Monday, July 02, 2001
The Next Day
~
Some say the day after is always the worst. Some say. The rising sun, whether you witnessed it or not, often becomes a tribute to all things promissory and predictable. I'll never do this again. Swear. Sweet Jesus my head hurts. As I remember the last twenty-four hours, I remember most things done, less of the things said, but especially everything thought. Fun times with friends, neighbours, beautiful people and warm individuals sharing a laugh, a song, a good time. It was any excuse to celebrate, any would do. But the crowd came from all over and the underlying, fundamental similarities or humanity shone thorough once again. Through people's eyes, moves, handshaking, shoulder hugging, hip swaying displays of patriotism and happiness. A people oft worked too hard, only to let loose for the occassional foray into madness, temporary alcoholism, temporary insanity. Into the time of truth, of beauty, where no deals are set; where north meets south. White and black were not: why would we have bothered? The grey areas are where the fun is. Grey is where life's tug-of-war is. Yesterday, I saw the stars crashing down. I saw your hearts, beating loud as thunder. I saw. We loved. You left. I remember. Until next year. My memory may become muddy, but the wispiest, fluffy, fun particles always make their way to sift and sit at the top of the happy times and the memories of my life.
S*
2001.07.02
Some say the day after is always the worst. Some say. The rising sun, whether you witnessed it or not, often becomes a tribute to all things promissory and predictable. I'll never do this again. Swear. Sweet Jesus my head hurts. As I remember the last twenty-four hours, I remember most things done, less of the things said, but especially everything thought. Fun times with friends, neighbours, beautiful people and warm individuals sharing a laugh, a song, a good time. It was any excuse to celebrate, any would do. But the crowd came from all over and the underlying, fundamental similarities or humanity shone thorough once again. Through people's eyes, moves, handshaking, shoulder hugging, hip swaying displays of patriotism and happiness. A people oft worked too hard, only to let loose for the occassional foray into madness, temporary alcoholism, temporary insanity. Into the time of truth, of beauty, where no deals are set; where north meets south. White and black were not: why would we have bothered? The grey areas are where the fun is. Grey is where life's tug-of-war is. Yesterday, I saw the stars crashing down. I saw your hearts, beating loud as thunder. I saw. We loved. You left. I remember. Until next year. My memory may become muddy, but the wispiest, fluffy, fun particles always make their way to sift and sit at the top of the happy times and the memories of my life.
S*
2001.07.02
