this boy on the stairs, never seen him before.
that thin as to be barely there and way hazy, insubstantial.
but a definite presence and intimidating sort of.
there's no way I can pass
and stand very uncertain, first one leg, then the other.
close to tears for my third favourite t-shirt, maybe. it's a ball in my pocket, shredded and fouled. pat it for comfort.
sniff and swallow a ragged breath.
he senses the noise or the movement or something and looks up at me, he says:
"is K there?"
only he uses his proper name, it doesn't even begin with K. and I jump the railing and fall way down into the dark stairwell.
except I don't, I just shake my head
we ran out of water the beginning of the third week drink turtle blood salt water enemas lips crack, bleed, scab, crack again
he frowns, his hair some halo under the skylight bright and indescribably profound. I think he is speaking.
watch his mouth intently, it's very beautiful.
his brother, his school, some car, the police
something
I wait politely until i guess he's finished:
"we should go get a drink" I say
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I can nevr tell if what you're writing is prose or poetry, but i guess there's no need to categorize snce it's beautiful and evocative, if somewhat unclear at times, as personal thoughts and experience are supposed to be, I guess. Wish I could think like you, though...
ReplyDeleteIt also reminds me this children's rhyme isn't it, "yesterday upon the stairs i saw a man who was not there"?
I hadn't thought of that poem, thanks for reminding me - it has a kind of rich & strange cultural life, look at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antigonish_%28poem%29 if yr interested.
ReplyDeleteThe writing here is mostly some re-working of journals: it's not supposed to be unclear, it's supposed to be the opposite. writing, for me is mostly a ruthless kind of word cull cos i have this tendency to be over intricate & flowery coupled wth a clumsy inability to get from a to b in a narrative. so i kind of cut out the journey aiming for some crisp preciseness but i guess resulting in a little blur & fuzz. I want to ask you some stuff but i'll do it - uh over at yrs and thank you
Oh, wow, thanks for the reference. Quite interesting indeed. I myself had first encountered it in Velvet Goldmine, to be honest.
ReplyDeleteHa, as is obvious, I also suffer from that same tendency, thus my new blog of Purple Prose where I totally give in to the urge to be flowery and way analytical, which I hate and try to cull out with no success though. I think it's a great asset, being able to move freely, and not follow a linear structure.
Also, yes, I think one's memories and recollections and personal experiences might seem unclear to someone who hasn't had them, so what one writes is only entirely clear to the one writing it, right? I just love the blur and fuzz and I wish I could do it, but there's sth compulsively analytic in me, taht won't allow me any...obscurity. I guess i'm like those stupid mainstream Hollywood films where they annoyingly spell every little detail out for you. Argh. Sorry for the rant.
Hell,yeah, ask whatever you wish, wherever you wish!
Cheers!