freedom is the freedom to choose whose slave you want to be.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

All the obvious answers are wrong.

I am torn between the desire to let this pass, and to dissect it.
Positivity’s on vacation.

(The blue arc'd, rising quickly up in the air and then descending, slowly at first then gathering speed, ending with an oddly satisfying, almost melodic ch-ing and I know milnayjulnay are dead in their rain-proof wrapping paper. That’s the end of that source of dissonance.)

I re-read bits of The Lovely Bones, that pedestrian hollywood-esque story where all ends are tied up neatly eventually and still it wrenches my heart which is not in its place already because

this is the aftermath ... and everything dissolves.
I clean the inside of the microwave with the world’s biggest lump in my throat.

Everything that is no that is not right that is given up that is smoothed over that is compensated for that is made okay because of this is wrong again today and I am distraught. Despite this studied, carefully embraced detachment I am unaccustomed to new kinds of silence, a new type of loneliness, a new sort of independence that leaves my knees buckling. The one long moment of simultaneous betrayal and elation behind the flats when Papa let go of the blue bicycle and it kept going under me over the gravel is happening again. I am left debating whether or not I can do it, do I run, or do I hide? I am left debating who I am, am I strong enough?

I am left debating. I am left.

In my peripheral vision I see myself closing doors.


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