early hours for me

January 4, 2003

 

early hours for me

It’s the new years and I’ve thought of abandoning this page for another. Three people know about this journal. I can’t write anonymously anymore. But I can’t bring myself to leave it. i found a diaryland journal that i admire greatly. she spares no secrets and writes honestly. i hide mostly. it’s hard to bring that sort of abandon to myself’s secrets. but i’ll try. maybe it is just this early hour that brings me a state of grace and peace, a lonliness that i’m allowed to feel and not fear, a quietness that brings clarity and my words could tap into something deeper. it’s like the stories of rick bass, humans sinking into another zone, into an abandon mine or a lake that has been dried out under a thick layer of ice. It is the early hour trance. so many times i come to the keyboard on the surface. nothing sinks deeper then the layer of protections, that layer of ice, affraid of drowning affraid of knowing it all too well the geography that we are not meant to find. this trance breaks…it’s start in fits. it rarely happens that i sink into myself…sometimes i sink for someone else although i should not. it is after several weeks that a story seeps into me and i rediscover new meaning, like a path that i’ve walked before.

there is a sense that i ought to pull the corners of a large enveloping blanket together…my friends…my different worlds of painting, living, and feeling.

last night dan made crab cakes. it’s good to see him away from his laptop, in front of the big screen. he is highly intelligent and skilled in the kitchen. but the choice for his entertainment is light and humorous. everytime they come home, it’s like a part of a childhood is rebuild again with different lives added. i remember writing about my family all the time, tracking their every movement on the page during those idle summer hours when i had no place to go.

it is strange to see a live unfold from october to september. this stranger that i have known through the pages in reverse. and again the writings that i admire i emulate the mood. the good writings infect my own words. she uses this word ‘unfolding’. to me this is a joseph cornell word for his feelings. i know this word.

for a moment i deluded myself into beliveing that a fresh new year meant that the lost of money and love can be a clean slate. yet the knowledge of loss still sink back into me…that is the past.

i remember i used to make my brothers write. Andy does, but dan rarely. when he does his writings are so precious to me. i can see something that is hiden and rare. his words are thoughtful and few but bring with it much emotions for me because i know him but i rarely see this side of him. it makes me mad that he doesn’t write more. he writes out of necessity. he writes for college applications and school competitions. i write too much and with out aims… i write selfishly and without shame. i write what i feel and can write for someone else.

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