Of Tarps and Other Falsehoods

11/27/2006 7:22 AM – 7:45 AM

Throw it all down and pick it up again. Start and the day becomes what it is. Whatever it is. This is here and here is enough. Down the tale and up the morning light, we chased the rabbit, the rabbit chased the grass, the grass chased the wind. Lay it down. Pick it up again.

When it all becomes an aspect of fear (pre, post, present), it’s time to scrap it and start anew with the same old thing. Let us down and pick us up. This is this. Find the quiet, find the answer that is no answer. Telling the tale of the boy with the grudge, the chip and the world on his shoulder. Find a way. Find it by doing it. This is the thing and the thing is enough. Bitter coffee, better ways. Walk then. Walk the garden path to its end. Turn aground and start again. No new words. No new ideas. Nothing new under the sun. Doesn’t matter. It’ll be new to me. Lay me down and pick me up again.

Seeing the thick lines drawn on the wall by the shadows of heavy beams, the hero does as he does for its own reward. Then came the dawn. Then came the evening. Then came the fear. Then came the sleep. I’m still here and this narrow box still holds. Walk away from this and find the other part of the woods where the trees meet the meadow and the meadow meets the sky. Climb the blades of grass with crickets and grasshoppers, when the stalks end, climb the sky and stalk the blue. Doesn’t matter. Pretty turns of phrase. Proving nothing, I prove myself. Unable to prove myself, I prove grace. I will not bend to your blind obedience, but I will not forsake the way, despite your troubled sighs. I am my own. I am myself. I have a story to tell. I’ve got thousands, and all the time left in my nurture/nature, fate/chance, plan/chaos. This is here. This is now. Nothing new and that’ll do. Day becomes the boy. The boy becomes himself. Falling away with leaves in the temperate waters of autumn streams, hidden in hillsides. Thrown by the wind, picked like an apple, the boy forgets himself and remembers his true face, blinding the sky. Ha-ha. A lie. But better by far than your version of it. Fuck it. Lay it down and pick it up again. The day walks on. Me too.