I see them pass. Oh, you wouldn’t have come out, that day you would have sunk yourself. I would have hated you. for the rest of my life, perhaps, for making me suffer so, and, in the face of all my love, for having left me for a river. Then I would go mad, get locked up, and then, eventually, after people had finished taking care of me, I would die. Your white shirt talking to me, as I drive down a busy road. In my mind a vision unfolds. He, unwell, a friend attends him and waits for me to get back, trying to call me in vain. The overture, the gap, the closure. That never was. A nick of time and away from our dimensions, in that moment we are monads, alone, in a different time-stream. Emergencies and clashes, frictions, cross-calls. Phones ring. Did he go? Could he come back? It is when we’re away, and when, later, we are allowed to get back to them, this is Grace, and, from this, thankfulness. We have to want them back. There is another voice, of the one I love, saying ‘I’m fine honey, don’t worry about me’. Is that your soul? Why is it not always with you? Where does it go? Does it only talk to me, or to others too? An there is an evil one, one who wants to destroy, so similar to the one who wants me and loves me. But why? What makes you cry? I can see you, you know. The gap opens and closes, it’s there and then no longer, and then yet again. You say ‘no’, ‘this is not true’, ‘can’t be’, and you go on. This is God, or very near God. But there should be less effort, and less headache, and less confusion. Less boredom, less friction. The places are places I’ve never been to, the people peoples I don’t know, all is uncertain – then come the tears. A triad. People try to do that, they get stopped, and sometimes they manage. Others don’t make it, they can’t cope. I couldn’t. What did they do to you? Something slipped, as if, from my hand, it went from me. I dreaded I’d lost you, and then I found you again. This song and this place make me think of good things to come.
something I wrote a while ago..thinking about Abruzzo2009
I see them pass. Oh, you wouldn’t have come out, that day you would have sunk yourself. I would have hated you. for the rest of my life, perhaps, for making me suffer so, and, in the face of all my love, for having left me for a river. Then I would go mad, get locked up, and then, eventually, after people had finished taking care of me, I would die. Your white shirt talking to me, as I drive down a busy road. In my mind a vision unfolds. He, unwell, a friend attends him and waits for me to get back, trying to call me in vain. The overture, the gap, the closure. That never was. A nick of time and away from our dimensions, in that moment we are monads, alone, in a different time-stream. Emergencies and clashes, frictions, cross-calls. Phones ring. Did he go? Could he come back? It is when we’re away, and when, later, we are allowed to get back to them, this is Grace, and, from this, thankfulness. We have to want them back. There is another voice, of the one I love, saying ‘I’m fine honey, don’t worry about me’. Is that your soul? Why is it not always with you? Where does it go? Does it only talk to me, or to others too? An there is an evil one, one who wants to destroy, so similar to the one who wants me and loves me. But why? What makes you cry? I can see you, you know. The gap opens and closes, it’s there and then no longer, and then yet again. You say ‘no’, ‘this is not true’, ‘can’t be’, and you go on. This is God, or very near God. But there should be less effort, and less headache, and less confusion. Less boredom, less friction. The places are places I’ve never been to, the people peoples I don’t know, all is uncertain – then come the tears. A triad. People try to do that, they get stopped, and sometimes they manage. Others don’t make it, they can’t cope. I couldn’t. What did they do to you? Something slipped, as if, from my hand, it went from me. I dreaded I’d lost you, and then I found you again. This song and this place make me think of good things to come.