novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- these watery depths things i won't explain fifteen is too small a number. it is more like twenty. i just want to know what it will feel like when i reach the end of this; it's like turning a corner. it is a concrete end and a sidewalk turn onto grassy gravel road. i am doing this for myself. when i walk my arms swing slightly and graze my hipbones. i am more aware of my bones, the skeletal equation of movement. she told me it's not like how it was before. how can you expect someone to feel the same way they did, years ago? when you don't see someone on a regular basis, they fade a little, round on the edges, haze backwards. when you talk to them every once in a while you pull up their memory for context, and what you pull is not necessarily recent. what comes up is just what happens to be at the top of the drawer. my memory is a chest of drawers. stuffed with papers, mix tapes and clear moonless nights. my chest is a memory of my memory, and i am trying not to carry everything around with me anymore. my hipbones are not built for emotional weight -- nor should they be expected to carry it. 10:05 am - 03.12.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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