[...after paying 63.00 to enter the gates of the magical kingdom, i feel that i owe myself more words on the place. After sleeping 7 hours, church and a bowl of pasta, i am ready to continue my thoughts...]
1. 90280. There was a man, shaved head, with a wife-beater tank top on. He had 5 numbers tatooed largely across his forhead. 90280. If he ever attempted an armed robbery, he would be easy to choose in a line up. I want to get a tattoo, but not that kind of tattoo. Besides all the obvious reasons that i would not care for a zip code to be permentnly inked on my forhead, I don't know if i could ever feel so loyal to one place. This man audacios. Using the us postal service as a code to aver, "I belong, here. In South Gate." The way his viens run with blood from his mama, his heart beats for south gate. Commendable.
2. It is strange experience your own death. I sat on the pirates of the carribean waiting for my favorite character: the drunk man on the bridge with dirty feet. The detail of the dirty sole just thrills me. Well, it used to. there he was singing the same old song, "yo ho yo ho, the pirates life for me..." and there I was watching. Disappointed at my lack of excitement. I can remember myself on this ride years and years ago, in awe of how it looked like the city was burning down, of the dog that would not give up the key, of the gleaming pirate treasure. But i remember myself like a character from a book, with distance, with a page of letters between now and then. I can live just fine with out this waste of electricity. But still it was sad to loose the excitement of this place.
3. Another sort of death. The death of the author. I am the author who died. I wrote many papers on this in college, but it was new to experience this death. It's a smiley kind of death, amusing. My words departed me. Through my keyboard fingertip tapping they left me for the internet. There they grew legs, and beards, maustaches, and the lilting tones of spoken word. I could see the single beam of light on the otherwise dark stage at the cafe. I hope the coffee there was good.
4. Still yet another death. She left the house for the third time on account of me and things I had told her. I had once been her, I fear, the one whose breath was held in fear. I myself am not free of fear, but trying to take the good advice to live in promises given, to live unfettered. "Take these shackles off my feet so i can dance," we sang at church. My dance feels unappreciated. I saw this one, leaving the room in tears of unnamed things. Was it fear, disappointment, misunderstanding, belief that my feet were taking me down a path of no good. I did not feel loved and i let her go, wondering how many rooms i had left like that, how many people i had left unloved. I will ask her to dance. I will slip my hand in hers and try to listen for the beat. One and two and three and... I am human. This is what my dance tells me. I am human and god has grace with me while i am trying to figure out if i want to do the two step, or the lindy hop or freestyle. I am not a very good dancer, my ears are not usually intune with the music. sometimes i feel like there is several musics waftingin through the windows and I am not sure which lead to follow. I have died. The me who stood on the edge of the dance floor looking on at the dancers. Part of me wishing i could be out there, the other part of me not wanting to stoop so low as having to get sweaty and close to the other dancers to have some fun, to live some metaphor. I once had been comfortable in my airconditioned corner, with my hair pulled back and out of my face. I will ask her to dance and be okay if i get rejected. again.
2 comments:
p.s. keep dancing love ...
http://namdle.blogspot.com/
I want credit =) lol
You're never at work.
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