Saturday, September 22, 2001
Looking Out The Window
~
It’s nearly ten p.m.
The week has only begun and the
Rain won’t stop
I’m convinced that the sky
Doesn’t love me tonight.
But no matter what
The skies, I know that
They will be sunnier another day
Snow will fall and leaves will drop
Red and yellow and orange
To the ground.
S*
2001.09.23
It’s nearly ten p.m.
The week has only begun and the
Rain won’t stop
I’m convinced that the sky
Doesn’t love me tonight.
But no matter what
The skies, I know that
They will be sunnier another day
Snow will fall and leaves will drop
Red and yellow and orange
To the ground.
S*
2001.09.23
Thursday, September 20, 2001
untitled 2 (2001.09.21)
~
I remember the times we all got together. Football field, dirt bikes and jagged-toothed, ragged boys, running, sweating, panting in the sunshine of a Sunday afternoon. We would rest a while, then go to the store for ice creams or drinks or whatever we could afford or steal. Times weren’t tough; but living life on any edge at that age seemed like a great idea. I guess we may have been too young for perspective but we didn’t care: we were horsemen, cavaliers, knights of a place we called home. It was our neighborhood, we owned it, and we roamed it. Vandalism, disturbing the peace -- these were all the things we knew about but didn’t care to label ourselves with. We just did whatever whiled away the hours between schools, sleep, our parents, cutting the grass, doing the dishes, homework and Sunday mass. We were young, on the edge of something unidentifiable, strange, known only by us. We roamed, we owned, the playgrounds of our youth, of our soul. Green, green grass of home, indeed. The days and nights of playing, running and sweating, shaped our youths, shaped our lives that were unfolding before we even knew it. The edge, the end, the unknown of my days and Thursdays and autumns before we all grew up and went away.
S*
2001.09.21
I remember the times we all got together. Football field, dirt bikes and jagged-toothed, ragged boys, running, sweating, panting in the sunshine of a Sunday afternoon. We would rest a while, then go to the store for ice creams or drinks or whatever we could afford or steal. Times weren’t tough; but living life on any edge at that age seemed like a great idea. I guess we may have been too young for perspective but we didn’t care: we were horsemen, cavaliers, knights of a place we called home. It was our neighborhood, we owned it, and we roamed it. Vandalism, disturbing the peace -- these were all the things we knew about but didn’t care to label ourselves with. We just did whatever whiled away the hours between schools, sleep, our parents, cutting the grass, doing the dishes, homework and Sunday mass. We were young, on the edge of something unidentifiable, strange, known only by us. We roamed, we owned, the playgrounds of our youth, of our soul. Green, green grass of home, indeed. The days and nights of playing, running and sweating, shaped our youths, shaped our lives that were unfolding before we even knew it. The edge, the end, the unknown of my days and Thursdays and autumns before we all grew up and went away.
S*
2001.09.21
untitled 1 (2001.09.21)
~
The first day of fall is usually a nice occasion the picnic baskets and the plaid blankets, laying in the sunshine with the soft wind sweeping over sweatered torsos. I had never been to the west coast but I was told that the people were nice and the sun never went down on the Pacific. How’s that for life on the edge of the universe?
S*
2001.09.21
The first day of fall is usually a nice occasion the picnic baskets and the plaid blankets, laying in the sunshine with the soft wind sweeping over sweatered torsos. I had never been to the west coast but I was told that the people were nice and the sun never went down on the Pacific. How’s that for life on the edge of the universe?
S*
2001.09.21
Demeanour
~
Burnt out and quiet
Never smiles or anything
Who knew? Um, maybe, I guess.
I wondered about her, I
Was afraid she might do it.
Like stepping off a Seattle
Bridge for the first time.
Probably being the last.
Who new? Who cared? Um,
Maybe, I guess.
S*
2001.09.21
Burnt out and quiet
Never smiles or anything
Who knew? Um, maybe, I guess.
I wondered about her, I
Was afraid she might do it.
Like stepping off a Seattle
Bridge for the first time.
Probably being the last.
Who new? Who cared? Um,
Maybe, I guess.
S*
2001.09.21
