I was thinking today about Pinocchio,and how fast he plunged downhill after he
met up with Lampwick. One day, he’s dressed
in happy pants and heading off to school –
the next he’s a dropout, bound for an island
stuffed with chain-smoking losers, where he’ll soon begin to turn into a repulsive little burro.
My point here?
I can relate.
Last week D. and I had dinner out;
a little place downtown where the Mexican food is good. We got a booth, and as we plowed through our chips and salsa, D. asked if I would mind if he had some Merlot with his meal. After we ordered, D. went to the bathroom, so I was alone when the waiter brought the wine. I raised up my arm to say oh no – over there – and somehow the glass ended up in my hand.
I wish I could say that it didn’t really matter,
that without a second thought I simply set that glass aside.
Or better yet that I could say I also had a glass –
and the world stayed on its axis,
and everything was fine.
But the truth is,
I replay that evening often.
The way I loved that glass,
the way it spoke to me.
C’mon Pinocc,
live a little, wooden head.
And I hear the way I answer,
the way I always answer:
I want to,
I want to.
I swear,
I really do.
6 comments:
You should have heard me hear-- the little shriek I made before I read you through.
Timely, this. I am off-track, myself, testing acid waters, telling myself what I know is not true. How many metaphors can I mix here? I am stoic during the week, but come Friday. You know the drill.
I'm a little shame-faced.
I feel as if I want to say something, like an uplifting message or a way to support you both...bs and rj...but I don't know what to say.
You are in my thoughts.
Today is a different day.
Perhaps.
I sure hope so.
Dear rj and na –
In case I was too vague –
I remain in ‘happy pants’ - so far.
But your comments touch
exactly on the duality
I'd hoped to convey.
Whether I’m mixing metaphors
or mixing drinks, every day
IS a different day.
And yet,
because I am what I am,
every day eventually brings me
the same old choice:
do I want to ‘live a little’
or live, a little.
Thanks so much for your
continuing comments,
I’m quite attached to you both, you know.
bs
Interesting, my funny typo.
You two are also often on my mind.
Been back here several times over this past couple of days. (Not sure from where I first made the connection. Certainly not that "next blog" tag, which only ever directs me to Japanese teenagers with an abundance of Flika pic gadgetry).
This is the first blog (hateful word) which I've actually gone back and looked through the archives of. Ever.
Really like the "cut-ups" in your recent post about e-mails. Burroughs would have approved. I once did a similar thing with a letter I wrote to a gallery who couldn't decide whether they'd lost one of my works or sold it.(This being in those halcyon days when I actually exhibited some stuff from time to time). Anyway, long story short, I decided if I posted them my response I'd never exhibit there again, so I cut it up and rearranged it. (Must have seen a documentary on Bowie that week). But the resulting "poem" was even closer to what i wanted to say than the letter had been. (Stuck it in my sketchbook).
Thank you for the compliment of
reading through my past - I appreciate it greatly.
As to a gallery being confused about the sale versus the loss of your work; add another checkmark in the "Galleries Are Evil" column...
bs
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