Hi! I have not been writing in quite awhile, but I am feeling the words stirring again. I hope to have something interesting to say before too long on the blog.
And in the end . . .
She’s just something that happened,
an event like any other,
ephemeral like that sun on the skin
or a sudden startling sound across the quiet room.
But even I am not me anymore,
not standing still
and when you look behind you
you don’t see yourself there, where you were.
You are here. But not anymore.
All there is
is what there was
and it isn’t anymore.
And all these things happen as if to nobody.
And all these acts occur as if they act on nothing.
What can you hold onto,
this breath or the wind?
And in the end . . .
This is what it is to be in our time,
to be openly anonymous,
to hide nothing and in this exposure to be unseen.
Visible invisibility is visibly invisible.
I can see that you aren’t there
and never were.
What original sin?
We search for some novelty
and we find such banality.
Where is transgression and where is the new?
There is no original sin
and never was.
The possibilities are as exhausted as I am .
What if we were made weary
and that is our innocence?
We never left this Eden, did we?
What if the fall from grace is yet to happen?
How do you express your life
without being self-important
when the only important self
is your self?
It is, this life,
it is,
but it isn’t until you say it is.
In the beginning was the word.
But if unheard . . .
This is a crazed interdependence,
so many, many mirrors faced towards each other
reflecting each in each other
forever.
Who knows where the past began
and where it ends?
There is nothing here
and there is everything here.
I am . . .
. . . I am here
somewhere.
I am this shadow lover,
this eternal present,
this one who does not exist
this one here with you here tonight
as you dream about someone past and . . .
and future?
I am not . . .
and you here are in my arms here tonight . . .
tonight does not exist
and this present that is isn’t
and only tomorrow is.
Where is the real there?
There is the real there . . .
in the mirage,
shimmering curtain behind eyes closed in sleep.
So much thirst, desire, thought.
I have come to know that . . .
that . . .
that there is nothing there that is that there. . .
Where is this real there?
There is this real there . . .
in this mirage there.
So much thirst here,
so much desire here,
so much thought here
and you are here,
here tonight,
in my arms.
I have come to know that
I know that I don’t understand that.
There are the all subtle,
and not subtle,
pleasures of anger
and pleasures of hate.
But what do you do . . .
. . . what do you do? . . .
when you begin to see that there is no one,
no one,
no one to blame for heartbreak . . .
. . . what do you do?
The past-was-future is past
and who can imagine the next?
And when it seems there is no next
there is.
Until then. . .
. . . now.
I have been so busy with life that I have not posted in awhile. So until I can put some new work together, I think I will post this great song by The .357 String Band, “The Days Engrave.” It has become something of a favorite.
This has been a year of disappointment in other people and in myself. I have not known what is real and what is not, what is past and what is future.
So I consider 2012 done with. On to 2013 . . .
It’s been a long time coming, all my pages fingerstained. And though my heart is still pumping . . . across my face, how the days engrave.
Like the hills as they rise
Like the stones creepin’ under your feet
Like the dead open sky high
The one damn time you need something to drinkLike the road ever-long
Left to suffer without a song
Like all the doors open wide
The one damn time that you need a place to hideIt’s been a long time coming
All my pages fingerstained
And though my heart is still pumping
Across my face,
How the days engraveYour word against mine
Your god against my everything
My fist in your eye
And I don’t care if it don’t solve a goddamn thingAnd so we strain
Tight corners we fight and we pray
‘Till the road that was is blown all to hell
And probably by usIt’s been a long time coming
All my pages fingerstained
And though my heart is still pumping
Across my face,
How the days engraveAnd it’s been a long time coming
All my pages fingerstained
And though my heart is still pumping
Across my face, oh lord across my face
How the days engraveLike the hills as they rise
Like the stones creepin’ under your feet
Like the dead open sky high
The one damn time you need something to drink
Note: I do not own this copyrighted material and urge you to support artists like .357 String Band through the purchase of their music.
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Update
I like this live version a good deal as well . . .
Griffy Lake. October. Bloomington, Indiana.
October. Griffy Lake. Bloomington, Indiana, 2012.
If I Have To Say . . . 