A Meal of Memory

I am so angry at your big mouth...all you ate,
years and days and months and moments
MY LIFE
devoured by a cavernous appetite

and all of us cruising by,
gawking the stranded car
unaware of so many deaths...
more dead than not.
Were we at some level aware
that as long as we maintained
our steady speed
we'd see no bones?

Had we mourned,
had we but mourned
even one,
the next might have been saved.

The loss overwhelms me.
All these corpses
mine

This, my staggering void.
I don't want to move
if every footstep is dead again.
So I weed the garden
make room for life.

Lotta damn weeds.

Some photos from Delaware. Concentration problems are a functional symptom of lack of boundaries, and a clinical symptom of depression. There are so many sad and unresolved things within the brain that there is no mental space inside to work. It is almost as if you live outside yourself (for sooooo long! Boundaries are created, or not, in the 2nd year of life!). Depression is primarily made up of feelings of loss. Feelings of loss are perpetuated by concentration problems, because they equate to a loss of memory. Kind of a fucked-up Catch 22 if you ask me. I am learning so much. The things I photograph now make eye awakening sense. Had I but mourned. I guess you start class when you are ready to learn.

Every day, is day ONE.

Breaking The Seal

It's not like I don't want to live fully, unfettered and outside the box. It's just that the existing captions are so large. They seem to have been placed there by misspent ideas, as foreboding as parents. Every hallway I skip down has a mirror that mimics a serious outlook....a responsible tenure, as if adult propriety were inbred and inescapable. But not this night.

The storm gathered strength thoughout the day, almost as if everyone who cowered from it, fed it. Wind sliced the rain into sidelong glances that cut smarter than any dead stare. For an east coast summer night it was darn right cool.

It was the child who said, "Lets go outside and get wet. Can we, can we?" The beach had been there for three days. Not a one of us had yet been wet. But there was an undercurrent of youthful energy that seemed to say the milk has already been spilt, so we may as well play in it. I thought to decline. It was cold. My hair looks shitty wet. My clothes would stick to my body, which at my age is nothing to advertise. But Annabelle was tugging at my shirt hem and she wanted to play. I really had no worthy excuse that would appease her, so we all nodded what-the-hell and headed for the beach.

The sand was wet, and easy to run on. I ran fast, hard, spending all. I ran into the waves, back out, in again. We shouted stupid stuff and sang stupid songs and all the "stupid" in me had a brilliant time! It was the highlight of my vacation. "I want to get a picture of this" I said. We knocked on a door and a kindred spirit stood in the rain and captured us trying to look woebegone...

It didn't work.

I think I'm going to do more stupid stuff.

People outta be stupid more often.