Shoutout

My friend Kelly has asked me to write a blog entry about her. This is an interesting proposition in two respects; one, I've never been asked to write a blog about someone before, and two, I didn't really realize anyone actually read it. Apparently, the Facebook link isn't just for show. And to think, I'd been close to just letting this whole thing stagnate. Hell, I think I had to blow dust off the URL just to get it started.

But-here's the thing-I'm not really sure what to write about Kelly. Sure, I could just mash out a list extolling her praises, but that would sound too much like an eHarmony application ("Kelly enjoys musicals and long afternoons on the beach. Her smile can light up a room like a spotlight (which is all true, except for maybe the beach part. that's a college educated guess.)). I could put her into a fictional story, but that might not come out right ("Kelly stopped next to the fire-escape and leaned against the wall, her chest heaving. She had lost the killer...for now, at least."). So, instead what I think I'm going to do is use Kelly's request as a starting point, a place to dive into the sea dark water.

Basically, I'm going to write a blog about writing a blog about Kelly, and whatever else comes to my mind.

I had a miniature pecan pie today. It was really quite adorable, actually; it was covered with little tiny crushed pecans, little dollops of filling, a delicate flaky crust. It even came with a little mini pie pan. This pie would not look out of place on the minuscule dinner table of a family of talking mice, all coming together after a long day to bask in the familial warmth of the dinner table, their whiskers all a-quiver as the stern yet loving father mouse begins to cut the pie with a Lilliputian dessert knife and slowly lower a slice onto each and every plate. And maybe they could be immigrant mice. Yeah, that'd be cool too. Of course, the downside was that I had to spend 10 minutes eating something that wouldn't look out of place at a 5 year old's tea party. But still, it was totally worth it.

Could I put Kelly into a screenplay? No, no, that wouldn't work. Too many camera angles, and we'd NEVER have anytime to shoot it.

What we lack in this country is an acceptance of inevitability. That is, we don't realize that there are paths and branches to goals that we don't want to consider. We want to eat all we want and not get fat; we want to fight a war and have nobody die; we want to prolong the extinguishment of our lives for as long as we possibly can. Inevitability is an overarching motif in the universe; it is as natural as the grass we walk on or the water we drink. We must learn to accept it again, that we must exercise and eat right to avoid the chains of flesh, that people will die in wars and yes, some of them will be our boys, that no matter how long we try and prevent it, death finally unites us all. If we don't, we'll find ourselves all sitting in chairs ad infinitum, waiting for things we never started to miraculously happen. That's not something I want. That's not something anyone wants.

My dad is exasperating me. I don't think he understands my needs for nice razors. There are a few things in life that I believe in investing in. Razors are one (pretty high up there, really. Above the stock market, but below fancy dark-washed jeans). If I'm going to be dragging a sharp piece of metal across my face, I want to be damn sure that it's made by people who know what there doing, and not assembled in some back-asswards factory out of scrap metal and used sporks. My dad does not share this view. He is a student of the "Go to a large chain department store and by the cheapest knock-off brand name I-can't-believe-it's-not-banned-by-the-FDA shit in as large amounts as you can." This applies to razors. I have a drawer full of them from Kmart in my bathroom that, when I shave, literally feel like having the rusty end pieces of an Erector set dragged across my chin. Luckily, though, I convinced him to buy two nice reusable razors when we went to the store today (he almost sprung for the two-blade matte black plastic 70's holdover, but I talked him into a nice Gillete). And there was much rejoicing amongst the skin of my face.

I know! I'll write her a poem. Nothing too long, just something short and unedited. Here's a poem for you Kelly. If you don't like it, you can disown it, and if you do, you can keep it.

I walked into a spider web
Today, full of dew like crystal chain-mail strung
Between dusk-orange leaves, and watched as it settled lazily across
My shoulder.
I wanted to stay there, to let my feet take root and
Burrow deep into the mouth of the earth, to stretch my arms
Wide enough to string the web between them in cloud-lengths,
To catch in the spaces whispered smiles and brushed-off tears and
Two hands, each one running fingers through the creases
In the other's palm.

I can weave it again, spider.
Just give me a point to grasp on to; just give me something
As beautiful as your thread wet with blinking ice in the morning
And I will weave you something to catch the whole world in.

Congratulations, Kelly. You've just been involved in a metanarrative, and you've gotten me to start writing again. Preeeetty good job :)

I just want to dance in your tangles
To give me some reason to move