Friday, April 29, 2016
Keep Talking: #90 Swimming Pool
Keep Talking: #90 Swimming Pool: There is a lot of intimacy which takes place in and around a swimming pool. There are years and years of memories which add up like an easy ...
#90 Swimming Pool
There is a lot of intimacy which takes place in and around a swimming pool. There are years and years of memories which add up like an easy math equation without powers, fractions and decimals. Memory: It's easily blue and clear. The light will hit the surface in a memorable way which will imprint happiness in your reptilian brain: all children get excited about a pool. It can be the shittiest pool on earth and kids will love it. Twenty five years after that vacation to the Jersey Shore where your parents couldn't afford a hotel room or a condo rental you and your four siblings slept on the floor of a motel room the size of two double beds and all you could dream about was getting up in the morning and jumping into the pool. Like being in the best cartoon you could imagine being in you can transform yourself as soon as you submerge your head. Everything is blue quiet and slow. Holding your breath for this purpose is an an amazing experience to add to your life. Diving, somersaulting and hardstanding underwater all serve a fantastic function because it is the first time you will understand that you defy gravity. You will always wish you have gills and can breathe underwater.
Always. That will never change.
When you look across the pool and see a large man belly flop dive into the pool followed by two small boys who have the same exact dive and the same smaller version of his body you know they have entered the realm of memory. They look like a school of fish following each other around and they will create this pattern for generations to come. Weird diving belly first with feet kicking into the air. They should all break their necks but they don't. This species has an awkward style of survival. They splash each other and dunk. The smallest one climbs the metal ladder and runs on the concrete leaving a trail of wet footprints. Splatting his way around the pool to grab a giant orange noodle. His swim trunks creep down his backside and his tiny six pack is heaving to grab more air, refueling his lungs before getting right back in.
Splatting wet every which way with snot running out of his nose and a huge grin on his face.
There is another dad with his son between his legs. He is carefully teaching him how to tie the knot around the waist of his swim trunks. They peer down together. Quietly and carefully. Patiently. This boy will remember how patient his dad was: not exactly, but it will remain stored in his heart whenever he sees a swimming pool the remainder of his life. Absolutely, he will.
A mom hates getting her suit on and when she does she hates getting into water that is less than perfect bathtub temperature. Her daughter begs her to get into the pool.
"Mom, you never swim with me!"
Mom eases herself slowly down the cobalt tile steps. You know exactly what this looks like: she is sucking in her stomach and holding her bent elbows parallel to the surface inching her way in to not get cold too quickly. Pretending she has control.
"Brrrrrrrrr!"
"Just get in! You'll get used to it!"
And like the little whale she believes she is she dives in and breaches like her mom did 10,000 years ago. Sneaking below the surface she grabs her daughter who squeals with laughter and sweet joy. Wrapping her legs around her waist she becomes light as a feather. Her daughter holds her big mom afloat on the surface of the pool. Holding her and balancing her as the sun caresses her face.
This will be inside them forever and ever.
Always. That will never change.
When you look across the pool and see a large man belly flop dive into the pool followed by two small boys who have the same exact dive and the same smaller version of his body you know they have entered the realm of memory. They look like a school of fish following each other around and they will create this pattern for generations to come. Weird diving belly first with feet kicking into the air. They should all break their necks but they don't. This species has an awkward style of survival. They splash each other and dunk. The smallest one climbs the metal ladder and runs on the concrete leaving a trail of wet footprints. Splatting his way around the pool to grab a giant orange noodle. His swim trunks creep down his backside and his tiny six pack is heaving to grab more air, refueling his lungs before getting right back in.
Splatting wet every which way with snot running out of his nose and a huge grin on his face.
There is another dad with his son between his legs. He is carefully teaching him how to tie the knot around the waist of his swim trunks. They peer down together. Quietly and carefully. Patiently. This boy will remember how patient his dad was: not exactly, but it will remain stored in his heart whenever he sees a swimming pool the remainder of his life. Absolutely, he will.
A mom hates getting her suit on and when she does she hates getting into water that is less than perfect bathtub temperature. Her daughter begs her to get into the pool.
"Mom, you never swim with me!"
Mom eases herself slowly down the cobalt tile steps. You know exactly what this looks like: she is sucking in her stomach and holding her bent elbows parallel to the surface inching her way in to not get cold too quickly. Pretending she has control.
"Brrrrrrrrr!"
"Just get in! You'll get used to it!"
And like the little whale she believes she is she dives in and breaches like her mom did 10,000 years ago. Sneaking below the surface she grabs her daughter who squeals with laughter and sweet joy. Wrapping her legs around her waist she becomes light as a feather. Her daughter holds her big mom afloat on the surface of the pool. Holding her and balancing her as the sun caresses her face.
This will be inside them forever and ever.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Keep Talking: #89 Boat Tethered To Dock
Keep Talking: #89 Boat Tethered To Dock: I am a wooden boat. I never realized this before. I am a row boat not a canoe. The water is rough and the dock is white. I am tethered to th...
#89 Boat Tethered To Dock
I am a wooden boat. I never realized this before. I am a row boat not a canoe. The water is rough and the dock is white. I am tethered to the dock by a thick rope and the waves swell and knock me into the slip and around and around and I bob up and down. I am not seasick, but might be. For the moment I am settling in to my slip yet know it isn't possible to stay here.
I didn't even notice this before, but it is here.
Docked and tethered.
My paint is peeling and I am not leaking. Water isn't coming into me and I don't show signs of sinking even though I am uncomfortable swaying. Up and down; back and forth. I guess it is time to get on and go for a ride.
It's getting dark as the sun sets. The light is lovely on my bow and stern. Not sure which is front or back.
My oars are missing and I know there is a way to locate them. Absolutely. No problem.
There are two life vests: one for each of us.
The rope is attached to the dock and it isn't yet possible to untie the knot that keeps me tethered.
I'm not ready to leave. I'll stay here for now and watch the tide come in.
I didn't even notice this before, but it is here.
Docked and tethered.
My paint is peeling and I am not leaking. Water isn't coming into me and I don't show signs of sinking even though I am uncomfortable swaying. Up and down; back and forth. I guess it is time to get on and go for a ride.
It's getting dark as the sun sets. The light is lovely on my bow and stern. Not sure which is front or back.
My oars are missing and I know there is a way to locate them. Absolutely. No problem.
There are two life vests: one for each of us.
The rope is attached to the dock and it isn't yet possible to untie the knot that keeps me tethered.
I'm not ready to leave. I'll stay here for now and watch the tide come in.
Friday, April 8, 2016
Keep Talking: #88 Is There An Algorithm For This?
Keep Talking: #88 Is There An Algorithm For This?: There you are on the street. I was sure I passed your building. I knew I would not see you. I fucking passed your building. I did. Ther...
#88 Is There An Algorithm For This?
There you are on the street. I was sure I passed your building. I knew I would not see you.
I fucking passed your building.
I did.
There is a homeless man who is hoisting a large duffle bag onto his back. He is deep black and his bare calves are yelling fantastic muscles. He is dirty and raw. Wearing shorts on a cold day. He is wearing a t-shirt and has purpose.
WE both walk past him.
I see you.
There is no one else on the sidewalk except
US
57th street in the early afternoon.
You avert your gaze to
Him
His excellence
The homeless man is very very very
important.
That is the algorithm.
That's what works.
Your face is soft and I remember love
I know you are no longer soft.
You are mean
Spa Castle is a great place to contract germs and maybe relax on the rooftop on 57th Street in a hot tub meant for 1: 104 degrees Fahrenheit. I look up at the buildings and the cavernous important real estate. Bubbles are pulsating against my back and it there are dark windows in every direction.
Hundreds of dark windows.
I see a lit room and a tiny person in green scrubs inside next to a floor lamp. There is a hand on his hip and I don't know what he is doing and I wonder if he can see me, us , on the roof sitting in a steaming bubbling tub of hot water.
Boiling over.
I fucking passed your building.
I did.
There is a homeless man who is hoisting a large duffle bag onto his back. He is deep black and his bare calves are yelling fantastic muscles. He is dirty and raw. Wearing shorts on a cold day. He is wearing a t-shirt and has purpose.
WE both walk past him.
I see you.
There is no one else on the sidewalk except
US
57th street in the early afternoon.
You avert your gaze to
Him
His excellence
The homeless man is very very very
important.
That is the algorithm.
That's what works.
Your face is soft and I remember love
I know you are no longer soft.
You are mean
Spa Castle is a great place to contract germs and maybe relax on the rooftop on 57th Street in a hot tub meant for 1: 104 degrees Fahrenheit. I look up at the buildings and the cavernous important real estate. Bubbles are pulsating against my back and it there are dark windows in every direction.
Hundreds of dark windows.
I see a lit room and a tiny person in green scrubs inside next to a floor lamp. There is a hand on his hip and I don't know what he is doing and I wonder if he can see me, us , on the roof sitting in a steaming bubbling tub of hot water.
Boiling over.
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