Wednesday, July 12, 2006
4 Am.
I have a camera that sits unused back at home. Black and white film in it. A gift from the folks.
I took one roll at the levee; bad focus through rusty fences, the diamond inner geometry of a radio tower.
Potential, the hopes and imagination of my parents.
This sits dusty, with my instruments, my bike - so many things to have and not to use fully, not to use right.
There is a ghost watching me from my left shoulder - the oblong one - recording these failings. He tells me things sometimes, as I sit alone in the night air with Logan on my back porch, watching the willow-wisp lights glide lazily towards LAX...
... Or here, in the thin, recycled air - breathing other people's breath, their sweat, their shampoo and their shoe shine - 37000 feet above Kansas at dawn, he tells me things.
And he does this because sitting still above cloudtops can make you forget, just for a moment, who you are.
I have a camera that sits unused back at home. Black and white film in it. A gift from the folks.
I took one roll at the levee; bad focus through rusty fences, the diamond inner geometry of a radio tower.
Potential, the hopes and imagination of my parents.
This sits dusty, with my instruments, my bike - so many things to have and not to use fully, not to use right.
There is a ghost watching me from my left shoulder - the oblong one - recording these failings. He tells me things sometimes, as I sit alone in the night air with Logan on my back porch, watching the willow-wisp lights glide lazily towards LAX...
... Or here, in the thin, recycled air - breathing other people's breath, their sweat, their shampoo and their shoe shine - 37000 feet above Kansas at dawn, he tells me things.
And he does this because sitting still above cloudtops can make you forget, just for a moment, who you are.
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