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05 Jun 2002 / 10:10 p.m.
.:  in the space in between breaths

i wrote this somewhere else, but i wanted to put on dland as well.


today i cannot stop thinking. some days i can lock thoughts in a box. i put the box away and don't touch it. today i cannot catch them all, and the box is nowhere to be found.

i write all this down because it is the only thing that gives clarity to what happens in my head. words, text i mean, are clear and sharp. they wrap up emotions and thoughts. they are skeleton and structure; i hang feeling and idea on them like flesh. text is alchemy. catalyst. framework. it is a golem.

today i am at the edge of the world. almost everyone i love is scattered. sometimes our physical spaces overlap. there is a feeling when it happens. i can bridge my space to theirs in bitstream and analog wave. we can talk, communicate roughly. there is something in physical presence that we cannot approximate. not with telephone calls, not with email, not with online journals. it is a warmth; it is fitting human beings together.

i am thinking of my uncle, alone. his body is detoxifying, scrubbing alcohol out of his blood. i can hear exhaustion on the receiver. he punctuates everything in deep sighs; i imagine old liquor on his breath. he is shuddering from poison. he tells me about how part of him wants to die, and how part of him wants to live. i want him to live, and i tell him so. we talk about watching lightning storms from the mesas in our hometown. about how we would wait for heavy cloud, and when it came we would race monsoons and dodge flash floods. we would sit, soaked, under downpours and watch lightning fork from sky to red clay hills around the airport. we talked about watching storms like that again sometime.

i am thinking about the woman i love. she is so far away, now. she is in a jumbo jet over the Mediterranean Sea. she is an archeologist, and she is going to Crete. i don't know what she is doing there - cataloging, digging, not sure. she's not sure yet, either. i think about her voice when she wakes up, and there is a window in her life when everything is now - she is not tied up with the future and past. she recognizes my voice, and whispers "hi, baby," and i can hear her smiling. in those ephemerals, those moments, i forget that she is sick. i forget the dark spots in her lung, the c/t scans, the blood tests. in those moments she and i are forever.

i think about those moments, the intangibles that we remember to suit us. the moments when everything is for all time, and love gets a second chance in the paradise of a heartbeat.

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