this city these days

June 15, 2008 at 10:30 pm


I’m tired and exhausted and thinking about two years gone by and I just want to sleep them away. I look around and don’t like what I see, and so I clean and organize and pull things out of closets and throw things away. My closet is full of broken things, but they are just things. Things that record life, or at least the life that we think needs recorded and they sit in my closet broken. I pull them out and spread them around my room. Cameras and books and recorders and phones and boxes with birds in them, which aren’t even mine. I set these around my room.

This city is filthy. It is full of dirt and piss and money and sin and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this city. I can’t wash it off, this city has seeped in me and changed me in ways I don’t even want to think about, but it’s time to. Because I want to clean myself of this city. I want to love it and I want to enjoy it, but I need to clean this city off of me. This city and this person and these things all tell a story about the last two years and I don’t like the story. I need to get up north and look for the person who left there two years ago. I want to go to the desert, where it is hot and the sun is inescapable and it burns you – it beats down on you and burns the asphalt out of you. Your bones become sand and you sweat all the regret out of your body.

But I can’t right now. So I sit here, and I write. I write to you, and I write to myself, and I write. I try and bleed out of the bad through my fingers on this keyboard but it doesn’t work yet. I look around and things are still the same. I’ve settled into a ravine – and I need to climb and climb and climb. Make amends. Bury the city and make amends with it. But it is late, and all I can do is write. And sit on my floor, in the middle of everything that is broken. I sit in the middle of everything that is broken, and I look at it. Close. I feel the things in my hands. I feel where it is broken, and I set it down.

And I start to fix them.


Entry filed under: Posterity.

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