in spire, spiraling spinning twisting thinning and beginning
Initial
Out of infinite longings rise
finite deeds like weak fountains,
falling back just in time and trembling.
And yet, what otherwise remains silent,
our happy energies—show themselves
in these dancing tears.
Rilke
(tr. Cliff Crego)
Out of infinite longings rise
finite deeds like weak fountains,
falling back just in time and trembling.
And yet, what otherwise remains silent,
our happy energies—show themselves
in these dancing tears.
Rilke
(tr. Cliff Crego)
posted by InkSpot | 12:25 AM
2 Comments:
Lauren watched the people following the rhythm of the bus, its motion, back and forth in the starting and stopping and side to side at higher speeds along the straights of the freeways.
She tried to control her own movement, but cramped her neck in trying. The old guys at the back of the bus ignored her, talking and laughing and talking some more. Mostly, she shared the space with people going to work, people who would be returning on the same line, going the same way later in the day.
She ended up taking the bus for a year and a half. It changed her in ways, it should her some things in herself, her introvertedness. Once, she was waiting at a stop and a black guy with a big round belly walked up to her.
“Hey, you taking this bus?”
“Yeah.”
“It go to the VA?”
Yeah, it does. It goes through the school, first. You’ll see it.”
“What time it leave?”
“Like ten minutes.”
“You go to school up there?”
Yeah
Man, that’s the best thing you can do. Me, I went to Vietnam. Would’ve like to gone to school. Tried after I got back, but now my memory ain’t so good. Can’t remember five minutes ago , if you know what I mean.”
I’m sorry.
It’s a good thing, you going to school. Right now, I’m just waiting. I got messed up bad. Shot three times. Look,” he pulls up his shirt and reveals his round belly punctuated by scars.
“And they gave me hep. The bad kind. Said they don’t know if my liver is gonna last. So I might be walking dead. It’s a strange feeling, being walking dead. But you stay in school. School’ll be good for you.”
Waiting on a government check. A little something. I can’t work, you know.
“I’m really sorry. I can’t believe you went and gave what you did and know you have to fight the system, too.”
“Shit, girl. We been fighting the system since the system was born. You look at all these streets, all these nice lines and traffic lights and rules. It don’t mean shit. But me, I’m walking dead and I don’t know if I even have a chance or not. That’s the shit. That’s the scarey thing. Not knowing. You stay in school. Say, what’re you studying?”
“Literature.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
“Um, it’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Better figure out a way. What’s the use in learning if there’s no way of sharing it?”
“You got a point there.”
“I may be walking dead, but I got some things left. Some good things. I got my girl and my daughter. She in school too. Not a big University. A community college. I tried talking a class with her, but I just couldn’t do it. My memory ain’t so good. What’re you studying?”
“Literature. Right now we’re reading Grapes of Wrath, talks about the depression and how people struggled. We just finished America is in the Heart.”
“Yeah. Never read those. Hey, why do you think it’s important? I know why I think so, but you. What about you?”
“Literature? Well, I guess it’s a way for us to express, to connect. I don’t know, it’s different for everyone. I like to learn, I like to know what other people go through.”
“You know what I like?”
“What?”
“I like to be shook. Shooked hard. I’m walking dead you know.”
“I am, too.”
All these people all the bus, everyone had their story and Lauren wanted to read them all. She wanted to know, where did the Mexican people come from, where did they go? Did they all really clean house like she thought, or was she just full of shit. Propaganda bullshit.
There were cycles, and the cycles were all the snake eating its own tail. The mouse scurrying under the car, the arguments her parents still had even though they’d been divorced for 15 years. Try explaining that one to dad, a snake eating it’s own tail. He’d shit, think the school was “rotting your brain” more then ever.
Screaming, yelling so fast that the words are no longer intelligible. Shaking, hand reaching out, arm stiff. What is he reaching for? Is it thought? Is it Habit? Is it pain?
Chemicals, Chemicals, Chemicals!
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