A meme, at Body Electric, which I couldn't resist:
If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or don't really know each other) please post a comment and tell the story of a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory connecting you and me . It can be anything you want - good or bad ("good" is better for me, however) - BUT IT HAS TO BE FICTION. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you!
I'd love to meet you all! Imagine stories for us...
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Woman with Flowers 7.1
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
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The Buddha says: “ You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself .” The path is uncertain. Uncertainty is the guiding for...
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What if relationships are the primary ordering principle? What if the way relationships are ordered clarify, explain, and instruct us on th...
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direct link: Tones of Noir music: Alex Bailey, ' Piano Improvisation No 7 .' Do poems wait to be born? A poem whittled out of t...
(fiction)
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking about when we first met. What comes back to me most vividly is the way the dark air felt along the river path, the wind a little cool and slightly damp. And the lights, lamplight and starlight and moonlight, all reflecting in streaks in the currents of the water. I'm trying to remember what it was you said to me as you passed… something about the light, the refractions. I remember laughing and turning to look at you more closely, because what you said was so close to what I had been thinking, and seeing your face, luminous in the glancing light, smiling mischievously at me. A first moment that said so much about you. Not every one is like that, you know, ready to show themselves, to give of themselves right away.
(fiction)
ReplyDeleteSuddenly the palette in my hand trickled between my fingers. It gelled against the sidewalk, buoyed up slightly, then spread into a boulevard. And its splashes of color spread into ribbons, sending off multihued whorls and tributaries.
I heard birdsong. Snow melted from my heavy coat.
And there you were, traversing a bright band of alizarin, dressed in a flowing daffodil-colored skirt and a blouse that cast prisms on nearby trees. Where you had come from the snow had melted off completely. Summer had arrived. A warm breeze lifted your hair behind you.
I stepped onto a line of ochre and my coat dropped from me, its gray mats splitting off into squirrels that began to chitter, chasing each other up and down the branches.
We grinned as we passed each other. Then I stammered, "This is a dream, isn't it?"
"Of course," you assured me. "But then, what isn't?"
"I hope I don't forget it when I wake up."
"You'll remember it when the time is right." Your grin broadened. "Me, too."
I awoke, recalling nothing. My parents' black and white TV blared from the dinette. I turned on my transistor radio and listened to "Gypsy," the new Moody Blues 45. Blogging did not yet exist. Computers were still massive machines filling half a room -- or devices of the imagination, like the ones on Star Trek. Soon I would have to dress for school.
That was almost 30 years ago. Then I read this entry -- and remembered....
mb, oh...
ReplyDeleteelissa, oh...
Perhaps I will be more coherent sometime, I've come back to read and re-read. Imaginative, the beauty of the essence of connection in the poetry of your writing, oh.
Love.
xo
I love how different these stories are.
ReplyDeletei remember the day i met you... i was giving birth to my only son. the labor was dragging on and i didn't think i could keep going. i was afraid i would have to have a c-section. but then you showed up with your paints, brushes and canvas and said "just do your thing little mama... you know the way" and then you calmly breathed life into a new painting while i breathed and pushed and created an opening in the universe through which my child entered the world. it's about trusting instincts and relying on the kindness of strangers.
ReplyDelete