s u m m e r
midsummer
So it's been months and I've been nothing but silent. Perhaps some of you wonder why, perhaps not. I've certainly heard nothing either way. Has nothing been going on? What prompted the silence? I know where I've been, how about you?
To be honest I just haven't felt like talking. Like writing.
Some of the ideas have come through but most of them I put aside for later. Some I threw away entirely like a coffee stained liner note from an old Leonard Cohen CD.
I've been sorting a lot of things. Building a little. Had some interesting things happen, but even those I can't truly write about. It's been a couple of months of regress, hibernation, and still I have nothing to say that will bring about a revelation. Or even a good end line. No hook. I have instead, the same ramble I get into most summers. The same thoughtful passage I could point to in a dozen journals, or even several entries here. Almost to the day...7.27.99.
the ramble
It's rained here for a couple days now and been unseasonably chilly. Yeah, chilly in July. I put on my flight jacket last night when I went out. I wore it upstairs while I smoked and cleaned. I smelt the oil and remnants of the winter's gasoline on the sleeve as I took a break and smoked a cigarette by the upstairs window.
Under the halogen lamp I watched the smoke curl around my callused finger tips and looked down onto the hanging baskets next door. Even though it was cold I sweat a little. A cold clammy sweat and I wiped my brow while pulling slowly from a glass of gin. The ice rattled and the CD began to skip.
It was downstairs so I just shut off the speaker and dropped my smoke into a near empty PBR can.
I'm going through boxes again. Still unpacking things even though I've been moved for 9 months now.
Finding little trinkets. My old lighter. A bowl of hazelnuts. A tin MGA. Pictures of my grandfather back when he was in the NAVY.
I put them all away.
Same as my words.
Shelved them, and poured another drink.
goodnight 7.25.00