Sullen Sunday

Sullen Sunday Oct 8.06
Such a beautiful day today it'd be a shame not to spend it outside. I pick up a pack of American Spirits and a bottled water from the corner store. Standing outside are a couple of harmonious singer's. A black man missing several of his front teeth, apparently blind, and a white lady with her eye's closed, chubby, rotund. Singing an unfamiliar song but doing it really well. I wanted to give them money and sit and listen to them but I didn't for some reason, probably not a creditable one, probably was concerned with how other's would think of me. Silly social concerns like that will stop me from living spontaneously and joyfully. Not even a block down I see a father kneeling to his daughter pointing into a store window where there are figures of a red devil and skeleton done in the Mexican style of lacquered paper mache with their arms around each other. Subconsciously I make the distinction between these two figures and the couple of blind singer's I just pasted and I look back again at them, still singing, looking so out of the norm and uncaring, enjoying what they do, without concern. I find great relief in them. I walk a little further and stop to lite a cigarette and put on my Ipod, Labradford album. I turn into a small graveyard and walk through to the other side and make a left out. A small cemetery. Wonder what lives were lead here in these bodies laid to rest? Soldiers? Missing husbands? Housewives died of old age, lonely? Nobody ever comes to visit you do they? Only passer bye's like me walking to another destination. I come across two of Greg and Katherine's German friends and stop to say hello. Continue walking deciding to go ways I'd never gone before in attempts to see all the hidden pathways that make Old Philadelphia so unique. They're at every turn. Leaves rake under my feet. Green moss fill the cracks between uneven cobbelstone. I decide to sit down in the courtyard of the first White House and there are people site seeing all around, couple's walking with hands clutching, families, and a Asian girl whose on her phone now. I remember her from earlier this morning when I was up in my apartment reading some of my old writings. I looked out the window and saw her stop and take a photograph in my direction, of the building I live in. I wonder if she'll look at that picture and see me on the third floor window looking at her? Strange how I saw her here. But I set it up that way. I wanted to see her again when I saw her take that photo, I followed her with my eyes, willing subconsciously to run into her somewhere and there she was walking past me with her phone on her ear and me with my Ipod in mine. Only in the unphysical dimension of imagination and stories will we know each other?
Just between the physical reality there is undoubtedly other realities that await eyes to see them. More tangible in a way than this plastic seemingly fake reality where societal infections of behavior hinder us from acting out on our desire's and feelings. The tree's know this about us, that's why they've kept quite for all time. They just got fed up quicker I guess? Didn't see the point in continuing to try and live the lie. They commune in that other world beyond surfaces. How does nature do that? Exist so purely and eternal, where their presence is always beautifu and knowingl.



When I get too close to the source there is a wall of self-destruction there waiting. There is a time of love and devotion and out pouring creativity and enthusiasm and almost getting to see her face and know her presence, but then just like bumping into a brick wall I fall back. Not this time though. I'm talking to you about it. I don't want to loose you so I'm going to hold on, hang in. I've smelled your breathe and I know you are the one, the reason for me to exist in this world. To create you and show you without loosing you, without cheating on you, or mistreating you. You know I would never do that to you don't you? You have to know you mean more to me than anything physical eventhough I am a depraved man needing of desire and skin pleasure that pass and come back in psyciological phases that I've yet to be able to control. Do you forgive me for those times? You live there too do you? Sometimes I think you live all over me. In every part of me, body and being. That's what I like about you, you make yourself available.