Blue Eyes…

January 8, 2010

That was a good book… more pictures than words… (Remembering Sinatra)

Which isn’t true, but it’s the pictures you remember, the words are there too, but they make more of the impression on me that most people expect words to have, and those words, well, they were more of vague, ideas… stories, without lines, without edges…

anyway…

Frank Sinatra’s dead… and I never knew how despicable his life really was.

z’Funny… I’m sitting here, and my computer’s not connecting to the internet, and for a long time tonight, I felt like I couldn’t write anything, because… well, I wouldn’t be able to share it.

Silly, huh?

Only kinda…

Well, I’m supposed to work tomorrow, I slept quite a bit yesterday, and read all through the night, almost…

Now I’m sitting here, after not having slept much today, any really…

and trying to pull the same stunt…

I think it’ll come through… just might take a few tugs…

I asked once, if anyone knew how long the average human could go without sleep before they died…

My sister quickly pointed out the utter morbidity implied by such a question… I hadn’t noticed… but she was right… and I found it kinda funny after that.

Anyway, it’s been kind of a semi-joke, ever since.

Useful to have such things laying around, when you want to tell a story, or make a point, you can just pick up a little narrative like that and swing it around, or scribble something out with it…

bang it into something, or chuck it at a door.  But only if you’re in the same room with someone.  Only if they’re sitting at that table, and can see you pick it up, and know what it is you’re waving around.

The more stories you’ve got, the more intriguing your rants can be…

But, I’ve seen the art go both ways…  good and bad…

Some people have nothing but stories, and they’re a bore… un-useful.

It’s the people who have life behind the stories… not only real life, but a life in the head… a mind that says, “now this isn’t just something that happened once, it’s something that -boy did it ever make me think… or, man, it’s just dripping with the kinda stuff that yanks a guy’s feet out from underneath him, and makes him look up and start asking questions… ”

I’ve gotta get me some of those stories, I told myself… but those stories aren’t got, they’re given…

I just gotta keep living, I guess.

Find some guys that are as good at telling stories as they are at living them, and call it good… for now.

I’m gonna be one of those guys some day…

Sits down on a park bench and can just roll out a little bit of a long life, and make it mean something worthwhile to a nobody-yet.

I can’t smoke… I just can’t… but if I could get that raspy voice, and that squint that comes from the kind of trouble that always seems to be framed in smoke… without smoking, I’d sure take it.

More useful things laying around to take the place of mere, lifeless words…

See, a story’s made of words, but it’s so much more… a story’s a mirror to life, and life can’t help but be truth… Truth is valuable… and words by themselves can only get you so close…

Stories… stories ARE truth… or at least contain it.

And by stories, I’m talking, the kind of accounts you hear all the time when you spend an afternoon in a nursing home, or when you’re on the bus with a guy who’s seen the world, from different hemispheres, different decades, different occupations, different convictions… and has the fortune of remembering enough on a chance afternoon, to slip a few out of his pocket and slide them across the table for you to take a peek at.

I remember my dad telling my brother and I a story of a time when he rolled his car off into a ditch, going pretty fast… at the time he first told it, I realize now, I didn’t give it much of a thought, or care…

But thinking about it now, after having been reminded once or twice… I’ve come to value, and treasure those little glimpses of his story… I wonder how far back it could go…

I could give a glimpse of a glimpse my dad had of a glimpse his had, of a glimpse his grandfather had of HIS dad’s story… and that’d be nearly back around the mid 1700’s… imagine!

Telling stories and caring enough to sit up and take note… not only for your own sake, but for the sake of every eventual member of that line.

Cuz truth is useful… valuable… indespensible.

So, to sit here, silently, not only without sound, but without words or thoughts shared or stored away somewhere, but simply hoarded, Just because they couldn’t soonly be shared? how absurd, and yet… that’s exactly the path my mind wandered down… and so naturally.

My legs are tired now, and I can tell that if I set this aside, and close my eyes to sleep, I will, but I just know it’ll be a sleep full of dreams, I can feel it… it’s just one of those things…

Like, when your mom’s sitting in the light-lit hallway between the dark, girl’s and boy’s rooms, on a summer’s night… and reads that opening sentence to that thin book she’s holding in her hand… when the shampoo and soap smell mixed in the towel beneath your cheek floods your nose, and your mind, and apparently your memory too.  Anyway, with those few words, that tell you “A story is coming… here… it… is:”

Just by that, you know that the words that will follow are bound to evoke vivid, life-reflecting pictures in the mind… of something you’ve most likely never seen.  But it’s something that exists… not necessarily to say “this is what happened.” But to reach deeper into meaning and expression, and say this… is a glimpse into the never-changing truth.

Tell the stories… see the truth… soak in the relevance… pour out the wisdom… use the tools, see the art… thank the Maker.

My internet’s still broken…

and I still feel that, at present, unquenchable desire, to share these words with someone… with many someone’s perhaps…

Alas, I shall do as I said earlier I could… and that is, to set this aside, and close my eyes… I might keep ahold of my dreams long enough to share them with you, before they dissolve into daylight.

We shall see, and time will tell.
Until then…

Fare thee
Very well.

-MAC <>< = )

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One Response to “Blue Eyes…”


  1. your pictures have been shared. at least once.

    Lisa


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