[ed. note: refer to the first “and bravely, i.” soundscape for context]
song: brother courage – “growing old”
“i imagine yes is the only living thing.” — ee cummings
there is one still point in a turning world. one piece of clarity for each moment. one bright star, winking at you, before closing its sleepy eyes and going dark and quiet. the world is big, but our kingdom small.
i think about our moments, strung together like the christmas tree lights of rockefeller center, and i don’t know how to disconnect from them. that now, they are buzzing and humming along inside of my body, threatening to float out of my mouth every time i open it to speak or yawn or smoke a cigarette; like lightening bugs in a glass mason jar. and i feel too full of them, and i feel like there are too many in there to possibly allow for any more new moments to come in. and i know that with each new moment i allow in now, i am threatening to trample the old moments. our moments. i want to preserve them, but i so desperately wish to keep them separate; to keep them neatly, organized by dewey decimal system, so i can take them out gingerly and examine them — one by one — when i want to. not this rushing that i feel now. not this tangle of chords and wires that have no beginning or end.
i want to keep them because they are a part of me now. intrinsically. they oxygenate my bloodstream along with my memories of the duck pond when i was four, and looking up at the moon when i was three, and driving from california to nashville when i was a too-old 18.
and i want to keep them because losing them, somehow, would be more painful than not ever having had them.
they are within, and you are there, and i am here, and sometimes there is too much everywhere.
but yes to the everywhere. yes to the everything. yes to the overwhelming pressure of a new atmosphere.
yes to this new, unexplored world of mine. a world of indian summers and barefoot adventures and too little sleep and too long drives. and yes to new memories joining the old. and yes to the small pulp of my life.
and i know it’s foolish to believe in a world like this; a world outside my small kingdom.
and i know it’s foolish to believe in a world like this; a world all my own.