Chico II
She looks tired and I know why. There is a strange silence hanging in our breaths; we smoke. I have become a woman now, an real adult. I must drink my wakefullness, I must smoke my clarity and first thing, first thing after waking. I have a routine.
It is raining here and gray like home but we are not exactly home. Not far, in limbo like travelers, in purgatory to slow us from the highway speed, on clouds that cloak us like home cannot. Can and Will not.
Small thoughts and not large luminous revelations, not seperations, scamper underfoot. I am the bridge: the channel, the mouth of the operation. Say, "AWWW." And that was the point, to put the large home-fears into the vast-road perspective. I will paint about you before I forget. I will write in riddles and abstract logos lest you understand.
The mud hut awaits. (Grass, adobe, I have not yet looked into hut-real estate in remote places but I will. I will and do not yet.)
posted by emit's calendar at 11:54 AM
2 Comments:
chico is home if you belive home is anywhere you happen to be. i wish i could think like that for myself more often and let my fears go somewhere. maybe to fill the cracks in an old sidewalk ill walk over using my feet. the ones that feel strong and awkward and short and elastic seperately, together and not at all.
this is a dennis comment of words he might have said if he had the time to think long in dialogue or monologue,
dennis
okay, if we could just get one of those chico frat guys in a bar in portland it would be so satisfyingly brutal that perhaps I don't actually want to think about it anymore...they can't help it, right? Hahahahaha!
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