He told me he didn’t have enough time to do the things he wanted to do with his life.
I told him, “How you can make time…maybe that’s your lesson. Time is not just linear. It’s multidimensional. If you feel like you don’t have enough time, make time. Expand it. Stop complaining. Unless what you really like getting out of it is complaining.”
today, i was at a stoplight and said to myself, so when do i get to sleep with everything beautiful that moves me, like you promised?
i suspect i tricked even myself to get me to seattle.
“I overheard your conversation about the people of Seattle. I just moved here and I’ve really found that to be the case, that the people are very closed here.”
“Yeah, I mean, I grew up here, but I spent the last year living overseas. Coming back here, it’s just apparent that people are really hard to talk to. They’re very protective of their worlds if they don’t know you. Especially with the nightlife.”
“I’m thinking Seattle’s about ready for a revolution.”
“Whoa whoa, what do you mean, revolution?”
“It’s time for this city to relax and have something to be happy about. People need to warm up. We need a revolution to thaw the freeze. Get people to stop being afraid and mean. Cold weather doesn’t have to mean cold hearts.”
He kind of looked at me like he didn’t know whether to believe me or fear me.
“Maybe,” he said.
Yet, he kept coming back trying to figure me out, when I said exactly what I mean.
if people found out their Other existed on this earth
was a human just like them
had a life somewhere on the other side of the world
and even though you could traverse the world in a leap,
for them to be real, you could never touch them or their world…
would most people have the strength to accept that something magical exists by the power of faith, but only in the distance,
or would they not want to know there is something beautiful that only exists if they don’t touch it?
more than anything, i have most often been mistaken as a poet by seattleites. or perhaps, they are naming a truth i do not feel i can accept yet.
what defines a writer? is it by the number of works they have published? or is it by this private, inner compulsion for voice, to speak?
i have lately, become more at peace when i realized i am someone who will probably be known for one major work, finished close to the time i die.
today, the first day of rains. this city is tough on the body. but as i was feeling the sky for your echoes, i examined my inherent shame at calling myself a writer. it is because i write, but i do not publish. i don’t like people to know what i write, and most didn’t suspect the sheer volume until people found out about the notebooks and blog. but none of it is what i really want to say most, churning to keep me in shape until the time when i can. i write only what i want to say, and i have no control over the flow, like by saying, i want to finish a book, or i want to have a screenplay produced, i suddenly freeze up. i don’t seem to want these things. at least these are not as important to me.
i have something deep and pressing inside me. it is so deep, i don’t even have access to it myself. but the only thing i know, is that there is only one person i want to tell this story to. and i’ve been holding it for him, waiting for myself to get stronger so i could have the words. it is positive, but powerful. with great power comes great responsibility. i think that’s why i’m waiting for someone as strong as me.
i wonder if, perhaps, it won’t be me who writes this story. i wonder if the real writer, is the one who hears it.
Don’t wish it away
Don’t look at it like it’s forever
Between you and me
I could honestly say
That things can only get better
And while I’m away
Dust out the demons inside
And it won’t be long
Before you and me run
To the place in our hearts
Where we hide
–the beautiful sir elton john
Brand New By Tomorrow – Money Mark
Some things grow apart, some things grow together
Some things never start, ours is turning into memories
And guess there’s no way to avoid a broken heart
What I can say is, I will never go very far
We’ll be brand new by tomorrow
We’ll be brand new by tomorrow
I used to love the games we played
But now I have to stay on my side of the street
I like the words we used to say to each other
But now our vocabulary’s changed
Anytime you want me to pretend, I will
You’ll always be my friend looking out the window sill
No sense in getting down on yourself
We put the trophy on the shelf
We’ll be brand new by tomorrow