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Maybe it's because the sun broke
through for a precious few minutes this afternoon. Maybe it's because I long
for the ability to create working order from chaos I witnessed watching
Junkyard
Wars for the first time at Travis and Kelly's. Maybe it was my inability
to find the needle-nose pliers
Monte left behind when I wanted
to make some anything for Sarah who returns from her nomral family life in
Ohio Thursday night. Maybe it's just because time is running out on an old
year and I don't want the next one to be again an obstacle course of useless
kitsch and half-finished projects. Maybe it's just because I finally got
sick of sitting at a computer half my life and welcomed any 3D distraction.
Maybe it's a Kwanakahmas gift for Sarah, a present that's more an absence
rather than an addition to the tangle of possessions that owns us. Whatever
the reason, I started cleaning. Among the unlabelled cassettes, boxes and
boxes of photographs, and the disconcerting cubic foot of notebooks notebooks
notebooks filled with pathetic rantings from my angsty youth, was this dream,
recorded on a visit to my mother in Minneapolis a couple of months before
she died. I don't know why this fragment among all other fragments caught
my eye, but here it is for no reason
in particular, the first step perhaps towards redemption from the
crapheap. |
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