- what is it i want to say on this day the day of your marriage...
i remember hearin those words and thinkin i must be the luckiest man alive hell i didn't even make it through the sentence much less the service before my mind set to wanderin on the what was to be. just gettin lost in her shinin face. and her starin straight back.
______
eyes. windows. into the soul. burnin. open and burnin. seein knowin cryin out beggin. somethin. somethin. somethin more. inadequate. a not quite. never quite. but almost. just enough to. no. won't. cain't. wouldn't ever. but maybe. if only. open and burnin. the soul. windows. eyes. window. eye.
who are all these people and why are they really here and why?
______
i was there, watching the two of them standing before god and man, but i was the only one who saw, was the only one who heard, was the only one who really knew what would come of this union, and i sat there being ripped to pieces somewhere between knowing what i should do and what i couldn't do and realizing that the two were the same sides of a different coin, and even though i knew he was standing at that altar feeling as though blessed by some holy spirit... she was as good as laid bleeding before us, an entire open wound, unexplained and muttering.
______
- oh my good lord it's just some kinda wonderful. them two's gonna make just about a perfect match ain't they.
Showing posts with label Jerimiah Edward Macintosh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jerimiah Edward Macintosh. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The Stranger Shows Up In Town
well... i remember he showed up in town hell what was it. earl! when'd that fella show up round here? earl! goldangit good fer nothin sonofa. that boy. his brother ray ain't right, but earl, he ain't none closer to right than his brother. course they's both so young neither of em prolly remember when he showed up anyhow. it musta been thirty odd years or so. i do remember he showed up leadin a mule packed with none much but a few satchels a what looked mostly fulla books, a cardboard travelin case, and a shotgun. he had one good eye but he looked like it ain't seen much a the same. and that girl. lord amighty that girl. she was some kinda somethin. he looked near abouts forty years her senior but with a fella like that it's hard to tell if it's calendar years yer lookin at or if it's the way life's done treated him. i reckon that fella had seen a thing or two he'd rather have commenced to forgettin. never knew how he got hitched up with a young thing like her but like my grandaddy always said: that's one a them questions you don't ask your acquaintances outta respect and it ain't a question you ask a stranger cause it ain't none a your business. around here... everbody's one or the other.
she musta been averse to age cause i don't think she looked a day older at her funeral. oh we all went. didn't know them two well even then but it's just common courtesy to show yer face. pay your respects. they went ahead and buried her in the churchyard even though i don't remember seein neither of em in church one single sunday in all their years in town. i ain't sayin they weren't christian. just seemed their way a doin things. kept to themselves. stayed on that farm a theirs. saw him in town from time to time. never said much. never stayed long. got the necessaries and moved on.
hthere was once we had what might be considered a conversation. i remember we made our pleasantries whilst waitin on that boy from the feed store to get back from an errand but we left it at that. after near abouts what seemed like all durn afternoon i was about to leave and by way of common courtesy said i weren't gonna wait all day - c'aint just walk away leavin a man standin alone without sayin somethin - and as i was set to step off a the porch he comes out with "until the day when god will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words: wait and hope." i turned round and stared. saw some kinda glimmer pass across his eyes til he looked down all silly grin cross his face. we all knew he was somethin of a literary man so i s'posed it was some line or other from one a his books and thought about askin as much but there was a somethin about the way he leant on that porch post, somethin about the way the sunlight hit that still smirkin face below that hat pulled down low, that one good eye sparklin, that i remembered my grandaddy sayin: that's one a them questions you don't ask your acquaintances outta respect and it ain't a question you ask a stranger cause it ain't none a your business. and like i say: round here... everbody's one or the other. so i walked off. leavin him waitin. leavin him hopin.
she musta been averse to age cause i don't think she looked a day older at her funeral. oh we all went. didn't know them two well even then but it's just common courtesy to show yer face. pay your respects. they went ahead and buried her in the churchyard even though i don't remember seein neither of em in church one single sunday in all their years in town. i ain't sayin they weren't christian. just seemed their way a doin things. kept to themselves. stayed on that farm a theirs. saw him in town from time to time. never said much. never stayed long. got the necessaries and moved on.
hthere was once we had what might be considered a conversation. i remember we made our pleasantries whilst waitin on that boy from the feed store to get back from an errand but we left it at that. after near abouts what seemed like all durn afternoon i was about to leave and by way of common courtesy said i weren't gonna wait all day - c'aint just walk away leavin a man standin alone without sayin somethin - and as i was set to step off a the porch he comes out with "until the day when god will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words: wait and hope." i turned round and stared. saw some kinda glimmer pass across his eyes til he looked down all silly grin cross his face. we all knew he was somethin of a literary man so i s'posed it was some line or other from one a his books and thought about askin as much but there was a somethin about the way he leant on that porch post, somethin about the way the sunlight hit that still smirkin face below that hat pulled down low, that one good eye sparklin, that i remembered my grandaddy sayin: that's one a them questions you don't ask your acquaintances outta respect and it ain't a question you ask a stranger cause it ain't none a your business. and like i say: round here... everbody's one or the other. so i walked off. leavin him waitin. leavin him hopin.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Have You Ever Felt The Feel Of Status?
the thing is... i'm near to certain you ain't gonna understand. but i s'pose i gotta tell you. or i should tell you. or i might as well tell you. At the very least.
it ain't so much that it were a different time - it was to be sure - but what it is at the heart of not understanding has less to do with a historical shift in perspective and more to do with the simple fact that a story changes over time. hell, when a story is actually happening it ain't even a story. it's just an "is," a some kinda thing simply going on. the story of it don't come 'til later. the story of it usually shows up on the doorstep right about the time it becomes necessary to actually understand just what it was that happened. sorta like the science you learn in grade school: you learn that your body needs to breathe in order to survive but that don't mean that the first breath you ever took was sitting in some school desk staring at the blackboard. sure it's easy to conflate the act of breathing with science proper, but not knowing how your lungs work don't make them do so any less.
hell, now i'm talking in circles - an easy fix to get yourself in when you get to be in my position. but like i say, the story and the thing are two different things entirely, and, in this particular case, so much so you ain't likely to understand much if any of it. but you're here. listening. and i'm already set to talking so i might as well keep on.
they say the best place to start is at the beginning though some would contend that the just before ain't bad neither. right before the stranger shows up in town, when all is still right with the world, but as i got no stranger to talk about as such i s'pose i'll start somewhere between the eleventh and twelfth shot he fired straight into that animal's skull. it was the twelfth what finally done it so i reckon that the important one. the one that counts.
______
i have read the diary of Jerimiah Edward Macintosh nearly every evening for the last seven weeks, and each time i begin again with the hope that i will glean some new... something, some previously hidden fact, a deeper insight into who he was. but while it always feels as if i am reading it with fresh eyes, i have as of yet not been able to walk away with anything more concrete than i did on my first reading. the simple story plainly understood. not simple but rather... innate. it's almost as if i were breathing his words. automatically. necessary. unnoticed. i, of course, will return again this evening, though i expect little in the way of revelation. though, as always, some small part of me clings to the possibility.
it ain't so much that it were a different time - it was to be sure - but what it is at the heart of not understanding has less to do with a historical shift in perspective and more to do with the simple fact that a story changes over time. hell, when a story is actually happening it ain't even a story. it's just an "is," a some kinda thing simply going on. the story of it don't come 'til later. the story of it usually shows up on the doorstep right about the time it becomes necessary to actually understand just what it was that happened. sorta like the science you learn in grade school: you learn that your body needs to breathe in order to survive but that don't mean that the first breath you ever took was sitting in some school desk staring at the blackboard. sure it's easy to conflate the act of breathing with science proper, but not knowing how your lungs work don't make them do so any less.
hell, now i'm talking in circles - an easy fix to get yourself in when you get to be in my position. but like i say, the story and the thing are two different things entirely, and, in this particular case, so much so you ain't likely to understand much if any of it. but you're here. listening. and i'm already set to talking so i might as well keep on.
they say the best place to start is at the beginning though some would contend that the just before ain't bad neither. right before the stranger shows up in town, when all is still right with the world, but as i got no stranger to talk about as such i s'pose i'll start somewhere between the eleventh and twelfth shot he fired straight into that animal's skull. it was the twelfth what finally done it so i reckon that the important one. the one that counts.
______
i have read the diary of Jerimiah Edward Macintosh nearly every evening for the last seven weeks, and each time i begin again with the hope that i will glean some new... something, some previously hidden fact, a deeper insight into who he was. but while it always feels as if i am reading it with fresh eyes, i have as of yet not been able to walk away with anything more concrete than i did on my first reading. the simple story plainly understood. not simple but rather... innate. it's almost as if i were breathing his words. automatically. necessary. unnoticed. i, of course, will return again this evening, though i expect little in the way of revelation. though, as always, some small part of me clings to the possibility.
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