hello sinister. the remembrance of a simple piano progession lingers, and i listen for the crickets, now, finally, after days, at an uncertain peace. everything is quiet, and i have spent the tears i kept at bay for so long. talking to my grandma on the phone at one in the morning, i let it all go when she told me to, and wept. really and truly. the kind of tears that make you feel like you're going to vomit them out rather than cry them out, the kind that really mean something. i was hot and panting, and finally, the whole thing had a purpose. i told her how i felt so homeless. and she said i was, but not without reason or timing. and she was right. i suppose once you get to sixty-five you have that kind of certainty, to be right about things. *** i am tired now, but not ready to sleep on the couch of the newspaper, where i have decided to sleep tonight. i looked at the walls around me fifteen minutes or so ago and renounced them; they were never my own, and they will not be now. and so i left, listening to the absolute stillness of the building, knowing that it wasn't absolute. not really. nothing is these days, and i know that, too. walking down the steps outside, i breathed. and the air was cooler, thinner, and for one small perfect moment, i felt small. in a good way. walking down the winding sidewalk to my car i thought about why they call it a sidewalk, why it's a slower lane for the road that takes you somewhere. why people walk there, sometimes run, but never get somewhere fast. and i liked it. i stopped worrying for a moment, and just walked. *** i watched a movie tonight, and for two hours, thought about nothing else but the box in front of me, what was happening there and what would happen. and, periodically checking the clock, i suspected the reason people like movies so much was because you could stop the motion at any one point and replay it. or put it off altogether until another time. or move backwards and do it again. we want everything to be like that, i think, and when we see that everything keeps moving one way ahead whether we want it to or not, we want our money back. but we never paid for this, and that's why today is sunday. and when everything stopped for me as i was moving on the sidewalk, i forgot about what i used to be and what i was now and what i will be, and concentrated, without effort, on that single moment. each step in and of itself, and i was grateful that i could do that. walk. walking. maybe i was given something that would take away so i could have moments like those; when i am crippled, i will remember. but then again, when i am crippled, i will have moments. where i just am. and that is all. walking down a sidewalk, anticipating sleep and a soft piano, but not running toward them. just stepping and moving and realizing why moving pictures are only two-dimensional representations expanded from a footfall into the walking of a thousand miles. i have wondered if the physical pain these past few weeks has been my punishment. the manifestation of all that is eating away at me inside. the non-justification for my inherent idiocy. and then and now and then it just doesn't matter anymore. *** in retrospect, when things begin again, i will wish i could retrace patterns and redraw them when i get back to where i started a few months back. i will wish again that i could take back the declarations and abstractions to simply say that i was lost. and i will not wish to take them back because they were untrue -- the things i said still hold, for me, are true and real and mine. but they are unimportant. i cannot persuade moments to be something they are not. i suddenly realize the keys are wet. tissues. tissues remedy that. xxx lou ------------------ THE FOLLOWING IS AN ADVERT FOR EXCELLENCE: never learned how to ride a bike? merely flailed helplessy in a chlorine-laced pool when trying to learn to swim? come to Camp Kids Who Gave Up 2002, sponsored by lindsey baker, dave snyder and conor oberst to learn to ride and swim like nobody's business! while you're temporarily residing on our beautiful, secluded island paradise camp, enjoy lessons from friendly guest instructors such as mandee wright and listen to a different live band every night (we feature saddle creek gems and omaha rapists)! dating lindsey is also an available option, so long as conor is off-island. SIGN UP TODAY!!! _________________________________________________________________ Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+