this is where we look for things
8.14.01 - 12:49
i used to love the full screen browser and now i can't stomach it anymore. it's weird. odds are also high that i didn't actually purchase these panasonic headphones that i'm wearing right now and they're just leftovers of some meal i can't even really remember.
if i could walk backwards i would do it for an afternoon if i could do it, just for an afternoon. i would walk into that afternoon with the drizzly mist but still the sunshine and holding hands skipping to the museum and finding new paintings in every corner and saying in a room of picasso proteges, my that one really did a good job only to look and see that picasso has snuck in this room with us. and then arguing (but not really) on the different between modern and contemporary between old and new between beautiful and ugly, art, not art. talking about places we've seen and places we haven't and just all the beautiful things in the world. walking back in that same warm drizzle, late afternoon sun peeking through those heavy grey clouds, they look like they want to open up and lay a deluge on us but all they can manage this particular afternoon is this wonderful little drizzle that tempers the heat and makes it seem a little bit less humid simply because the water's coming out of the air. and then what.
watching the simpsons. walking all over campus in search of ice. eating birthday cake with our fingers in a room filled with people eating birthday cake with their fingers. sitting in the dim half-light of early evening listening to show tunes and two completely different sets of memories coming up through the dark like different colored smoke, highway north and south, east and west. talking about the beatles and i would say and will say i love happiness is a warm gun and the white album and revolver, but who doesn't. you would tell me it's a funny favorite for someone who hates guns but you know what i mean after you listen to the song and you can't help loving it.
but also blackbird. that one's a beauty with all sorts of different memories of different fingers on an old guitar and the sound of breath held in during the more difficult finger-picking, the little rush of exhalation after. and then everything melts away and we're in this room with a piano and i'm banging out winter in the middle of the night like it could change something.
singing along to the voices in my headphones and waking up my roommate with the loudest keyboard in four states. woken up by enter sandman at 9 am wondering who really needs metallica so early in the day. and wondering now why google won't come up for me. falling back into yesterday on the swing in the dark with the smell of the grass, watching people coming towards us, dark faceless silhouettes, naming them by their walks and then judging ourselves as they walk into the light, surprising ourselves with the accuracy of this method.
staring at the ceiling christmas lights all around blinking white and the cartoon channel on in the background, sprawled on the floor with so many others sprawled on the floor and we are so appalled at the violence conveyed through animation and we will write letters to the network, but we will do them tomorrow, when we do everything else. of course it figures that you feel fine long enough to go to dinner and eat a wonderful meal but then ten minutes later you're throwing it up again and fainting in the bathroom and running a fever for the next ten days. but at least you got that meal. wondering aloud if fidel castro has been replaced by a body double.
laughing in inappropriate places at the same time. understanding that this time, this place this is all special and different so when we go elsewhere and i say, yes, we throw words back and forth (stupid, fat, lazy, ugly) no one understands. i don't really think she's fat, i try to explain. that's why it's funny. um, yeah. and then a strange look. we make collages and christmas cards and fingerpaintings and leave the rest of the world to worry about itself.
