:: Monday, August 12, 2002 ::

"Feeling myself all of the time..." (Travis)

Sitting in my room, popping bubble wrap, surveying this gentle mess that will soon become chaos blended together for the drive to Longview. Parting with unread books is a sad business -- guilt for not taking the time to befriend them yet. On the shelf, with unbent spine and hopeful pages are Soren Kierkegaard, Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, Stephen King, Alexandre Dumas, Lemony Snicket... Maybe at Christmas I'll shake off the dust and get acquainted.
"The universe is made up of stories, not atoms." ~Muriel Rukeyser
So, this afternoon, I am a pirate, or maybe just a pedestrian on the Hawaiian water... smiling at the sun, but it always wins. No speed limits, no pot-holes, just breeze at 3500 miles per hour... air shimmering with the smell of dryer sheets. Maybe dreams are reality, and when we wake up, that's when the dreams begin? Popscicles and real blue-birds and Tom Hanks dancing around fire, but no one ever gets stranded here. "[Sunburn] cannot assail us here. It has no jurisdiction."
Sweet ethereal chimes and coconut Sobe. So I'm myself. I'll never really be tan, never experience Hawaii, never fulfill my need for speed... but I can sit on my floor and look around at my treasures and know that la vita è bella.

Labels: Yore

:: Bethany Bassett - 4:16 PM :: + ::