It isn't so much that I was caught by the rain, no, but more like I caught the rain itself ... and again, as it has been throughout this week, I can smell the dampness on my sleeves and feel the wet heaviness cling to my knees. Occasionally I suffer the requisite shiver or rub my pale fingers together, but these are perfunctory motions knitted to ( Read more... )

 
It is maddening not being able to sleep.

A happy thought:

Sometimes it isn't enough that you see, sometimes you've got to make that move and thread together those dots in the pattern you've seen ... or else things will scatter and become lost in circumstance, this I believe.

"Umm, isn't that Rita Hayworth?The smell of old albums, with those creaking spines and photo corners falling from the pages ... family, unfamiliar faces, lineages halved, then split again, and then cleaved by the years. Rita wasn't Rita after all, though a definite dead ringer, oozing sex and glamour and in each picture casting rather knowing ( Read more... )

The quadriplegic painter, the blind photographer, the tailor shivering naked on the floor.

Journal excerpt, 11-10-09

I close the door and lean back against the pillows with a pad in hand.  I find myself more likely putting pen to paper these days, but it is always more like fumbling in the ( Read more... )

The wind is whipping the fat of the sky, there are these creamy tufts gathered around the moon in the vault of the night ... and here I sit, folded in upon myself near the open window shivering in the cold, and I can taste the faint smell of something smoldering in the distance.  I've paused and wondered, is it fever or is it the flicker of the ( Read more... )

South-Westerly winds with a ten percent chance of midnight showers, and I find myself clinging to the words.  Repeating them inside my head like a mantra as if my concentration will bring the precipitation I crave.  Outside my window is a bucket still filled with rain water from the days prior - and there, in the dark, I know there are mosquito ( Read more... )

It is raining.

Southern Californian rain.

You have to live in this place to understand it.

I heard the years leaning on his voice and it makes me think of gravel tumbling through soft leaf litter ... and it is relaxing in a way, in spite of his constant consternation with the Nation's President, about water conservation, with Congress and Medicaid, about this or that or the other thing.  I laughed, and I asked myself where the his Left ( Read more... )

They come upon you.  They are the moments, and they gather with their little fists pressing into the crown of your brow.  They push you down past the cream floating at the surface and make you breathe the thick of the drink, and all at once you forget about the lesser things like the cup or the saucer or the teaspoon staining the cloth.