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White sugar on my tongue and I wish there was snow on the ground....sparkling like the sugar on my tongue. Sleepwalking in a Victorian nightgown, barefoot. Wet leaves sticking to my feet, wind whipping my hair, blind eyes that are open, my hands are doing the seeing. Dancing in pink toe-shoes. I took ballet lessons when I was young but never progressed to toe shoes. How beautiful, the silky ribbons laced up past a delicate ankle. Looking through a kaleidoscope, shining it directly into bright light and watching the colored beads bloom and bleed into each other, creating unnaturally bright flowers and paisleys. A million cats curled around each other on a giant red bedspread. My grandmother and grandfather's graves, side by side, Lake Fork Cemetery. Haven't been home for more than a year. Has the scenery around their graves changed? I definetly wanted to be buried, not cremated, and is it just because of my family tradition or is it because I love the history of a cemetery and wanna make sure I become part of that history. This has suddenly become so morbid. Is it become I'm listening to "And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead." They play such noisy beauty. Just like Hum. Just like Sonic Youth. Why is it that noise like this relaxes me much better than anything Yani or Enya could ever do? Hard-wired in my head since 16. I associate dissonance (I hate it when I forget how to spell a word, it's shaming) with traveling on trains and buses, alone and half in and out of sleep. I feel so bittersweet right now. I feel like I was born with that feeling..clasping it in my tiny newborn hand like an emotional rattle. I remember seeing pictures of me when I was just a month or two. I'm laying on a counter and crying my head off as mom is either sponging me off or changing my diaper. I look so long and thin and almost bluish, but my face is so red from crying. Those pictures make me sad because I'm still as fragile at 34 as I was at 2 months and I can't believe I haven't progessed beyond the child state. I mean, I know I have. I'm just being completely melo-dramatic right now, but sometimes I really feel that I am still that crying baby, that cross-eyed toddler with sticky red lips from a cherry sucker, that gangly giraffe-like 13 year old opening Christmas gifts in an ugly yellow sweatshirt, that same 17 year old with too much purple eyeshadow on. But I'm also that same geeky 8 year old making funny faces at the camera on Thanksgiving day, many pies in the foreground. I'm still that 11 year-old writing in her diary, only I'm not writing about God and Saints, but instead sex and sin (ha ha..SIN! It makes me laugh) and drunkeness. I'm still that 20 year old red-head with the bobbed hair, making exaggerated and mocking faces at the Thanksgiving table..not looking so geeky this time, though I still had those huge 1988 glasses, my first serious boyfriend also in that picture, his own glasses as large as mine. His somber expression as he is being passed the potatoes, I always make fun of him in that picture. Never has a man had such a square jaw, jesus. This Trail of Dead song sounds exactly like a song New Order SHOULD have done. I always hated New Order. THis is REALLY all over the place, like Virginia Woolf, but not nearly as good as "To The Lighthouse."
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Oh, I"ll post that poem I wrote last week in another entry...go read it!
