When I awoke this morning, the
basement was darker than normal. It’s as if we built windows in our dreams just
to stare out at the gloom that happened to be covering Rochester again. I know
what you’re thinking: “Michael, if there were windows for the first time then
no matter what; it had to be lighter in the basement, not darker!”
Well, if you’re one of those people
who are asking me this, then all I can say is… I don’t think you’re catching
onto the fact that I’m saying this place can get fucking depressing at times.
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes the
gloom can create loveliness that even sunshine cannot create. It’s nice to
catch a glimpse of a sometimes-pretty thunderstorm at night, maybe sitting on
the porch with someone you love or with a good friend sippin’ a cup of black
coffee talking about little things like life and death and stars and space and
politics and hypocrites and religion (well, these are the things I enjoy
talking about when I’m on the porch), and anytime you happen to be doing this I
feel as if one person always says something like: “What happened to
good-ole-times?” or “where’d the time go?”
The truth is simple! Time didn’t go
anywhere; it’s still here. Time just becomes new times and the old times are
still stuck in clocks that we love to check whenever we are feeling like we are
lost in our wrists. Ever since I got home I feel as if I see so many people
constantly their watches to see if another hour is done. It’s as if they are
rushing the day into becoming the night just to repeat the same process over
again. Fuck your watch. Fuck your wrist. Smile. Let it rain and dance ‘cause
you’re alive.
-The North. Upstate. New York.
Rochester. Greece: Story of everyone in a hurry to get nowhere-
I should make that a title of a
book one day, but everyone would be too busy rushing for nothing to read it. I’m
getting a little off topic, so let me make my way back
I’m watching the rain today while
cursing the clouds for letting it fall again. But in the stubborn depressing
acts of hating rainfall I decided to poetically analyze each drop:
Drop 1: I saw love
Drop 2: I saw hope
Drop 3: I saw nothing
Drop 4: I saw her
Drop 5: I saw a friend
Drop 6: I saw a future
Drop 7: I saw a past
Drop 8: I saw nothing
but a raindrop…
I realized that when it
rains, it’s similar to time or I guess you can say specific times and memories
we hold close or at least at one point, held them close to our hearts. Imagine
a drop falling and within that drop is a movie playing of a memory that you
have. The beauty of that living moment had a lifespan just like you and I. It
started in the clouds or above in the hidden sunshine and then fell into a
living drop and as it fell it lived, and the falling was a high. Once the drop
hits the ground it’s not over; it creates a puddle and then evaporates into the
open world of opportunity. I believe this is how all of the special times we
ever had works as well. They happen, and they’re beautiful but they are never
gone. They drop and crash and become a memory that will affect the new times we
have in any way that it’s meant to.
When I go to bed
tonight I’m not going to build windows or believe in gloominess. I’m going to
make a promise to myself that when all those memories seem to form puddles at
my feet, I will never let my heart drown in them. But I will let it swim within
the lessons and waves of wonderfulness it holds and then I will fly away in the acts of evaporation in hopes of clearing my mind..
I think that’s how new
times are supposed to be handled. But I defiantly know that this first entry may
be very complicated to understand, so I will leave you with this: Fuck your
watch. Fuck your wrist. Smile. Let it rain and dance ‘cause you’re alive.
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