He was in my dreams again last night. Dreams of returning, coming back with the swell of the sea. There he lingers, on the rooftops of my memories, hanging on in a subconscious I stubbornly dismiss. There are only nighttime journeys under our feet. He makes paper cranes of my delusions and gently rocks me, on park benches, under stars. We run through places we’ve never been together, hotels and beaches and Paris, auditoriums for our moonlit reunions. We speak as if there’s nothing to be forgiven. I never lost you, you were always here. Night makes space for us, in her knowing sympathy. She elongates Time, and sits us in her stomach. All the forgotten things, reborn in my uncharacteristically restful slumber. I wake with the rain.
As to when I shall visit civilization, it will not be soon, I think. I have not tired of the wilderness; rather I enjoy its beauty and the vagrant life I lead, more keenly all the time. I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities. Do you blame me for staying here, where I feel that I belong and am one with the world around me? It is true that I miss intelligent companionship, but there are so few with whom I can share the things that mean so much to me that I have learned to contain myself. It is enough that I am surrounded with beauty…
…I have known too much of the depths of life already, and I would prefer anything to an anticlimax.
Everett Ruess, 1934
…We can blow on our thumbs and posture,
But the lonely is such delicate things.
The wind from a wasp could blow them
Into the sea
With stones on their feet
Lost to the light and the loving we need.
Still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness
In your heart and it’s growing.
The Shins, A Comet Appears
Sights seen and promptly dismissed with an apathetic eye;
We became participants in the forgetting experience//the forgetting of experiences…
We lost the longing for the man who sits behind us–
meticulously rolling cigarettes across the aisle, back and forth with the rocking of gravel, knocking shut an Altoid tin, getting off on Hennepin and Lake
We disappear under layers of makeup and mid-winter mud caked on our coats, shuffling past filled seats
We’re lost, frantically scanning bus maps
We’re reading romance novels on our iPads, husking out the pieces of chocolate from candy wrappers
We’re the little girl in the back, choreographing our hands on top of imprinted stories pushes against the glass
We’re ink on jeans
We’re fragranced with the fever of 9-5
Given life by the dusty shine of billboards and ice
We stockpile boredom and bile,
All this in a coagulation, through the dull churning of mundanities.
“Listen–I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass…I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time, and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. …I believe that life is a game, life is a cruel joke and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.”
~Neil Gaiman, American Gods