What archives are for

I blog because there’s a monster inside me, and he rips apart my insides.

I blog because I’ve got to let the air out.

I blog because sometimes I whisper in your ear as we lay together quietly in the mornings, and you’ve not yet awoken, and so I go unheard.

I blog because the sun is shining and I just look at it out the window.

I blog because I’m not an organ stop.

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Flipping through the archives, remind me of those hot summer days and the way the cicadas made their thunder in the grass, of the tears and the sweat, all salty, mingled together and the palms that couldn’t seperate, like Shakespeare. Remind me of the words I spoke, and those writ, and what that all meant to me at the time; the world was coming to an end and I sailed off the edge of the map, and I remembered Sisyphus, and I called him uplifting. Theo responds, “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

Sometimes I do both.

Remind me of the thunderstorms in Boulder, punctual little beasts of an hour’s length, i’ve just stopped in to make love to the mountains, and then i’ll be on my way, and how the sun shone after like it was preening, as if we’d never seen it before, like a child with a shiny new bike; and I wonder what the view is like above the clouds, now moving east past the peaks.

Remind me of how I got here, and why. And somehow everything seems so clear now, as though the veil were lifted and my purpose laid bare to the universe, nackt vor der Welt. As though I’ve waited for this, culmination of all the wishes I’ve ever made on stars (a thousand stars over a thousand nights), and now I’m lost in them. If they ever wished on me, I grant the stars their dreams.

Remind me that life is here and now and good.

Remind me that this has always been true;

that it always will be.