the drawback

6 01 2007

(there’s always a drawback)

to driving across the counties late at night is that the dark slick music on the roads always writes my blog posts in my head for me, but then by the time i’m back in the light with the stillness and the silence-broken-only-by-the-rain they’re hard to reconstruct.

this one had something to do with the 3000 songs on my ipod, set, of course, on random, and how all the way to hell and back (okay, this time it was only reston, but at the very least there’s a door out there to avalon) it kept finding celtic instrumentals (oh, right, avalon) except for picking three with voices singing old, familiar stories to tell me it was time to take a little walk backwards through this head & heart of mine. first those swooning guitars, that song that boy (don’t tell me you don’t know) winked at me to, trying to get me dancing in the aisles, the first summer i really followed a completely open hand to see where it might lead down roads i didn’t know at least the pathways leading to already (and i’m still looking), last, benatar & her feisty at-least-for-me high school anthem, to go with cheshirrrecat‘s ring on my hand and that tank girl smile and not our christian (melt a little anyway) but it was slater in the movie (wasn’t it always), & in between “rhiannon,” from the dance, those extra threads of half-verse woven in (i hear he still cries out for her) to tell the story she wrote down at eighteen again, with a voice just catching fifty, and in between lies that whole imaginary world where i spent eighteen, and thought then that it would be the only one (it wasn’t) or i’d forget it all with a little space behind me (which hasn’t yet begun & seems each day less likely to).

to foxes in the forest is how around the rain they quarrel and in the stillness scream.

to moving is the things we carry with us, to standing still is all the movement lost.

to packratting is the stuff we’d rather forget, each time we rediscover it, but find ourselves tucking away again, planting little time-bombs like the (little) masochists we’ve always been.

to being here is all the landmarks changing and all the ones (same time-bombs) that don’t change.

to memory is that you take it everywhere.

& mostly those are just as much the boons.




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