thought for the day...

"All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness."
Tennessee Williams

nine minutes to write: black and gold

was in my brother's backyard with him and it was very dark. very dark. i was telling him where to look, what to look at. he said it was helpful and asked if he should look in the front part of the back garden (by the grapes and the redwoods) or the back. I said the front for as your eyes adjust to the pitch darkness you will barely see the difference between the tall redwoods and the black sky. He said he appreciated the direction and went there but said - wait! there are people there by the fence. I couldn't see them. My brother ran toward the house but i couldn't move. I was paralyzed in fear and heard them, but didn't see them, coming towards me.

I cried out to wake myself with some wee wisdom - now less potent: That I was in the utter dark in a garden I knew completely and because of my fear (my lack of vision?) I was paralyzed, alone, unable to change or save myself.

yeah. probably.

more guilty dreams then about my choosing to not go to my editing class as I'd had the chance to spend the evening with Richard (now dead) (mother's ex-boyfriend) and Erin. much, much hullabaloo. (ohhoh 2 minutes to write!) about people talking at school and what kind of lie was i going to come up with, that should be interesting (i overheard a phone call about me). i decided to say i just 'forgot' or 'i thought it was monday' both lame. all lies - lame. the evening with richard was not extraordinary, just lolling around (he had been so incredibly great to talk with in life -- always getting quickly something what mattered, diehard (literally) philosopher that he was. seemed worth it anyway to just hang out, but i was in the soup now. much about the college. rollercoasters. will leave it.

another section of the dream: opening up the American Wing somewhere in Kabul. Me wheeling out piles of clothes in a giant grocery cart. Very helpful to have the cart. Waiting by the side of the muddy, trafficky road for my sister with all my mounds of stuff. The sky opening suddenly, and though it was cloudless, huge flinty pieces of golden hail rained down.

cut.
print.
coffee.

stone and water

a stone has no chance but to sink in the water
the water no chance to stay with the stone
but to always be something else
the same
but something else
somewhere else
here but gone
lap at the bank now
dry in the lone footsteps' form
invisibly lift

someday
when the riverbed is dry
and the stone has burned long in the sun
a cloud will come and the stone
be kissed
by but something else
somewhere else
here but gone
a drop
and the stone will have no choice
but to take it
and cool
and glisten
and shine