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  • Writer's pictureMark

Thoughts during the marvelous Paterson

Monday, April 3, 2017

I could have observed in silence and understood. How so beautifully observed. It made me question the value of music. But maybe it wasn't about understanding. The music was another, though, and it tore even deeper. The first word was complacency, how I wished, I even had that. The darkened beauty of turmoil I barter in, for currently, and ever, feels so lonely. I prayed for that simple complacency. And empathy. Another, who understood. It's been so long, Lord? Everything I do simple seems so obvious and stupid, everything complex so absurdist. Where are you, comfortable skin.

And clockwork. Deep, red veins of admiration, like some mine that would take disrupting the entire body to unearth. Would it be worth what to find. How I long for beauty. The years have made all that beauty I see that much more. Distant.

I could think between the cracks. The slow linger, the perfect shape. How to go between those buried moments to those casual hello. But listen, close enough. What you hear, what they say, becomes you. Manifest, was it you - or them, or the abyss.I remember once, months ago, I ran out of cat food. The cat, stared, and yelled at me for ideas. There was a can of tuna, so I opened it, carefully placed the pink white fish in the bowl, and discarded the tin after rinsing it a bit. Gracie pulled up and sat for a meal that would last only as long as it took her to swallow. Now, every night, after I place her cat food in the bowl, she walks back to that cabinet, sits and begs. It was a chance, one time, she got lucky. She got lucky once. My God, that ending. And just before that, the rain stopped. Now I resume scared quietly.

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