Way Back Machine Moment

Although, now that I think about it, this isn't really that far back. It just feels like a lifetime ago.

In October of 2004 I headed out for the getting to the interview in Victoria by the longest possible route trip.

I actually just re-enabled the archives at Random Gestures if you'd like to go back and read that, or any of the 8 million posts from the second incarnation of my online life - this being the third. Wow. Long time since I've been in blogger, it's a whole new world in there.

This is a bit off topic but bear with me for a sec cause I need to say it although it may not be understood by most of you. If me being here on the internet is going to lose me things in life - then maybe those things never should have been there in the first place. Being here, talking mostly to myself, talking to you, blowing off steam and working through these years - has kept me alive.

Alive in a way I never was before. It has given me reasons to fight; everything I have now; everything I continue to fight for; this life I continue to have because being here has allowed me to find out what I need to be fighting for. It has given me you - people I would fight for, people like I've never known before. It has shown me what I want, given me the strength to pursue the things I want and given more insight into myself and those I love than anything (I think) ever possibly could have.

It stays. For better or worse it is too important for me to give up. It is an integral part of who I am.

er. So....

Anyways, along the way after having arrived in Vancouver the night before, since I had so much time, I wrote a little short post (on paper no less) while in one of the ferry line-ups.

It was never published. I just found it today.

I actually tried to go back through my emails between Matt and I to flesh it out a little as it was based purely on memory but after reading through about five of the million daily emails and mulling over once again what an incredible relationship we had and how much I loved him, I had to stop.

Anyways, here it is. So I can throw out just one more piece of paper.

---

After three and a half weeks of coming up with new and ever more creative ways of signing off on emails to M2 - it feels great to see him if only because the pressure is off.

He's much better at it then I and honestly it's mentally exhausting.

I quickly ran through the staples....

-*mwah*
-kissy wissy
-huggie wuggie
-snuggle wuggle
-xojxo

... and moved on to things like....

-a great big lick up the left side of your face
-sticking my tongue in your ear
-sending kisses in the vicinity of your crotch
-kissing your ankle cause your feet scare me

The last few days I've been resorting to things like....

oompa loompah
...and...
weebles wobble

... partially in the hopes he has no idea what I'm talking about and will just assume it's something cute and / or sexy.

Late last night I finally snapped and and wrote...

In 15 hours I'm just going to godamned well kiss you.

I woke up in the morning to....

HA! Not if I kiss you first.

---

He showed up late, as per usual, at the airport wearing a baseball hat, a dirty face, grubby hands, a pair of Yeti's old dirty jeans (which, trust me, were about five sizes too big) and a clean Ms. Betsy to chauffeur me around in.

He was one of the best things I've ever seen in my entire life.

I miss that kind of love. I don't regret it and I'm glad I had it, even if for only a moment. Even though it's gone.

For better or worse, nothing in my life and in my self will ever be the same.

i can hold you in my soul
and if I go
i’ll know

An Eternal Moment

Does it really matter if you remember it all, or not? Live a life and hold it so close to you, clenched fiercely in a fist close up to your heart and in the end, endlessly, it will still slip away.

The moment in the street, a day on an island, an afternoon in a coffeeshop, a moonlit beach and soft kisses, none of it, none of it, none of it.

How he loved his past in that moment and how he wanted it back. It would almost be worth it to live in a dream - to have those moments over and over. As long as it felt new each time, who cared?

We're creatures of destiny compelled by forces utterly beyond our control. To move his forefinger left rather than right was an enormous exertion against fate, too much to ask, it would be only water splashing uphill for a moment before falling back, relentlessly, effortlessly, into it's predestined place.

Fate is the path of least action.

But if you never know it is all recurrence then it only means you feel the loss, over and over and over and over again.

But he had loved his life, he knew he had, the bad and the good and the neutral - he wanted to keep it forever, all of it, to observe it from some eternal beach and perhaps step back into it - a moment here, a moment there, walking beneath a streetlight, a bare branch, falling snow, listening to a voice by the the coals of a fire, thoses kisses, those moments of being when all the past seemed in him and alive, suffusing the moment and the only moment with a feeling - with every feeling, all at once.

Does it really matter if you remember it all, or not? Live a life and hold it so close to you, clenched fiercely in a fist close up to your heart and in the end, endlessly, it will still slip away.

Play It Again, Sam

I've been thinking about this one lately. I think because I wrote it during a winter week in Calgary that felt more like fall evenings in Victoria.

Like what being outside feels like right now. Like what missing the city a little feels like.

Secrets
When you get right down to the heart of it, every city is the same. Even the sounds are equal across continents.

But each place has it's very own brand of silence.

The breath of the trees, the whisperings of brick, the scrutiny of the streetlights.

That electric, suspended calm before the first raindrop of a summer storm falls, the quiet that is a soft curtain woven through beads of rain strung from clouds.

The sound of frost on windows.

Of autumn leaves changing color.

The turning of a snowflake that does not fall with it's own weight but as an accent to the currents of air that wind their way between the buildings.

The changing face of the moon.

The sound of a city asleep, the silence that is constant and so constantly unheard by those who live there.

To know the silence of a place is to know it's soul. The ringing of the church bell is half the music, silence is the other half.

In a time of an inner autumn, when in returning from work I think October thoughts under grey winter clouds, I hear the city's silence and I know it's secrets.

For I think they are much like mine.

Hiding in a the stillness unspoken between the sounds. Crouched in a hesitation, existing unseen and unknowable. Just....right... there.


February, 2004