Re: “What do I ‘see’ in the clouds…

In all those wisps of grey scale shadow and too-bright sun…well, I guess it just depends on how you look at it. If you are a lonesome-ish woman prone to whimsy and wistful…well, everything…faces and eyes and tails made of smoke…I see everything.

Other people may just see clouds, and that – my friends – is perfectly alright. The point I have finally come to make is that…well, fuck it…there just might not be a point. There may be not one single stupid point in all of it…and even if there were a point to be found…as I so fervently hoped in my days of hoping for some universalist reason to split the sky open and drench all of our humdrum demands in an acid bath of rainy sense…well…

I spent the past two weeks involuntarily committed. I didn’t argue, because sometimes arguing just makes things worse. Sometimes standing up for yourself just makes it easier for people to knock you off balance.

I believe what I saw was simply a mish-mash of everything that our two fundamental lines can draw…

/ and )

…toss them together on a big enough canvas and stare long enough and eventually even the godless will see God. The old man at the con-venience store believes that I am worthy of his holiest and most open smile…he clasps my hands between his own and I feel peaceful and I hope the words he says are kind. I don’t understand them. Nor he mine…

We just smile and nod…’God?’ ‘Good?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Okay’

I am just a woman trying to find my headphones so I can finish working on a song that I wrote with a stranger, who then – in all likelihood – stole my headphones. It was, I am thinking, probably a fair trade. He left his backpack…maybe he’ll come back around…if not, maybe I can trade his raincoat for some headphones.

Trying to find my footing so that next time I find myself falling, I will be unable to catch myself and somebody will be held accountable for my bruises and sadness.

I heard the children come ‘Home’ – their father’s house…near next door…I am not to see them without supervision by Child Protective Service authorities…I don’t really understand how it all came about…all I did was tell the truth. Folks don’t care much for truth, do they? Complicates things, huh?

I have a lot to scan in…more brilliant surrealism…more explanation on topics that nobody seems interested in…”You try to explain too much.”

Well, what else can I do? I’m an explainer.

If nothing else, it is a record for my kids regarding how, exactly, their childhoods came to be written in the way they are being written. I haven’t felt sad most of the day…I am excited to start looking for overnight jobs in group homes and assisted living facilities. It is work I enjoy. The old folks and diagnosables and forgottens…well, they’ve always been fond of me…and I them…

But, I feel a little sad now…and so I am going to go sit outside and try to find some syncopation of rain falling from un-guttered edges…

Is there really anything to say?

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