I feel like I should write something. I don't really know why, exactly, but I guess I'll wing it.
Whey-ull, I guess today was one of those markers in life. Denali finally cut me loose, and for better or worse, it's done. In some ways I guess it's an end of an era. What ever will I write about now? My muse of a decade has moved on, and I suppose it's time to sweep up, turn the chairs over, and turn out the lights. I've talked with a lot of people today about "what it all means" and so on, and I guess I haven't deviated a lot from what I originally thought, or said.
I don't want this.
I know in a variety of different ways that things will be all right, time will pass, all things come to an end, and so on, but if I have to stick a bookmark in this particular passage, it would be that I don't like it, and I don't want it. Please forgive my comma abuse. I've written a lot of Part 2 of my Denali passage, and Part 3 is practically a no-brainer (especially now.) I'll still post it when it becomes ripe. It's good shit, and I've spent a lot of time both awake and asleep conjuring it up, so I'm sure nobody will be disappointed.
It's quiet now, and I'm alone and yet not at all. The night speaks to me as it always has, with one curious distinction. It's comforting. It's not the usual harassment and torment. No, it's just silent and unjudgemental. Calm, even. I've been slowly sipping Jack over ice, and I can hear all new sounds in the emptiness. I hear the sounds of my friends in a mad rush, all clamoring my virtues and validations. I hear my fathers voice from the depth of his armpit, resonant and wise. I hear forgiveness and a cleansing wash of abandon. I hear cars passing, and people engaged. I hear my tears trembling behind my eyelids, and louder the balanced metronome of my heart. I hear Joe walking the Earth. I hear a tremor imperceptible, changing my life beneath me and merely tapping the tint of my visions. I hear the boldness of the tock and the timid cry of the tick.
And I'm listening still.
Posted by Matt at May 12, 2003 04:17 AM