Sunday, March 06, 2011

Here

There’s something about walking outside into all this dark sky, up ahead the stars why is it in this direction that I see them more, something about the street lights and then I’m on Cerrillos the cars speeding by really speeding, do they always go this fast? This time of night: across the street and into the railyard, this park that I love with all its textures and sculpted desert, the lights and shadows, my nighttime walk up towards the train tracks where there’s something jumping across, a raccoon or a cat or a skunk, are there skunks here?

All these dead things in the park, grasses and bushes and vines and that’s the way people leave things here, the beauty of the shapes and I’m guessing when summer comes around these shapes will change, something will grow, keep growing, but I’m not sure exactly what. Like this prickly tree bush thing almost a cactus in the white-blue light, I haven’t noticed this one before, did someone trim it back? Always something else to notice, that’s what I like about my walks, the sky and the stars and the light and dark of the buildings and I’m at the end of the park, turning the corner and something jumps out I almost scream I mean I do kind of scream and jump back and it’s just some guy coming out of the restaurant after his shift, I laugh and try to apologize by saying that I was thinking about this raccoon that I saw earlier, but then I just sound stupider or more uncomfortable and I keep walking, around the corner, back across the tracks where there’s no one, no one tonight except that one guy, funny how I got so surprised because I was somewhere in my thoughts in the park in the night sky and this is when it’s all truly what I want, strange because inside my apartment I could be thinking about how isolated I feel, how it’s hard not to have any sexual opportunities at all, no sex life, how I need the density of some urban environment but there’s nowhere I can go very easily, maybe Albuquerque, I’ll go there, just to see, I mean on the train for a few hours here and there, and then I start to wonder where I’ll go when I leave, will Montréal be next, when will that be, not for a while I know, but still I’m already thinking about it, wondering where I’ll go, will it be a few years, how long can I handle all this dryness, maybe I’ll feel better a year from now, before I leave on my book tour, right now I don’t feel better at all but it’s only been four months, I need to give myself at least a year, right?

All of this in my head in my house, and then I step outside, and even though the air isn’t entirely fresh because of the fireplaces, even though I have to walk through an ugly motel parking lot and across a hideous street to get to the park it all seems so beautiful, even when it’s not beautiful, and that’s when I’m here, truly here and I wonder how I could live without this here, no how I can live now, in these moments, how I can live these moments, these moments of here, here. When loneliness expands into safety and emptiness and most importantly openness, yes that’s what I’m feeling, what I want, this expansion out of exhaustion out of crushed desire out of heartbreak out of overwhelm out of helplessness out of hopelessness out of out of out of out of strength of some sort, holding me holding me here.

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