this is where we look for things
3.21.01 - 12:08:04
are you afraid at the beginning of every summer before you move into water taller than you are, afraid that somehow you've forgotten to swim? have you been roller skating since middle school? would you feel the same tiny little fear with skates on your feet tonight? how long has it been since you've ridden a bike? driven a stick shift? spoken in your mother tongue? there are so many things they say you "never forget," but really, what does never mean? how long is never? clearly no one's lasted long enough yet to tell us.
so i think about things like mummies in tombs, organs carefully removed and (whatever they did to them after they were removed, carefully) desiccated skin stretched over ancient bones, hidden behind yards and yards of (white?) (cotton?) strips, wrapped and wrapped and wrapped around the body so that one day the body is no longer a body, but this thing, a mummy, you but not you but you (as a mummy), and i think about white shapes rising up, stumbling figures unwinding cloth from their bodies, finding their way to the sea with vacuous faces; do they flounder there or do they swim because you "never forget how to swim"?
i need to write a redaccion about spain. i think there's something else i'm also supposed to do for spanish but really, i can't seem to take that class seriously. which isn't the same thing as doing well. so don't worry too much.
it was a beautiful day today. so i skipped class. and took a practice lsat instead. what a dork i am. like, seriously. these are my college years. i'm supposed to take the day off and throw around the frisbee or something, aren't i? write poetry in the shade of a large, preferably fruit-bearing tree? what is original, anyway? every cliche has its origins. is originality today just the cliches of tomorrow?
built to spill. 'she's real' i can't get enough of them. it's lovely. right now, you could say, "she's on quite the built to spill kick." and you'd be right.
what are the things we take to bed at night and force ourselves to dream about so we don't lose them while we sleep? what are the feelings that you swallow every time you feel them, full in your throat, your voice hoarse because of them? do you keep pictures because you are 1) afraid you won't remember perfectly 2) afraid you won't remember accurately 3) afraid you won't remember adequately or 4) afraid that you won't remember at all?
could i tell you what day it was? of course. could i approximate the time of day? definitely. a tougher one - could i tell you what i was wearing? yes. could i tell you the story of the before time, the long, long ago, and then the story of then, followed by now, and maybe tomorrow and so on? i could try. could i tell you what i ate for breakfast? no, but i could guess. could i tell you what i ate for lunch? probably a little more surely than breakfast or dinner. did i eat dinner? i couldn't tell you. if i had to pick words or colors or scents or sounds or emotions or thoughts or
i can't tell you if i was wearing a sweater, though odds would favor no. i can't give you better than fifty-fifty on the black sandals or the maroon docs. i read a book at some point in the afternoon and i can't recall which one. i wrote a poem or maybe i didn't. not quite sure. i called a friend or two or three. i can hazard guesses, but i couldn't be absolutely positive. but really, when you really look at it, when can you, no, when are you really positive about anything? do you remember the color of the eyes of your fourth grade teacher? did you ever think it might be important?
