Swallowed in the Sea

The only thing I've learned through blogging was that there are thoughts that exist which just cannot be expressed through words. No matter how many times one tries.

I always played with the boys as a kid. I don't know why but at that time I got a long better than with girls. A muddy shirt felt better than a clean dress, the bruises and scrapes felt good because they speak volumes about how they were born. The scar on my hand spanning a whole 3 millimeters tells the tale of two reckless children and a blue ceramic plate. Running through the woods and pretending to shoot other kids was much more interesting to me than Barbies or sidewalk chalk. It still is. But I can play a role.

Spencer cruised up the street grinning. No anticipation of the repercussions that came with repeatedly teasing the sleeping dragon of adolescent masculinity. The wolf pack of high school boys prepared to chase him but one shot a question at me first. He wanted to know Spencer's name and barked as much in my direction. Wanting to protect his identity, I shuffled my feet and said "...Phil Collins". It was the first name that popped into my head. The boy's eyes rolled around in his skull confusedly. His expression suggested that he had heard the name before but couldn't put his finger on where or when. He shrugged and they tore up the street after Spencer: "Hey Phil!" Spencer was already long out of sight.

"Swing"

"Sheets"

Second Update

Now that I've stretched my imagery muscle I have to clarify that riding in the car for hours with my family really isn't awful at all. The point was that it was beautiful and (even though I despise the word fun because it sounds artificial and forced) a feel good time. I don't know - judge me but when music is playing and it's sunny and everyone's talking and the mountains are gorgeous and I have a good book in my lap (Hours by Michael Cunningham omg) I like riding in the car for hours.

Add that to the fact that the shore was radiant in a classy sort of way and the house was beautiful and elegant... good vacay. I'm ready for a routine again dare I say it. I need dance 4 times a week and 6 hours of structure a day. It's good for the upkeep of my mind. That's all.

"Twig"

Construction

Try to see everything through the lens of beauty. It makes the ugly experiences less so when you are forced to deal with them.

The overweight construction worker, his face dusty and haggard. The five o'clock shadow on his square jaw guarding the burden of fatigue from ever leaving. His work boots seem permanently laced to his feet with the cement that he uses each day. Yes the wrinkles in his hands and eyes go down all seven layers of skin. If you count them you'll know how old he is, like the rings of a tree. He is beautiful.

The white dotted line, tracing the highway. It looks the way the inside of your lips taste after 6 hours in the same car, leathery and traveled. That fractured line has seen more than all the stars because it's closer to the action. It has seen the mountains, and then has not seen the mountains as they were replaced by interstates. The line never makes a sound; it was never one for casual talk. The line is beautiful.

Cow country. Each house mirrors the 1800's. Not a roof shingle to be found. The radio dial is fiddled with, but all that can be found is country music and lectures about finding Jesus. Both of these are too awkward to fill the already awkward silence in this vehicle. There are overgrown gardens and horses and cattle who are grazing, always grazing despite the brown splotches of grass that had long since had the edible vegetation plucked out of them. But the cows have their noses to the ground anyway, like it's their dead end job to provide for their family of organs. Behind the houses are sprawls of mountains. As many trees as are people on the earth fill this one range. Harmonious and thriving, trying in earnest to reach the unending sky. "Who would want to live here?" an impertinent voice calls out to the squalor. Who wouldn't, I think. Those cows are so beautiful.

I relish in his orange reflective vest. I wish I could wear a vest that warned people to stay away from the mess I was making. I lust for the cows- who wouldn't want to live there. I envy that line. I envy the layers of dirt covering it; one for each broken family who's wheels run over it because the kids are yelling too loud for Dad to pay attention to lines.

Have I been spending too much time on 495? It's so good to be home.

August Break Day 3

"The Shore"

August Break Day 2

"Packed"

August Break Day 1

"In Repose"

Also I know it's the third but... well it's my blog and I must insist.