If I were a birthday cake
Nov 11 - Madeline Island - 2017
Blending in to the chair, the grass, the trees, the snow. We walk like a spinning top through a maze of gravel roads and orange tape ties on trees. Under decks, though lightly frozen bogs chirping under the weight of her paws.
The wind unsettles and settles things. Passage ways set up for them to run through like bulls. Snow castles and divots hold water like liquid silver. Quiet and cool, low to the ground, covered in a light fluff of white.
Bogged down with thoughts that weigh more than reality. Hope is pointless beyond the hope I will one day find more chairs like this, in which to peer into fire and smoke refer in. Like a mad king stuck beyond the wall of civilization to rule over his depleating store of rations, I sit with an apathetic decisiveness to go on believing something that flows beyond all reason and breaks all rules of nature but one: Life will find a way.
The fire makes a stellar syphon to blow cigarette smoke into. I don't like smoking in the cold. Island Man, remember this moment. This is your life. smoking, drinking, breathing, feeling it is a tough thing to do. Too much, too little. Im tired of waiting. I'm tired.
It's like a feeling. Coming off the paper, coming through the wall or from inside the fireplace. A feeling that comes off the pages of a book, from words picked perfectly like a bouquet of linguistics that moves past meaning and seeps into the over arching energy and feeling of the origin of its symbles.
My body has frozen up.
My senses and my memory muscles are growing. I am slowing down and speeding up at the same time and I don't know what is happening. I am headed straight for a cobble stone wall of pistachios. 'Oh Fuck' in the great words of anyone who has been in this situation; I am sure it can be found somewhere scribbled deep inside one of their $1.50 notebooks pressed together in a a neat stack at the bottom of some box in their home.
It is now very hot inside the cabin. Almost too hot. The cars working again.
The local market is a gas station with no gas, the coffee shop has a small selection of produce. This is one of three stores that stay open during the winter. The ferry doesn't run on the weekends. No one comes here in the winter really. Maybe someday that will be different.
We can make a home where ever we go.
Time is a interesting thing. All I do is count the days but often forget what month or year it is. It's only been two or three years since everything fell apart. Getting back to regular eating patterns and maybe soon a social life too.
Far away from nothing
I feel like I have been communicating with the 'other side' for three years. They have been telling me of this prophecy. I do not think it is possible, but up until now, things have seamed to, maybe possibly, be going in that direction.
Now it seams I have dived into far to be able to come back or go back to the place I once was.
What is going to happen?
I thought today would be the day. I keep thinking that. I can't see how this could possibly come together any way close to how I thought it would. I guess all there is to do is keep going forward. Clueless to the world around me. I feel incredibly alone.
Fire light, time goes by fast when you feel ok with where you are. A empty house becomes warmer and more accessible over a few days of burrowing.
If life continues like this, soon I will give up on it all.