This is the beginning of my story. The year was 2009. Everything was coming apart and I didn't want to believe it. I avoided detection by scurrying beneath the detectable income line, and ate so little it appeared I was in great shape. I'm sure ill-advised decisions were made, but the greatest decisions I ever made happened too.
Skip years into the future. I am avoiding failure like I cheated on it, and I am doing so well I am learning new ways to fail. I don't want to be writing this. Every time I drive in the car - the old, old, old Animul - I am reminded of my haste, drive a little bit faster, pay a little less attention. I would like to get home and write. Write on my typewriter. Hear the loud, jagged, disjointed keys hit the paper irregularly. I would like to watch them get stuck. I would like to watch the letters misfire and hit the paper incorrectly. I would like to write in a room filled with smoke (I don't smoke) in black and white. I would like to write the last great manuscript to be sold or hung in someone's parlor for millions of dollars. In fact, that is what I need to do, and I will do it as soon as I get home.
I seem to like losing my nerve when I need it the most. I don't want to be writing this right now. My head, my mind, is so very far away from my body right now.
I have many poems to write on here. Many poems that need to be put on here.
My computer crashed a few days ago. For weeks before that I knew it was coming. My plan was to place them here, so I could have them somewhere.
Thankfully my computer was fixed, so I don't have to do all that copying and pasting.
That would take too much time.
This is as brief an image as we get. It is as thin a glimpse as we can muster right now. There is nowhere else for this to go. There is so much more we have to do.
Try to make me proud.
No comments:
Post a Comment