eyes, not the end, but just beginning. posted by J. Neas | 9/20/2004 03:53:00 PM
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