it's 901 p.m.
and this house is well lit
if you were to walk into it, you'd say 'it's got a nice feel'
picture frames clutter living room walls,
just like you'd want your childhood house to look
it's 902 p.m.
and this house is full of furniture
and ghosts
it's 903 pm
and my mind fatigues with memory
you see for most people, there's a healthy difference between
denotation and connotation
but my cigars are never just cigars
and my childhood living room so easily becomes quicksand
granules of what was
And i wonder how my mother lives in this dessert sand trap
day after day after day
904 pm
TV. it's mounted to the wall. when they remodeled the living room, the construction people told my parents it wouldn't be an easy task to mount that sucker, but he insisted. He had a vision, and he stuck to it. it works like a fucking charm.
905 pm
terrible horrible painting of sunflowers on a table with a table cloth. i told them i HATED it when they bought it. it's nice he said, your mother likes it. we're buying it.
906 pm
Chairs. But not specifically the chairs, though they housed nearly every family dinner i ever ate. What was on the legs of the chairs. What was on the legs of the chairs that stopped them from "scratching that hard wood floor."
i don't think anyone under the age of 25 can appreciate hard wood floor, but i also think we all get to that point.
he drives a minivan, and treats the floors like his mercedes.
907 pm
carpet. carpets house each xmas, greek easter, family
on that carpet is where i'd film the last video footage of him.
it was happy. it was real. it was weird. it was how it was.
908 pm
Double-seater chair. That's where i was sitting when he got the call. when he got the call that the first person i'd ever loved was gone. where i, for the first time, found out that death is like turning a war on mute. it is the only action with no sound, no consequence, no "after."
909 pm
i put my hands on these items and they crumble to dust. and i wonder how anyone else can see these things as objects and not as holding cells of tiny parts of my life i didn't take the time to enjoy until i'd one day be able to call them "memories" instead of upholstery.
910 pm
and i want none of these things
i want him back here.
in this room.
watching HIS tv. sitting in his chair. complaining about his hardwood floor that has a carpet tying the whole room together...
just about the most mundane scene you can think of -- but now, just to have that back even for a minute, that'd be heaven to me.
i know there's nothing. i know it's mute.
but it doesn't stop me from desperately trying to remember a melody to a song i've never even heard.
and this house is well lit
if you were to walk into it, you'd say 'it's got a nice feel'
picture frames clutter living room walls,
just like you'd want your childhood house to look
it's 902 p.m.
and this house is full of furniture
and ghosts
it's 903 pm
and my mind fatigues with memory
you see for most people, there's a healthy difference between
denotation and connotation
but my cigars are never just cigars
and my childhood living room so easily becomes quicksand
granules of what was
And i wonder how my mother lives in this dessert sand trap
day after day after day
904 pm
TV. it's mounted to the wall. when they remodeled the living room, the construction people told my parents it wouldn't be an easy task to mount that sucker, but he insisted. He had a vision, and he stuck to it. it works like a fucking charm.
905 pm
terrible horrible painting of sunflowers on a table with a table cloth. i told them i HATED it when they bought it. it's nice he said, your mother likes it. we're buying it.
906 pm
Chairs. But not specifically the chairs, though they housed nearly every family dinner i ever ate. What was on the legs of the chairs. What was on the legs of the chairs that stopped them from "scratching that hard wood floor."
i don't think anyone under the age of 25 can appreciate hard wood floor, but i also think we all get to that point.
he drives a minivan, and treats the floors like his mercedes.
907 pm
carpet. carpets house each xmas, greek easter, family
on that carpet is where i'd film the last video footage of him.
it was happy. it was real. it was weird. it was how it was.
908 pm
Double-seater chair. That's where i was sitting when he got the call. when he got the call that the first person i'd ever loved was gone. where i, for the first time, found out that death is like turning a war on mute. it is the only action with no sound, no consequence, no "after."
909 pm
i put my hands on these items and they crumble to dust. and i wonder how anyone else can see these things as objects and not as holding cells of tiny parts of my life i didn't take the time to enjoy until i'd one day be able to call them "memories" instead of upholstery.
910 pm
and i want none of these things
i want him back here.
in this room.
watching HIS tv. sitting in his chair. complaining about his hardwood floor that has a carpet tying the whole room together...
just about the most mundane scene you can think of -- but now, just to have that back even for a minute, that'd be heaven to me.
i know there's nothing. i know it's mute.
but it doesn't stop me from desperately trying to remember a melody to a song i've never even heard.
