selva oscura (anonymousblack) wrote,
selva oscura

  • Music:

slowly glowing bold and bright

july 4 2005
we pass from this darkness into the light.

but what, exactly, is passing from one darkness but leading ourselves into the thick of another? aren't we sleepy creatures, after all, barely untangling ourselves from our infernal beds, some days, only to dream all day of returning to them again? so tired, always tired, always so much to do, and the world never rests, never completely lets the night fold it over, sun goes down but the hot metal circle blade up the street never stops turning. grinding. screaming.

outside neighbors explode gunpowder in bright paper at every street corner. a whistling bird drops a call and it gets lost in the screeching descent of another noise ordinance violation. remember when noise ordinance mattered? remember when there were volume levels you needed to respect, machines not operated between the hours of? our consumer entitlements get louder, they rush the threat of silence by raising their voice accordingly. silence, silence, i mourn you, silence. as i mourn meaningful darkness, in fact. darkness, darkness. i chewed a hole in my lip and taste blood at the back of my throat. it’s the sort of silence that stops the noise, the taste of blood. or it was.

so i light a candle in the last days of the waning moon. so i light a candle, “needed change,” and compare myself to a butterfly almost ready to emerge, barely able to believe until the very moment that the time had come. and when the time had come, once that time had passed; when else could it have been, unless it had been sooner? it was like that, falling in love, wasn't it? can this transition work, then, with the messy but clear inevitability of falling in love?

emerge from the darkness. cast off that shell. find myself find my path find my life

what do i know about it, really?

emerge from the dark. for a time, at least. fireworks burn shapes into the night. one failing sets the stage for another, not unlike the way one page will make me wince with the consolidated embarrassing vulnerability of the last hundred pages. one slippery patch of ignorance crashes me into three more. wasn't i so sure that i would be the one? but i wasn't. even when it seemed it really seemed like i very well could be? except i was never actually in the running, is what i now think. i guess i was more: a lovely contemplation. metaphysical window shopping. the glossy page of an implausible magazine. more likely: an incriminating anarchist zine abandoned in the trash just outside airport security. maybe it will be funny, some day. maybe it will be funny, some day. maybe it will be funny, some day.

illegal neighborhood gunpowder eruptions in celebration of that privilege i bitterly lament i will never experience on my own terms, no matter how much "needed change" i pool in the cobalt glass candle bowl. grandma's slipping away again. dad spent the evening with her. brother is with a friend whose family had the emotional wherewithal for legitimate fireworks. mom and me ate morning star patties on bleached wheat buns without really tasting them, then walked to the subdivision exit at nine. we stared at colored pops of light behind the townhouse development. all at once it was far too much not enough and we turned to each other, laughing. then we walked home. overcast, heavy, foreboding, no rain. still no rain. no rain, anymore, that's what i suspect. we don't deserve it.

mallard lake 8:15PM
there's applause, somewhere, in front of me, and sirens somewhere behind.

i read in an article recently that in drought-ridden nepal, two hundred women called a monsoon with a ritual offering of naked ploughing. so i tried riding my bicycle to the lake without a bra on. maybe it'll help.

ben and i need some perfect moment together this visit (17 days until) and i need a good moment in general. i think i'll invite him to come here, to this little secret sand beach off the lake just before dawn. we'll burn incense and watch the sun come up. it's a little more tricky, from this spot at least, to watch it come down. all the same, at this moment, the sky to the west is this most ridiculous gooey orange crimson pink. i don't know that we are zoned here to have that much color in the sky at once. i hope that the authorities don't come to take it away, it'll be gone quickly enough all on its own.

rode the bike back home in dusky lows. home, now. quiet. maybe mr. rotary sander is visiting his uncle in kalamazoo. maybe he'll stay for a while.

nope. there he is.

Tags: journal7
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.