Can you feel the whacked out energy that is flying around? Here in Southern California, the wind is blowing like mad, and has been for several days. She seems to be looking for something, or someone. Has the wind lost her son? Her lover? Last night she wasn't in a good temper. Trees and trash blew furiously, stirring sleepers into restless dreaming of whirlpool, ice flow, missed class, and ley line. Upon waking, there is a low level headache sitting at all times on the the minds of the Aware. "Meanwhile, in Baghdad..." husband whispers, holding me tightly under the comfort of pillows and low ceilings. We are silent now because there isn't a lot to say. I try to write song lyrics about how I'm feeling but they emerge like pigeons instead of doves. I find myself writing from Laura Bush's shoes, which I quickly abandon because I'm blistering in her ugly grey pumps. I can't relate. R.E.M. wrote a song, and pretty much said it all. Spring saunters in casually here in Los Angeles. She knows she's always queen. There is no fight to make the buds grow, but I welcome them. I feel that, like the buds, my idea of myself and my place in this life is growing and kicking out through my past limitations. I am not only an actor, or a singer, or a wife, or a computer monkey. I have everything, can be everything, can give love to everyone. My cup runs over. I even have love for you, Mr. Bush. I recognize that you have something in you, untapped. I suppose I'd be pretty fucked up too if my dad was...well, your dad. But we all come from pain. We don't have to stay in it. And we don't have to sacrifice those around us for that love, Mr. Hussein. "Meanwhile, in Baghdad..." husband is stewing. Something is happening in him as well, and it articulates with the pounding of a hard and heavy song he weaves in the electronic loom. Soon, a blanket of sound, something tangible will exist. This is the charge of the divine in us, and the urgency feels stronger now that risks are higher, now that things are being taken away. Even a totally made up article stirs the imagination. Anything is possible. The wind whispers that. She's been everywhere. Even Baghdad.
Hey! That guys got my time machine! I knew not to leave it in Astoria. Thank the Goddess, now I can return to 1704, pre-Wyoming, and finish battle with the Sorn Serpent at Lake Metrie. Shawnja | 03.29.03 - 9:38 am | #
Weird.....I was just listening to "Wind Cries Mary" by Hendrix when I pulled up your page and this entry.
Powerful stuff. William F. House | Homepage | 03.29.03 - 5:40 pm | #
I love this . . .
and sometimes I need a totally made-up story just for the delight it inspires, even when I know it's totally made-up. Maure | Homepage | 03.29.03 - 7:17 pm | #
I'ta April French Day! Jer | Homepage | 04.01.03 - 7:40 am