(the wrong way)

{ :: when busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy;
hide and seek. trains and sewing machines,
all those years they were here first.
oily marks appear on walls where pleasure
moments hung before the takeover,
the sweeping insensitivity of this still life.
hide and seek; trains and sewing machines :: }

[ mostly im sure this wont make a lot of sense. its fourthirtyinthemorning, but i had things to say today, so im talking my head off right now, because it couldnt wait until morning. or something like that. umhum. o dear. and o well. ]

i got lost today. that hasnt happened in a while. [silly mapquest. they should know that going back is not always the same way as going because of things called onewaystreets and no signs. they should allow for that stuff and give you backwards directions.] i mean, i have gotten the 20 minutes kind of lost plenty lately. but not the hour kind. i havent gotten lost in the hour kind of way in ages and ages. but today i did. today i decided to be brave and go to mephis all by myself, which was just what i needed actually, and go to the civil rights museum. it was really wonderful; i learned so much. there are only about 4 things in the world guarenteed to make me cry. this one scene in the patriot [and its not even a death scene, go figure], 2 other things i cant remember but that im sure must exist, and then martinlutherkingjunior's mountaintop speech, the one right before he dies, you know. i think ive heard him say it 3 times in my life, and ive cried every time. i read it once, too, but i only got teary that time. i dont know why that makes me cry; im not even a crier. but ooohhh.
but anyway, after i looked at everything, and stood as close as i could to the spots where mlk,jr was assinated and as close as i could to where he was assinated from [wouldnt being an assinator be the weirdest job in the whole world? i was thinking about that. i mean, who does that? and speaking of, i want to know how they always manage to tape great moments in history. like, how do we have pictures of everything, and video? pictures are even more understandable [sometimes i really wish i was a photographer] but who just carries around a videocamera? its confusing. do people just always assume that something significant is going to happen and just have it ready? i dont know.] and i was just thinking about all this stuff. and its so crazy to be where history happened. it makes me feel small, and like im a part of something bigger. im not even sure i can even reproduce anything i was thinking, but it was a thinking time. and things were, for a very small time, clear. they arent now, of course, not even a little bit, but thats expected.

one thing i do know is that i want to tell stories. i dont really know who's stories, maybe just my own, heaven forbid, but i was just standing there and looking at all the stuff that mlk,jr did and i want to do something in the world. he reminded me that i might-maybe-maybe want to be a writer. if i could even do that. gah. who knows what im going to do. not me.
and the other night, when i was in memphis again listening to the bluegrass thing and the best fiddler in the whole world was there, or something like that, and he was amazing and i was thinking of all the things he had worked through, and accomplished, and i wished that i was like that, in my own way, of course. i decided that i liked folk/bluegrass music because it is basic. its what comes is real, and what happens: family, home, true love, God, broken hearts, traveling, food. thats life. [although, come to think of it, most music is like that, i think. i like most of it too, im pretty sure.] and i wanted to know what inspired them. and all about the people that were there--why were all the emo kids at the bluegrass concert, for example? and thats like memphis too, i think, and thats why i like it. memphis is real and its all about smoke-y cafes and music and ducks and stories. and those are the things that are important.
and thats why i think i would rather be a non-fiction instead of a fiction [or poetry?] girl. maybe. oh, thats scary to say. i dont know. but im better at characters than plots anyway. always have been; true story [no pun intended].

this week, ive seen some things, i think, like the mummy in the corner of the p&h cafe on madison street in memphis. why is it there? and all i can think of is: what isnt beautiful, and what isnt heartbreaking, too.
and God is still enough, even though. even though this, that, and the other. hmm.
things are harder sometimes than they look on tv. unfortunately, life doesnt come with one of those "dont try this at home" things.
the moon has been reallyreally pretty in the past week, and i have told two different men that i wouldnt mind going to the moon, for just a little while, to see it. they both told me that they could see it from here, and there was too much to see on earth first. but the moon is sooo pretty i said. and it is. but so is here. actually, its much more beautiful-er. more heartbreaking, too. i want to see things, i forget sometimes. regardless of the required involvement.
oh, i remember. i got lost today, the really official kind of lost where i was going the wrong way, just straight up, [and how come you can never find a pizza place when you need one? its like i always drive through these cities and they dont have grocery stores or walmarts or pizza places and i dont know whats up with that. where do these people get their food, and stuff? and sometimes you just want pizza. and sometimes you just want directions from them [one of my best ideas ever maybe, im so proud. but its useless if you cant find them!] its really confusing.] and anyway, there was no even pretending that i was sortof going the right way because i just wasnt.
right, so. i think the moon would be going the wrong way at this point.

currently playing: hide and seek :: imogen heap
Posted 1/20/2006 4:47 AM