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The sound of the rain & the cool breeze across my face transports me to my then, second rental property in a suburb called Petersham. Walking onto the few dry bricks between the back door & the laundry. Walking barefoot to do grown up things; like check you have enough clean underwear for the next day at work. You try to honestly determine whether those clothes that may have been marinating in your washing machine should be ok, even though they smell a little funny, or could they possibly be washed again? It’s incredible that the most mundane of tasks can provide a direct link to a younger you. I slam the door of the washer & await the sound of the water starting to rush in. As it starts, the sound of the rain washes in again, only much louder this time. The sounds struggle at first before my ears tune in & accept them as one new sound. My concentration drifts as I step into darkness & I’m walking out the back door of the old house.
My feet are cold but it’s ok. I’m content in processing that this is really Summer & the rain, if the humidity drops, could be a cool cool change. A guitar amp is humming. It’s not turned off yet as I’d promised myself to continue practicing, even in the rain. This, though housemates joked of electrocution & waters divined. I glance around, there is rust forming on each corner of the small bar fridge & the old dryer peeling paint at my feet. No one came out here much, except to visit me. I didn’t feel like it was just my place, but I felt happy here. An ornately half lit caged-in laundry-come-lock-up. A glorified shed or shelter, if you will. The feeling I felt both then & now, was of stepping out from a house that holds its heat & into the weather we’d been hiding from. As I stare, trying to remember the difference in smell, from place to place, the memories merge like one.
Besides the odd drop of rain atop the head, you’d feel mostly safe & dry out here. It’s not so much de ja vu as a familiar feeling being out here each time. It’s like in dreams, as such, I do not mind what I am doing, but am I’m happy doing it? Like never before. I enjoy the shift from inside to out but it’s time to go inside. I asses the washing that is not quite wet and far from dry as i pile it into the dryer, “Is it clean now?” I still wonder. It’s not the laundry that connects the moments but the feeling. I am truly happy. When you are happy it’s important to remember other comparable times. To stop & smell the roses, as they say.
This is the love we wondered about.
The younger you smiles and says, “See, I told you so.”
The now you smiles to say, “I’ll promise to try & not forget.”
On the way, my mind speeds. Racing to another destination. Too early to explain, words in perfect prose rattle my cage. In my head & without time to write, I read the book I cannot right. The chapters bustle past in running order, funny, sharp & tactile. I am office bound. A job where days pass quickly but the inside hours go slow. Inspiration is coupled too often with distraction. To speak is to waste. Capture what you can.
All clouds are connected. Elevated veins of water fixed in the sky. Placed & poised. Carried by night. Drifting through days.
A humid sweat breaks in time as turning wheels draw us towards the storm. Dry ice on the road disguises cars in front. We carry on with caution. We carry on.
Conversations with wet hair see tempers tried & tested. Taking stock, we break to remember to take only the things that we need. The job at hand calls for patience, it’s the best skill I can hand you. It’s what I can give.
Seeing the beauty in the eye of sadness is not an escape from reality, but rather the acceptance of it.
It’s not often you get to have it all, so enjoy it when you do. A clear conscience & money in your pocket. Or a ticket, or a fridge that’s full of food. To have what you need is far better than to have what you want. Having had both & neither, I feel equipped to tell you so. I’m not talking about the desperate optimism of a gambler, nor the glass being closer to half full. I’m talking about being in the right place at the right time, & when what you’re talking about, turns into the movies. When it feels like you’re alive. To experience life. To throw it in the air, just to see where it could land. A simple life, provides you with no confusion. To never think in terms of loss. There are people who think they get it all, where every lock must have a key. Then there are those aware they’ll never wholly understand. Let the chains of entitlement rust the hands of those who knew. To those with unsatisfied hues. The rest are lifting glasses, to making things happen.
the idea of escape is amazing.
encapsulated by the absence of light
a man tormented by the guilt of his past
feels he is owed beyond his own sentencing.
is he entitled to a second chance,
or just has nothing left to lose?
“the love i feel is not confused
i shouldn’t feel so good
its weird feeling guilty about your life
when it’s going so good
enjoy it while it lasts
there are still things i’d change in life
like where i went each day
& that i want to truly let the ideas i have inside me
to grow toward beauty.
in this cell.”
yesterday he lay dead on a hospital bed
cycling, swimming, running, relapse
these were the order of events
he wrote about them all
these are the stories to be told.
He usually ignores private numbers as it’s usually work or unwanted sales calls, un-excited people trying to convince you that what they have to tell you is exciting. Sometimes he speaks to the faceless people, long enough to draw them in, to hear the pitch sprawl, but just long enough to identify them. To request that there’s no encore. It’s 5am so he decides to take a chance, he’s been awake for an hour anyway calculating what he can & can’t do with what money he has left over. An unfamiliar voice speaks calmly & authoritatively, the still phrases feel like wind through his empty head. The distinct lack of emotion slows the words, taking a few seconds longer than normal to register as his body reacts to the news. Shock censors how he feels but he knows that he must do his best to try to keep it together. He knows there will be phone-calls explaining & then excusing his absence. After this, the burning of tears blistering through dry eyes & shower to rebuild his thoughts & hatch a plan. To understand & support, to say the right things. A journey will follow.
The atmosphere changed when I walked in today.
People were smiling, or forcing smiles but you could tell there was a seething anger.
There is nothing worse than a room full of people pretending to be happy.