i wanted to go out there yesterday, right in the middle of it all.
i had chores to do and did them, but when i saw the perfect snowstorm parking spot, i decided to tuck it in and give it up for the day.
wait a second – i have to go to the glossary of mind and memory;
28 – Response – A specific behavior that an individual exhibits.
when it began to snow yesterday, my initial response was to take the old sled down from the shelf way-high in the store, but i was too lazy to get the twelve-foot ladder.
there, i used it in a sentence.
i’m not sure if there’s a difference between response and reaction. they intersect somewhere on the behavioral dancefloor, i’m sure of it. for most of my life i feel that i’ve been a reactive human animal rather than a responsive one (and least of all a responsible one). whatever.
the slightest bit of shame to me.
that’s a marked improvement from the self-loathing i would bathe in whenever moments of reflection would spark such an unkind response in my heart of hearts.
there, i used it in another sentence.
but i digress. this is about snow and images and sanctuary.
ok, i just added sanctuary.
the light pole (above) is one of many that the wind makes into chimes. apparently, the strong breezes force the metal pole to bend against its base, causing it to sing in its bell-like hollowness. there is a mournful peacefulness in the large expanse of untrodden snow that overwhelms the urban me.
i wanted to go to the old hangar after the fresh snow but first, of course, the obligatory maxx pic in a field of white;
i would sidle into the big room, hugging the huge, sliding doors that no longer slide, careful to check above for falling ceiling planks that constitute the remains of the roof.
i would stand silently and wait to document such a moment and when it would happen i would justmissit with my camera.
i’m not too good at waiting, anyway.
i’m a short-attention-span american, but that’s another story.
i would like to say that i have been learning the art of patience from that eduardo ciannelli-sounding lizard guy who looks like omar sharif but the last time we spoke it was only for a moment.
he told me that there was nothing to read in my mind because it was always about the same thing and he was right.
i no longer cared about the grifting lizards’ dining habits. lately, i didn’t care how many madoffs they dined on and i couldn’t keep with the ayn rand lizard jokes.
my “center” is without a center.
i am an old, worn airplane hangar.
the air stands still inside this room.
when a plank drops from above, it’s a theater piece.
a line in a play.
an effect from a prop.
just one, not sure whether it’s the first or the last.