writing the wind

It must be the sounds in this place. She hears them clear, distinct. The chirping of that common sparrow by the trees, now by the edge of the bench where she sits; the wind through the trees, leaves falling, the slow waves incessant in their protest of being caged for others' pleasure. The waves. The waves. Though she prefers their wildness in other spaces, she makes do with these dammed waters. And the wind. The waves are just a distraction, a medium through which she can hear the wind.

What she actually prefers are mountains. And deserts. And... well, she can't stick to anything. Sticking needs two compatible surfaces, or one strong glue, neither of which she has in sufficient supply.

Water to escape, mountains to face, deserts to hope. We'll leave it at that.

It is the silence within everyday sounds she searches for. Or whatever's hidden in plain sight. This obsessive search started in some strange time even she can't recall. It must've been the summer after the sandstorm in the wadi. The day she heard the wind swirling inside a mirage. Though she did not feel it on her skin, there was the sound; the dry crackle, like intermittent short circuits inside the phantom waters up ahead on the dunes, parting it, like a  lover's parched tongue on long-desired skin.

Now she sits here, trying to capture that moment when she first heard it. She knows it is futile; that the wind through these strange fattened lands have a color and sound different from what she knew. Here the wind cries at spires and windows that trap gods in their petrified states. Plaintive sighs. Yet it carries some memory of the desert, a longing for an infinite space, a desire to be wanton, free to howl or stay mute at will. For this place is just another form of a mirage.

old tunes...

And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time...
-Whitesnake


There's a danger in lovin' somebody too much
And it's sad when you know it's your heart they can't touch
There's a reason why people don't stay who they are
Baby sometimes love just ain't enough...
-Patty Smyth, Don Henley

To slow down

I've been told to take it slow. A lot of times. 'Please relax', 'stop pacing, you're making me nervous', 'just lie down for a while longer', 'try to sleep', 'there's nothing wrong with stayin' in bed all day, both days over the weekend',... the list goes on. Oh and this one 'everything and everyone is slow and bores you, you think you are interesting?'  was a nice one. And true. Touche.

What they don't know is that I AM slow, I do stay in bed all day both days on weekends (when I don't go for a walk), I don't have space in my room to pace, so I sit and netflix every (other) evening, I sit still on my stoop watching other people go by... how much more am I supposed to 'relax'?  Sure, it does piss me off that my office desktop takes precisely 17 minutes to start up, 10 minutes to shut down (on good days), but I do sit very still and patient.

I AM very patient with others, and make exceptions for friends, ... until I don't. But this is usually 'cuz the compromise is not recognized and returned once a year at least. And then I get 'unreasonable' and lose them. My 'friends'. Baah. Nobody's loss either way. Not worth a post.

Strange thing is when the family, who you think are slow and decrepit, keep asking every week 'have you got a new job, a raise, a new place to stay, blah blah...'. Like a raise and new job happens everyday. Now can't they slow down?

But there is something to be said for slowness, a lot of people seem to be happy with it. Maybe that's it. I equate 'taking things slow' with contentment. And contentment for me means being stunted, not at peace, or satisfied. And of course doesn't everyone know when you hear 'Lets take things slow'  actually translates to 'it's over, I don't like being with you anymore' ninety percent of the time? It means they need space and time from you, and preferably nothing to do with you at all, but don't have the balls to say it. Again, what a waste of time... but they're happy, how does it matter what I think? (Sometimes I think happiness is crawling inside the hollow of a dead tree trunk and hibernating. Or being dead).

If it were just semantics, then I have a point. To slow down means you are shutting down (physically) and shutting off (emotionally), creating a void between things and people. And asking another to slow down is like sentencing them to purgatory, to limbo. Like being stuck on a real slow, endless elevator ride that stops at every other floor but yours, and you're dying to get out.

Which could work both ways when it does stop - heaven or hell...but who among us dare presume it's heaven waiting at the end for us? Mostly hell, and limbo is just a practice zone.

On an upbeat (?) note, the only times being slow takes on a real worthwhile meaning is in a slow dance, and while playing an instrument. A slow dance is a surrender, a time to let go; and making music is more about the spaces between the notes than the notes themselves... even here most people misconstrue the meaning of the word 'rest'. It is not a time you do nothing, but doing something as simple and complicated as keeping the beat, it is a serious contemplation that creates a song, a heightened awareness of time.

Most of us can't do it.

Need for speed

Not the drug, not the old racing game, but just the noun or verb for rapidity in motion. I hate going at a slow pace...it's like being stuck on a C train as the A passes me by. (I mean the express A of course, so this example isn't applicable on weekends).

Waiting for someone to finish a sentence is torture. Might as well not speak, like me. If you've got nothing to say, and don't, then it's fine. Which is why I rather go places, bars and all, alone. Sure timing is everything, when it comes to telling a joke, a story, etc., and doing other things, but the point is, when it's done well, a moment doesn't feel wasted.

Wasted time. Waiting for someone to call, speak, mail, when you expect everything to have been done a week before...arrgh, why does no one realize that time is killing them, instead of the other way round? But I guess, since time is just a construct of the mind and our personal clocks tick-tock differently, I should be more amenable to this tardiness.

NO. Why should I, when there is a constant 24 hour day the last I heard?  Oh Burnt Norton...

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present...

And whatever that means. 

I am now analyzing the reasons for this rant about slowness. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1. I wasted a good portion of my short life doing nothing interesting... (maybe not, but it feels that way).

2. My brain works slow, so I move fast. The faster I move, I can escape this reality.

3. If I move slow, I could miss the action happening somewhere other than where I am. 

...

The truth (however relative) is, this need to move fast hits when the moment is shared / linked with someone else. I eat, drink, walk faster when there is someone around... most times, the other person seems boring to me; or I feel I'm boring them, and when the latter feeling arises, I move even faster. (See, at least I care enough not to waste their time. Pat on back.) The anomaly is when boredom doesn't set in... rare, but yeah it does happen. Then I hang around, stop and stare, smell the roses or whatever. 

But for now, time not spent doing something I like is wasted time. The truth (for real now) is that right now I'm waiting for someone to mail me something regarding work, but from past experience, this person has no concept of time. Sure they have more interesting or important things to do. 

Not good enough. I'm the one always left in the lurch. 

...And then one day you'll find, 

Ten years have got behind you,

No one told you when to run

You missed the starting gun...

Sigh .... I understand you Floyd, and more than 10 years have got behind me since I first heard this song...

 

And I still haven't found what i'm lookin' for...

But it found me. On July 5, 2011. Soldier Field, Chicago. U2. A 'space-station' stage setup known as 'The Claw', Bono, Edge, Clayton, Mullen in sonic blast, ... and a buddy I haven't seen in almost 3 years. Beautiful Day, Sunday Bloody Sunday, With or Without You...and an unscheduled encore One Tree Hill with a plea from Bono:  "if we screw up real bad, please don't put it on the Internet." Screw up? What screw up??

Crossed five state-lines in 24 hours, by air and road - DC to Philli to Chicago, thru Indiana, to Detroit. A wonder we got home alive, by 4am I was hallucinating, and A was sleep-driving.

All worth it, the exhaustion, sunburn, endless airport check-in lines with all its hassles, connecting flights, navigating strange streets, getting distracted by beautiful architecture, people,...

Awesome. To still be impulsive just when you think you have become an adult, and fear that you would never again do stuff unless you storyboard it first.