Fragility

I like watching Kung Fu movies. You focus heavily on the humanity and movements of one character while everyone else-excepting a few skilled oppositional characters-are just pawns to be broken. I watched Kill Bill and thought about death, how such a nuanced art form of heavily complex movement yields to one (or one hundred) player’s immobility. A simple moment, tempered steel through a heart, leads to everlasting darkness. Stillness. Nothing. After the dance is over, all is done.

I digress. If you don’t fight in a karate movie, you live in the real world. You decay everyday. Many people do so purposefully, drink and drugs and sluggish lifestyles, as if moving slower or being less aware will keep death at bay. Maybe the huddled masses don’t think about their end. I wouldn’t know how to ask them. I just see death at all ends and find some sadness utterly senseless, sticking to you like burrs after a walk in the woods. My mind wanders but it’s all the same.

I want to go walk in the woods. In the fall, with leaves crunching underfoot. The fall is death that leads to life. Nature’s bed time, leaving only the evergreen insomniacs to watch over the rest of the forest. I want to feel the chill of fall and get lost in the trees, follow a creek for a mile then sit on a rock and watch the water carve ceaselessly all around it. I want to be water. Freezing and thawing, moving south to warmth then south to the cold again. To be a single drop and an entire ocean, to feel the life of fish wriggling through me, moving along their own chain and web. To feel the unknown depths, the mysterious contents along the crusts of the earth while reverberating the songs of lost whales against the hum of all the ocean’s freighters. Ahhh, to be water. To be all and everything, the known and the unknown. If I were water, I’d be the blood in your veins and the raindrops on foreheads. Creator of canyons, glacial companion, melted but never destroyed, burnt off to fall elsewhere. Water is life, water is earth. I want to be like water. 

Expulsion

I am a firm believer in the fact that the world has never been better than it is now, yet I’m jealous of older ages for a few large reasons. Mainly the fact that every book, movie and album I’ve ever loved is digital, immaterial, and easily lost. I’ll never have a shelf to pull nostalgia from to share, to say “this is what I listened to at this forgotten major point of my minor life”. I have to rack my mind and dredge out the innumerable old things worth to sieve out what’s worth remembering. The digital age gives a myriad of information but forces us to ask the question; what’s really worth remembering?

-Maxwell