Monthly Archives: April 2012

She Becomes

We lie there, in the dark, simply holding each other. In that state she becomes more than I could imagine. Her form changes from the fixed person next to me to the collection of abstract concepts she truly is. There she lies, a multitude of intangible aspects: beauty, intimacy, closeness, compassion, everything. The lights go up, and I barely recognize her. This is certainly not for a negative reason, simply for the reason that she was all of these things in the purest incarnation. And to me, it is hard to even imagine all of this in a single person.


Sitting in Class

Someone is talking. Off-handedly they throw out an anecdote, a distant friend somewhere in some time. You get a glimpse, a mere snapshot, of a person. Suddenly you are struck with a single point; that person exists. They are so much beyond this image. This person was before this interjected and rough-fit recollection. They were after it as well.  It feels odd to you, almost voyeuristic; unbeknownst to this unknown man you have known him personally. But it’s not negative, at least, that’s not the sense you get. It’s uniting. You bask in the idea that the ways one person can relate to others stretches beyond what they can do or perhaps even perceive. This ability goes through people, and into rooms so far away, geographically, chronologically. People can be so distant even entirely unknown to each other, but still relate. There is nothing to witness besides the awe-inspiring power of the connection between people, moreover the grand scale that this force can assume. Knowing this, as perhaps I know it, you reach out your hand to me and introduce yourself.

For Us.

For us, this moment will work,

For us, the day will be summer,

For us, the headlights will be sunsets,

For us, this moment will be perfect.

Those daily hours lost.

Sleep. There have been so many euphemisms for it,some are whimsical illustrations of leaping sheep, others assert woeful images of fractioned death. I, probably as well as anyone else, am rather ambivalent to the matter. There are times when I see it as the glorious indulgence of a moment’s rest. At other points it appears as the the sweeping fog that postures like death, reaping time, stealing all the opportunities that could be. And then there are the saddening times when I am simply grateful for the absence of consciousness, a time when I can abandon thoughts and worries. I am an insomniac at heart. Once it was a major lament, now it has become a favorite trait of mine. I love the night eternal, nocturnal. Seeing the clutter of the day simply fade aware. I was asked once, ‘Why do you stay up? What do you do?’, which I answered, without hesitation by painting a favorite scene. At four in on particular morning I was sitting on my porch looking around the then barren streets of modern-day suburbia. And it was peaceful. It was a time before kids would be rushed off to school, before distant fathers mutter about the day oncoming tribulations, before the detached mothers demand a moment’s serenity, before all the shit. I listened, then, to the peaceful him of every naturalistic aspect ignored, the inaudible creaking of trees forcefully implanted. I see the rekindling of my appreciation for life, objectively correlated upon the morning sky. No longer is it an etherized patient, now it is a lively and impassioned body of colors. In this skyscape, pink and yellow hues flash across the sky, heat lightning. Lightning dancing across the sky without the footsteps of thunder. The air stands, breezing but silent. So there I sat, watching everything and feeling a peace within myself and my surroundings. A harmony of setting I have rarely enjoyed. That is why I hate sleep… There’s so much beauty that is lost outside closed eyes.

In Transit.

Sitting on a subway I see a sunset skyline. The stalwart buildings peacefully standing as a solid contrast to the hues of the oncoming night. It’s so awe-inspiringly awesome that I can’t help but smile. Yet something feels off. I sit here and get the sense that I will not  remember this image. For one reason or another, perhaps because I am tired or maybe because I am excited, I probably will not remember this beautiful scene. I try my hardest to imprint it in my mind, to hold on to it as best I can, but I feel like I’m failing. And at this sense I come close to crying. It’s not out of sorrow for the picture lost in my mind, but instead out of the joy that there could be so much more beauty that holds its preeminent place. The simple fact is that despite not being able to remember this means little because of all that there is to look forward to.