I think I just realized earlier that I’ve been living my life through the lens of another’s camera and trying to read between my own lines. But there’s some disconnect and even that word, “disconnect” feels all too clinical for this realization. It’s more like earthquakes and grandmother’s china, its more like my favorite wind-up teddy bear lost somewhere between Alabama and Georgia at some McDonalds off some highway exit. These are just what come to mind. And it’s probably much more than this. It’s probably everything I’ve ever known I “know”.
Still I don't want to wake up in this distant desert. The sun is reflecting off a million pieces of dust rising in the wind. But somehow its starting to burn more to keep my eyes closed.
There was a moment earlier when Kaleo was Skyping with Dan and then he was crying and then I saw a tear roll down Dan’s cheek and then felt my own and tasted it, and then there we were. Just. Right. There. You could make a whole new language from that one moment.
And Kaleo wants me to move back in with Dan and Dan wants to be out of debt and I think I want a new man, or more time, or a better body, or…I’m starting to question all of this. All of this I think I want, all of these “truths” I think I know. Because lately ive been cleaning up a lot of my own messes, and retrospect seems more microscopic than 20/20.
What do I do with this? Just let it steep? After too long the tea becomes sour and im not sure I won’t get too distracted for this not to happen. I fear ill be drinking sour tea the rest of my life and that my mouth might go numb before I taste something that wakes me up electric. I know all too well what happens when we rush it, Ive burned my own tongue and broken enough glasses to know sometimes, most the time I need to slow down.
Maybe that’s that lens Im living through, the kind with the shutter speed that somehow guesses the object’s next move. Maybe just go back to Polaroid. It takes time for moments to settle into us and even longer for memories to slough off. And those scabs serve a purpose. They aren’t just a layer between new and old. They are the old becoming new, the new becoming old. And really can we ever be anything else?