Thursday, July 26, 2007

Ratatouille Gratis-ouille.

I can't stay up too long here.. but sometimes you gotta catch a feeling before it leaves you,
particularly with writing as I can see it.. as i can see it.
My head's just the teeniest bit achey, only like you needa lay your head down in a quiet room
in some nice covers.. that tyoe thing.. overstimulation..
though I'm listening to some of that Sufjan Stevens. Honestly I don't usually know what I'm going to say here.. and if i start out with a plan sometimes,, some word or phrase I think sounds nice, sometimes you just have to abandon it. I said on a post i deleted, that a person has different voices they use at different times. It is so, I believe, with this and many other things.
I usually run off feelings you know. The day before yesterday I was riding through Mississippi all involved in the life you know. Peeked into a cornfield, but also kind of ensconced in thinking about this young man in Memphis who passed away, though I never met him personally.
Kind of ensconced in .. a kind of feeling like.. man.. like live.. like live boldly.. like live deeply and truly as honestly and honest to the self as possible. Be most present in this reality in your living, as you possibly can. Sit deep and wide in yourself. Hold on.
..child.. and all those inbetween inbetwixt places..
I wrote some stuff on the way back from Mississippi.. those fields.. that highway ..thats the path of my life.. i been riding up and down that highway since the beginning of this life I know. And those fields, corn, cotton, .. i have never picked but I have seen.. i have seen the wash of green rows and dry dirt sweeping past you with the flicking frame of an old movie. as you go speeding by .. home away from home. place
I think I get called to places. You know maybe we all do. I won't ostracize myself. I won't say I'm the only. one. And I won't fear.
And sometimes you get taken over until a feeling leaves you.
I'm not sure if I should stay quiet here. And sometimes you are wracked. Say it say it.
Sometimes the words must be spoken.
I wonder if people remember you when you are gone. I think they do.. it is in their bones.. your imprint.. the space you have washed upon their lives, be it sand, wind, or stone. stones across stone, the white of bone.
I think it is so.. and with the death of a young person.. with the death of a young person..
where are they.. where do they go.. they reside everywhere..
and who remembers you.. its interesting you know..
and can we claim each other through death? can we claim each other and still know that we hold on tight. we hold on tight.
i had a cousin once, or i have a cousin who i barely remember.. he passed a way when i was quite young and when i think back all i have is a vague vague memory.. like a picture but like feathered over, the memory of a face i see in others i love now.
and he passed away strangely not unlike this young man that passed away.. when speaking about it with my mother.. you have to say things.. you have to say it.. or the remembrances will pass away.. the stories will pass away into..they will still be there with you.. but
i had been thinking about it all day long. and wondering why it would not leave me, the feeling of this person I had never met.. i mean i didn't know..
this young manwas, had been a freshman at morehouse college in atlanta.. he passed away in a car crash this past weekend..
and then while discussing this my mother later that evening, she told me about my cousin who passed away almost some twenty years ago in a crash too.. i knew he'd passed away in a crash, but he too had been a freshman at morehouse in atlanta, which i didn't know.
i need to go to sleep, but as people who are called to carry the stories, folklorists, writers, singers, sculptors, historians. and all the real time takes off of that- umm graphic artists.. photographers, cinematographers, mixed media artists . be they the stories of our lives or the stories of our dreams.. not like there is a huge difference between the two at a base level..
as .. that.. as them.. as us.. man .. the stories will find.. they'll be seeking you even when you don't know why and you'll be seeking them even when you can't even call a word to name it.
So in the name of Memory and Rememory and all the things we cannot say with the words to speak always
but have a feeling, to carve out with hearts waiting on an open air,
I carve these names

Garnett Lee Henning

David Boyd Jr.


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