My Rainy Sky
All the sad boys come home with you… Drape you in garlands and sing their sad songs to you… Pour their stories like rain through you… All the sad boys come home—to you.
All the green children pine for you… They learned all your secrets and made up your mind for you. Although they were unkind to you… All the green children pined—for you.
All the pale gray stars shine through you… Your body fell prey to the transparent mind of you. All blue ghosts search for signs of you… All the pale gray stars shine—through you.
You may occasionally come to ask yourself certain questions regarding such issues as “who you are” and “why you’re here.” Personally, I find my answers easily. I’m here because I’m an insomniac. I don’t sleep because in dawn and in dusk, the light enters my room with contempt… rushing through the slats of my blinds with vigor, only to imitate the bars of a jailhouse once it’s reached the other side.
Alright, you’ve had enough of that, haven’t you?
My current mild obsession is the song A Benediction, by the Winterpills. I’m not entirely sure what it is about the song, and it must be something more than their relaxed poses on the roof. Of course, that chair does look quite inviting… As you can imagine, the last verse is my favorite, but not by far. If you’re not sure what you think after listening to this track, I demand you head over to their site and listen to a few more.
Speaking of music… If any of you should dare to imagine a link between Metric‘s Stadium Love and Jane McCafferty‘s short story Stadium Hearts, trust me, it’s too much of a stretch. Wait… that was just me? Oh, I’m sorry, sometimes I think too hard.
She left without another word, and I knew not to stop her. I stayed there with the rain pounding the plastic over my head for an hour or so, ate the orange on the Astroturf, and that was the world. My head hummed with a kind of light.
It has come to my attention that the season of spring should now be upon us. Oddly enough, I wish only for fall—as I have since its departure. There are, after all, only two seasons that matter: the annual week of fall and the first week of winter that follows. The second week of winter is sometimes acceptable, but from then on I prefer to ignore the weather until the following September or so. It has occurred to me that this is utterly ridiculous and entirely selfish. Somehow, it makes no difference… none at all.
And now, for a lesson. One of the more dangerous feelings is that of disconnectedness from the world. It may not be one of the popular dangers like hate or conceit, but it still deserves consideration. Like its more press-worthy counterparts, it is only fatal with high levels of exposure and otherwise bestows tragedy in small, measured doses. It is most commonly associated with various types of thoughtful immersion. “Nirvana” is a term often misused in description of such a state at its most extreme. Often, a lack of outside interaction mixed with either prolonged meditation, lucid dreams or exposure to certain forms of affective media will bring about such a condition.
As for cures… that’s a difficult question. I’m no professional, but from experience, I’ve found it more difficult to sustain such a condition than to escape it, if purely by chance. It could be as easy as stepping on that sidewalk crack you tried so hard to avoid, risking breaking your mother’s back. Her back is fine, but your vision—gone.
What now? Now what?
Run.
The Orange Mighty Trio: Northbound
Run for your life. Run toward it, rather than away. Remind you of a story?
If you know the movie, and you know the scene, you know what I’m talking about. If not… you’re missing out.
Wait. There’s more, you say? Of course there’s more. Why don’t we start with Nabokov’s Gods? Don’t even think, now, just read.
One thing about spring and summer that may otherwise be missed: the storms. I can recall one in particular, last year, with lightning that lit the entire night sky. I wanted so badly to pull over, but knew it was an unreasonable desire. You can’t just stop in the middle of the road. You can’t just get out of your car in the middle of a lightning storm. You can’t just stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the sky as it opens up above you. You—can’t.
With a flicker my world expanded, the watercolor flooding my field of vision. A single blackbird, clutching a branch as it shook, took flight; without realizing, I spun on my heel to follow its path. The sound of its wings was impossibly close, like clean bedsheets fighting the line on a gusty afternoon. In that moment, the world was strikingly sharp as it flared in my eyes. I knew that if I could reach out and touch it, it would shatter—beautiful, gentle curves and infinite, salient fractals falling all around me like rain.
Instead, you keep on driving. Pull into the dimly-lit parking lot. Walk inside, out of the humid night.
