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[Oct. 27th, 2005|10:38 pm] |
if memory is the past, then is anti-memory the future?
death to my feelings.
death to death, said someone else.
now that's living. |
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| updating from copenhagen |
[Oct. 3rd, 2005|05:48 pm] |
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updating from copenhagen, denmark where the sky is blue and almost touchable. tomorrow, iøm off to visit a castle. i can see how the city may have inspired hans christian andersen. at least, i can imagine it to be that way. cpn is clean and reminds me a little of amsterdam (the canals) and a little of barcelona. the past few days were spent in bergen, norway and at the flam fjords. iøll update with stories and pictures when i get back. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 28th, 2005|11:06 am] |
When all things are through and done, the only things you have left are memory and stage props. You adore those gray Reebok soft heeled shoes because you walked Stanford in them. Your flight to New York was Sunday evening, but you missed it. On purpose. Instead, you took the train from San Francisco to Palo Alto that night. He waited for you at the train station. He has a surprise for you so you wait on the platform. It was cold that night. This isn't SoCal after all. You didn't bring enough clothes. Minutes later he comes running with two ice cream cones in his hands. You have the strawberry cheesecake and the two of eat the ice cream silently on the platform. Then the two of you walk towards campus. He wants to show you the "Angel of Grief" so you leave your rolling suitcase by an unmarked tree in the dark of the woods. The two of you embark on an expedition and eventually, the two of you get lost. You never find the "Angel of Grief" that night. In a forest clearing, you hold him in your arms, delicately and passionately. You take in the smell of his black t-shirt, the touch of his arms, the warmth of his breath on your forehead. You put your ear next to his heart and you know it's red and beating. And you know that the moment is fleeting because your heart is already broken.
A little over a year later, the winding road brings you to Stanford again. No one will show you MemChu or the Quad again. And you will be there with someone else. You will put your tears in a paperbox that will eventually tear through, pricking your heart open slowly until it bursts open in the darkness. And then you will smile and say, "Oh, I'm reinventing the place! I'm ready!!" But you will laugh a little too hard at your own suggestion. Because deep down inside, you know that memories will be the death of you. |
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