Of showing up at work on Christmas Eve, of deferring dreams for yet another year, of eating fried fish and breaking wafer-bread, of driving out to the suburbs, of staying up too late, of sleeping in, of remembering to get away and meditate on the creator and created order by wandering through the woods, walking by the lake under aqua sky, wondering what bird's body lays broken on the sand.
A weekend of hanging out with sundry folk, live music, new faces, old friends, so strange how some of us changed between college and almost-30. A subcultural shift of sorts, of identities blossoming far from where we met, the memories we conjure feel so distant to what we are now. There are other people for him to see but thankfully his friends are up for conversation and speak a similar language. I stay later than I thought I would, drive home with the windows down past state troopers looking for pre-holiday drunks.
Downtown was deserted, I haven't slept enough. I haven't figured out the trajectory of the show tomorrow and if I'm going to sleep in or not. In the meantime, listen to Lanegan, dammit.
A weekend of hanging out with sundry folk, live music, new faces, old friends, so strange how some of us changed between college and almost-30. A subcultural shift of sorts, of identities blossoming far from where we met, the memories we conjure feel so distant to what we are now. There are other people for him to see but thankfully his friends are up for conversation and speak a similar language. I stay later than I thought I would, drive home with the windows down past state troopers looking for pre-holiday drunks.
Downtown was deserted, I haven't slept enough. I haven't figured out the trajectory of the show tomorrow and if I'm going to sleep in or not. In the meantime, listen to Lanegan, dammit.
When snow is shaken
ReplyDeleteFrom the balsam trees
And they're cut down
And brought into our houses
When clustered sparks
Of many-colored fire
Appear at night
In ordinary windows
We hear and sing
The customary carols
They bring us ragged miracles
And hay and candles
And flowering weeds of poetry
That are loved all the more
Because they are so common
But there are carols
That carry phrases
Of the haunting music
Of the other world
A music wild and dangerous
As a prophet's message
Or the fresh truth of children
Who though they come to us
From our own bodies
Are altogether new
With their small limbs
And birdlike voices
They look at us
With their clear eyes
And ask the piercing questions
God alone can answer.
"Noël" by Anne Porter
merry xmas, dmf
Let's watch the potty mouth and think of the children, dammit.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9yibUR5KNI
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