Friday, June 2, 2006

new leaves, or, there's always the time

I do believe I like to get my heart broken. Or, more likely, I have never really had my heart broken; and whatever I'm thinking of is little more than that gasping all-encompassing expansion of aforementioned slab of muscle that happens every time something just grabs me. And it happens often enough that I like it.

And there's another kind of pain, the kind I get when in the presence of real talent, that comes from realizing that this is what some people got straight from God. It's easy to believe in a God when there are people that write like this, letting the words roll seductively over you till every string in you resonates, yes, oh I feel that too.
And the ones who write of things you know not of, obscure references and esoteric extravagances. Who let all that they read (and they read so much!); and all that they see; and all that they listen to; permeate their consciousness until they slip little gems of thoughts and quotes into speech in passing, without thought, that lift every conversation from the mundane to the erudite. Ah, I want in.

Make me cry.
Can I not write like that?
Oh, away, foul envy.

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