1/10/2007, 1:43 PM

nostalgia

staring at a painting you gave me, drawn with the same two hands that gave it to me…. and in the dimness of candleglow listening to music i created out of sad distance from you, when i think about it, it seems like an old black and white picture, shaky and silent so i dub in my own voices, all that i hear from everyone is my own vocal impression with inflections how i remember them, and so also with eyes and gestures i suppose – but it’s beautiful seeing all of them swirling in the rain, swinging towards trees laughing about our size under glistening black lightspeckled sky, swirling a hand into an april cold river from the limestone bed, soft crumble of dirt falling towards the water, the crispness of clean, cold hair in my hand as a whisper brushes by – all of these snapshots are coloured by the feelings that inhabit them – light an extension of energy, energy created by dynamics, dynamics found in action, action caused by energy (i realise again that i am only thinking) when i think of it again the lights seem to dim, the wax is conquering the flame… haze of imperfect vision, movement of dimcast shadows in orange grey room walls, i see the faces you made one night – now you are just a shadowvision (you were always a vision) – the reality you gave me was a vagueness focused on beauty and dreams and no matter how hard i try i cannot see the bad in it – just the fact that it’s over i suppose – wheat and hay blow soft like high wind cloud wisps, small round patches of cloudshadow make the fields quilt-like and you and i drive by it, you smoking a cigarette and i steal a drag – maybe our whole relationship was me taking samples of your little pleasures, maybe it was mutual, maybe you left me with maybes, definitely i am consistently unsure of my assumptions, definitely you made me constantly assume, except for when we weren’t talking – when we paddled you steered. outside in the glorious sun you shone like the angel of freedom (all you have to do is leaf through the beautiful sections and you find yrself outside) – that pale glow before me that ingests my senses finally finely fades and in a dream it fully reforms into what i always knew was a memory, not spirits (in form it shapes a feeling into exquisiteness and love) – and then i’m walking on a beach (cold waves slide soft on my sandals) and then i’m calling your name on top a boulder’d apex of a glacial rock deposit high on redwine and herbs and i see you silhouetted sitting over rock ledge, two long cloud stretches giving you wings – sunset making clouds red red red solid against deep mauve sky, two dogs standing on either side of you talk with each other, and me alone on a boulder, rock that looks like the fingernails of god scratched across (cymbals crash, soft cornets blow long major seventh) “ravens always fly alone” you told me, ‘earthraven’ signed on the bottom of a painting you gave me (in retrospect i made the connection) – yet something about paintings wraps warm blankets around me; that two inspired hands can form images from the soul for someone else to see, to get affected by, shifting other people’s colours – it’s magik – art loosens and reconnects memories, it adds dimensions to everything it reaches inside the witness – music pulls human tribulations from the earth and lifts them to the sky for cleansing –