October 31, 2007
October 11, 2007
Radiohead and My Black Gelson's Grocery Bag...
I can’t stop listening to the first 42 seconds of the In Rainbows “Nude.” It reminds me of waking up without alarm or neighbor’s ringing keys or blowers or vacuums or anything. It reminds me of walking out my front door, naked, to find nothing left…anywhere.
I don’t remember where I saw this vision, just that I did. Just erased, all life and any evidential trace of it. And it was beautiful for reasons I’m certain I’d have to explain…and because of this, my choice is to refrain. But I will tell you; it wasn’t just in a dream.
16 seconds in, the moment I keep re-visiting because I’ve never heard joy or sadness come out like this. And I don’t know which it is and it makes me want to give in and give up. And the more I think of it, the more it breaks me in half, the more I realize this is my intention. I only know that I want to feel it and hold it and own it…acquire this emotion. In my mind, I try to break it into edible pieces, send it to the kitchens in my soul or heart or gut so that it may be prepared and tasted raw, seasoned, powdered, charred, in soups, as a terrine, caramelized, emulsified and everything else so as to leave nothing gray…so that it can become mine until it is.
…
Today, I was hopping down the street with my "from the neighborhood, re-usable" black grocery bag in hand. The sun was shining through trees above my beautifully shaded Kings Road. There were children ahead following the lead of their mothers or nannies. When they reached the entrance of the Kings Road Park, they cried out, one after the other in perfect enthusiastic unison. “Yeah, the park!” And for a split second, I wished they would turn around and invite me…
But they didn’t.
I walked into the grocery store with my grocery store bag as I do 5 or so times a week. I picked up some milk, paper towels, light bulbs and a sandwich. I spoke with several employees, most of whom I know on a first name basis. I often catch wordless nods from the manager as I pass. Sometimes, he gives me free condoms and ice cream.
Okay, that's not entirely true. Anyway...
Whenever I reach the counter, there is no exchange of mundane conversation. Unless there’s a rookie bagger, the words paper or plastic aren’t spoken at all. Instead, I curl my bottom lip over the top, squint my eyes and pass with a satisfaction…I’m one of your people.
Someone once said it’s the little things that make all the difference. I’m not sure I know what that means…
But I always skip home.
I don’t remember where I saw this vision, just that I did. Just erased, all life and any evidential trace of it. And it was beautiful for reasons I’m certain I’d have to explain…and because of this, my choice is to refrain. But I will tell you; it wasn’t just in a dream.
16 seconds in, the moment I keep re-visiting because I’ve never heard joy or sadness come out like this. And I don’t know which it is and it makes me want to give in and give up. And the more I think of it, the more it breaks me in half, the more I realize this is my intention. I only know that I want to feel it and hold it and own it…acquire this emotion. In my mind, I try to break it into edible pieces, send it to the kitchens in my soul or heart or gut so that it may be prepared and tasted raw, seasoned, powdered, charred, in soups, as a terrine, caramelized, emulsified and everything else so as to leave nothing gray…so that it can become mine until it is.
…
Today, I was hopping down the street with my "from the neighborhood, re-usable" black grocery bag in hand. The sun was shining through trees above my beautifully shaded Kings Road. There were children ahead following the lead of their mothers or nannies. When they reached the entrance of the Kings Road Park, they cried out, one after the other in perfect enthusiastic unison. “Yeah, the park!” And for a split second, I wished they would turn around and invite me…
But they didn’t.
I walked into the grocery store with my grocery store bag as I do 5 or so times a week. I picked up some milk, paper towels, light bulbs and a sandwich. I spoke with several employees, most of whom I know on a first name basis. I often catch wordless nods from the manager as I pass. Sometimes, he gives me free condoms and ice cream.
Okay, that's not entirely true. Anyway...
Whenever I reach the counter, there is no exchange of mundane conversation. Unless there’s a rookie bagger, the words paper or plastic aren’t spoken at all. Instead, I curl my bottom lip over the top, squint my eyes and pass with a satisfaction…I’m one of your people.
Someone once said it’s the little things that make all the difference. I’m not sure I know what that means…
But I always skip home.
October 10, 2007
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