Archive for time

A rant about time

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on May 17, 2014 by themanwiththecowboyboots

Twenty-five days ago, twenty-five days to the hour, I wrapped my hands around her wrists, and looked intently in her eyes, and spoke to her the only words that came to mind

“You are stupid for thinking The Shawshank Redemption is overrated”

And she looked slyly in my eyes and said with that voice that always gave me butterflies that she thinks my taste in movies was as stupid as my taste in clothes

And I moved closer to her face and told her that it was better than my taste in women

And she moved closer to my face and before she could speak I gave her a kiss

 

But twenty-five days move by so fast

One more quickly than the last

And today for the first time in twenty-five days

I had a problem remembering her face

 

Now all the memories of the past

In a single picture congregate

All stories told, all questions asked

Meet in the aspect of her face

 

And I if I could not remember her face

What does that say about the memories we had?

 

It’s like a manifestation of a universal complication, a temporal cosmic malfunction, a hellish creation of a hellish function, dictated that all the forces of Earth and Hell act in combination in one magnificent gesture to break our pride

And it did break our pride

 

Because the realization dawned upon us that we are just heaping sacks of flesh a group of atoms governed by cellular equations, helpless, shriveled and in an instant broken like brittle limbs and maimed like words scribbled on old pieces of parchment.

 

And the old parchment couldn’t keep us intact as the pencil marks faded into obscurity

And eulogies replaced the love poems

And tear stains replaced the stains of lipstick

And the picture of her face was replaced with a scribbly haze.

 

She is dead, because time unravels all of our embroidery, and it does not care if it was elegant or not, because time has no taste for artistic flair.

And trust me, I’ve appealed to the moderators of time, sent them requests by snail mail and prayers, and they have left me on hold listening to some stupid automated voice telling me to be patient my child, help will be right with you, and some cheesy music with cheesy lyrics about being saved, when all I wanted to do was to be dead.

Because it’s not my fault that time is an ill-run bureaucracy, and I’m pretty sure that it’s not her fault either. And a wise man once told me that life’s unfair, but I think that it’s pretty damn fair.

Because life does not care about your skin color, or the color of your hair, or who you sleep with, or who your father knows:

Life is an asshole to everyone

 

I remember she had a small blemish on her hand, and I could feel it with my finger every time I held her hand

And late at night when the lights were off and I couldn’t see, I could always be sure that it was her next to me, because every time I took hold of her hand the blemish was always there

 

But at the funeral the blemish was still there and sadly, very sadly, I did not care

 

And I do not care, if time is on a mission to take me down or if that’s just the way it is; I do not care, if other people have died before, or if this is a part of life; and I DO NOT CARE about the American Psychological Association or how it chooses to qualify disorders,

 

because if order was so freaking good, then why does the universe tend towards disorder

and if love was so damn good, then why do people die?

 

Way before I fell in love with her, I saw her crying in the soccer field, and I gave her a hug and wiped her tearful cheek, and later that night she gave me a phone call and we talked for three and a half hours,

 

and I made fun of her, because she spent her summer junior year taking pictures of birds, and I thought that this was super nerdy, but I secretly wanted to have been there with her, because she made birds sound so interesting, but I would never tell her that

 

and she made fun of me for thinking Batman is better than Superman, but I know she secretly agreed with me because he’s fucking Batman and the girl I loved was crazy, not stupid

 

But if time, that old tyrant, sees us not as his children, but as the guests in his bed and breakfast, then why did he make us think he loved us in the first place?

Why give us that complimentary bottle of champagne and an upgrade to the honeymoon suite if he in fact meant to later give us separate rooms and evict one of us before the other

And why would time teach us how to paint if it meant to burn all of our paintings later on I do not understand

 

Today, I do not know the face that twenty-five days ago I held between both hands and pressed on tightly from both directions saying “You’re the most beautiful piece of silly putty I’ve ever seen,” as my friends rolled their eyes in disgust and called me a creep

 

And yesterday I knew that face, but yesterday I cried my eyes out again for the twenty fourth day in a row and today I am yet to shed a tear

 

I’m starting to wonder if forgetting is time’s way of sending me complimentary beer

 

 

Advertisements

T(h)yme

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on April 19, 2014 by themanwiththecowboyboots

 

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme

 

Two of us in the garden, holding hands, singing and believing that we are eternal

We are eternal

Like dark spots in the ether that makes you remember your slumber

We are eternal

 

Parsley and sage

There are thirty one days this month and two of them are devoted to you and three of them are mine, and together we may spend a week but I will never forget to bring my calendar because we may be eternal, but we are not as eternal as we could be

 

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

 

I could look deeply in your eyes today, and see a reflection of myself, staring back in time, staring, because it takes light some time to travel, staring from the past, I know if I blink it will take my reflections nanoseconds to blink, I know if I disappear, my reflection will linger a little longer

 

The greenness of our youth, dissipated,broken apart, like the shallow rivers as the stones disrupt the peaceful slumbers

 

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme 

are now darker, drier more shriveled, and you are somewhat older

 

 

We were once eternal, like a tree or a shrub, and then we were uprooted and then life took us by surprise and we were no longer

 

Now we are two children of a jar, like herbs whose only essence is reminiscent of yesterday

 

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

 

But if I could pick a moment, one moment, between the big bang and the heat death of the universe, one moment, only one of countless others, only one, I would pick ours, because there are twenty four hours a day, but only ours matter

 

And the monk who keeps the garden, would count the ears of corn, and he would not go to sleep, until his ears are counted

He shouldn’t have left his bed

 

And we would watch peacefully, from afar, and in that moment we would find that we are in sync, even if we never were, even if we have different perceptions of time, even if mine was a calendar and yours was a leaf of parsley, sage and rosemary

 

And we would read the newspaper and stand in the city square and solve our multiplication tables

And we would wait, and we would wait, until we are forgotten

Once Upon a Time

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on March 3, 2014 by themanwiththecowboyboots

Once upon a time I’m told

You were more fair and far less old

And I was brave

And I fear’d not

To hold your hand

And it was not such a frightful process

 

Now time, I’m told

Bends heads and makes people do

What they might resent

And it breaks the greatest of men

 

Time, I’ve heard,

Can make you do things you thought you might not

And this time, I’m gonna give this time thing a try

I’m gonna hold you closer to me less fearfully

And wait

And wait until out hearts beat synchronously

And defy

This world

 

Because time has shaped you, but I refuse

To be shaped again

And time has broken me

But I am still composed of the same sameness that always spread itself still throughout me

 

And a timeless scream

And a plethora of words

Will only serve to make us kneel

further

and

further

Until the sand between our knees

Needs not an introduction

And I may be broken but you

Will find a way to piece me together

And this, my love, this is our life

And so the story ends

%d bloggers like this: