Friday, September 12, 2014
We're driving to Ohio to see Planet tomorrow. We plan to leave by six in the morning so we're there by one at the latest. There will not be a Saturday post. Once we pick up Planet we'll take a long drive through rural Ohio and talk and listen to music and stare out the windows in that comfortable, comforting silence loved ones intimately share without noticing it. Photos will be taken, and if past performance is indicative of future behavior I will post a slideshow Sunday morning of our drive to Ohio and then our drive with Planet around Ohio. The past almost-three-weeks I've had three nights when once I would have posted the overnight Planet post stamped just for overnight because of why I post them. Few of you have seen it, which is fine, it wasn't meant for you. I did one, the night after I abandoned Planet at college almost three weeks ago but quickly undid it. I didn't come close to posting it the other two nights it occurred to me I would have once posted it. I may not post the slideshow Sunday morning of Saturday's drive to Ohio and then our drive around rural Ohio with Planet. In fact, as I type this, I can't imagine I will post a slideshow of our drive to Ohio and then drive with Planet around rural Ohio though I will create one for Earthgirl, Planet, and me. It's not that there would be anything you hadn't seen on the slideshows of previous drives to Ohio and then our drives around rural Ohio with Planet, though that never stopped me before from posting new drives to Ohio and then our drives with Planet around rural Ohio before. Hills, swales, farms, small towns. And it's not as though you watched more than once if you watched at all. And it's not as though the overnight Planet post I don't post anymore doesn't have the same video of my driving me and Planet through a thunderstorm west of St Clairsville, the window-wipers as drums to Julianna Barwick's drumless music, the same Richard Wilbur poem, the same message to my daughter on a night she, I, or we need it. I made it two years ago, I'm not changing it now. If you ever saw it you saw it as it always will be even if I post it again which I can't imagine I will. I can't imagine posting slideshows of our drive to Ohio and then our drives around Ohio with Planet ever again. It's not you I don't want to see them here again, it's me I don't want to see them here again. Watch me post both again. I am trying to disengage from the clusterfuck. No, that's not right. I am trying to negotiate a new relationship with the clusterfuck. That's not right either. I am trying to discover how to simultaneously ignore the clusterfuck I want to hunt without first eliminating me. That's not right either. I cannot figure out how to eliminate the clusterfuck from my life without the seeming necessity of eliminating me first. The second follows first. I need to eliminate me to eliminate the clusterfuck from my life. It won't happen. I can't do it. I will hunt me wherever I exist but only with a camera, learn to keep the photos to myself.
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speaking of driving around in the countryReplyDelete
LOST RIVER James Tate
Jill and I had been driving for hours
on these little back country roads and we hadn’t
seen another car or a store of any kind in all
that time. We were trying to get to a village
called Lost River and were running out of gas.
There was a man there that owns a pterodactyl
wing and we heard that he might want to sell it.
He was tired of it, we were told. Finally, I see
an old pick-up truck coming up behind us and I
pull over and get out of the car and wave. The
man starts to pass by, but changes his mind
and stops. I ask him if he knows how to get to Lost
River and he says he’s never heard of it, but
can give us directions to the closest town called
Last Grocery Store. I thank him and we eventually
find Last Grocery Store, which consists of three
trailers and a little bitsy grocery store. The
owner is old and nearly blind, but he’s glad to
meet us and we’re glad to meet him. I ask him
if he knows how to get to Lost River from here.
He ponders for awhile, and then says, “I don’t
see how you could get there, unless you’re walking.
There’s no road in them parts. Why would
anybody be wanting to go to Lost River, there’s
nothing there.” “There’s a man there that’s got
a pterodactyl wing he might be willing to sell,”
I say. “Hell, I’ll sell you mine. I can’t see
it anymore, so I might as well sell it,” he says.
Jill and I look at each other, incredulous. “Well,
we’d sure like to see it,” I say. “No problem,”
he says, “I keep it right here in back of the store.”
He brings it out and it’s beautiful, delicate
and it’s real, I’m certain of it. The foot even
has its claws on it. We’re speechless and rather
terrified of holding it, though he hands it to us
trustingly. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating,
like I’m a harp of time. I’m sort of embarrassed,
but finally I ask him how much he wants for it.
“Oh, just take it. It always brought me luck, but
I’ve had all the luck I need,” he says. Jill gives
him a kiss on the cheek and I shake his hand and
thank him. Tomorrow: Lost River.
I cannot figure out how to eliminate the clusterfuck from my life without the seeming necessity of eliminating me firstReplyDelete
possibly helpful - I Left My Couch in Tatamagouche