this might need to be covered with salt, and i hope it's to seal it, not close it. those are different things. there is a difference between a spell and a work, and i can't talk about that. there are too many secrets here, too visible on the surface of things, that anyone who knows the signs and knows how to work with salt and skin can decipher clearly. it's not been coded carefully enough, and the ends are all left untied. biology is messy, and there's never any good way around the mess unless you decide not to live in a body, and i promised the angels that surrounded me when i was singing in the crib that i would never make such a decision.
i know that it's a story that could end, and it could already be ended, closed and sealed and wrapped, and found years later when our feet are no longer making marks in the dirt right here. and i know that it's a story that could unfold, and decode itself like secret numbers in the air, that only we get to see, numbers that hold the secrets to some distant sunrise that only we'll know. but i also know that it's a story, it's already a story, and i like this story very much.
it has all the things i like, furtive glances, cold fingers that are shaking, mango, cream, and hot spice, and a thousand ingredients from a place with a thousand revolutions, charms and works and a beautiful girl with a sharp mind and an agile tongue, and the ghosts of fireflies from fields somewhere on the east coast. and a conversation that starts somewhere in september and keeps winding itself through all the branches of days in between then and now.
that's the foreground. in the background there are sea monsters, family members who are physically and mentally sick, dogs that get lost in the other world, lovers who try to come back, and a recurring theme with dead owls.
and there are destinies that are shifting and taking radical new turns in all of this, subways in new york city and stage lights and projections that we're still not sure of, because we don't know if they really work or not.
and i talk to the stars, one who is given to projecting and projection, and having come out of a long period of mourning for the things that i cannot see, and doubt for the things i can. having recently come to my senses, rocked awake by the ghosts of another world back to my senses, i see these curious threads that are open on the ground at my feet, and understand some things.
i wish i could give away the ending, but i don't know anything about the ending, all i know is what i've known all along, that this is something that i want. i was given a chance, to lose everything i no longer needed, and to sit empty in a room and wait for something to happen, and i didn't think anything would happen, i found myself in the room, and i didn't think anything would happen.
and it didn't matter that my faith was somewhere else, a circle opened and i was asked to say out loud all the things that i was looking for in someone i would meet, someone i would want to know, someone who could turn me inside out and make me lose my footing. and i didn't know a name, but i knew there had to be something about being capable of falling to pieces and capable of being put back together. and i didn't know a place of origin, but i had ideas, i know what i like, and i know what languages make me want to forget how to sleep. and i didn't know a voice, and i didn't know anything about the voice, but i had a feeling i would know it when i heard it, and when i heard it, it would wake me up the rest of the way.
and i was told that this was true, that this would come true, and that i wouldn't believe it, but it would be true, and i would keep doubting that it was true all while it was unfolding, but it would still be true, and that it didn't matter if i believed or not, because it was true, that it was outside of my control.
and i said, "oh," because i wanted them to think i heard them, and think i believed them, and i didn't. but i remembered what they said. so september came around and i had a feeling there was something important happening, and i wasn't sure i believed it, but by the next month i believed it, it had everything to do with the voice, and it stopped me short, and i said, "oh," and that.is why.the story.begins.with.an.O.
i know that it's a story that could end, and it could already be ended, closed and sealed and wrapped, and found years later when our feet are no longer making marks in the dirt right here. and i know that it's a story that could unfold, and decode itself like secret numbers in the air, that only we get to see, numbers that hold the secrets to some distant sunrise that only we'll know. but i also know that it's a story, it's already a story, and i like this story very much.
it has all the things i like, furtive glances, cold fingers that are shaking, mango, cream, and hot spice, and a thousand ingredients from a place with a thousand revolutions, charms and works and a beautiful girl with a sharp mind and an agile tongue, and the ghosts of fireflies from fields somewhere on the east coast. and a conversation that starts somewhere in september and keeps winding itself through all the branches of days in between then and now.
that's the foreground. in the background there are sea monsters, family members who are physically and mentally sick, dogs that get lost in the other world, lovers who try to come back, and a recurring theme with dead owls.
and there are destinies that are shifting and taking radical new turns in all of this, subways in new york city and stage lights and projections that we're still not sure of, because we don't know if they really work or not.
and i talk to the stars, one who is given to projecting and projection, and having come out of a long period of mourning for the things that i cannot see, and doubt for the things i can. having recently come to my senses, rocked awake by the ghosts of another world back to my senses, i see these curious threads that are open on the ground at my feet, and understand some things.
i wish i could give away the ending, but i don't know anything about the ending, all i know is what i've known all along, that this is something that i want. i was given a chance, to lose everything i no longer needed, and to sit empty in a room and wait for something to happen, and i didn't think anything would happen, i found myself in the room, and i didn't think anything would happen.
and it didn't matter that my faith was somewhere else, a circle opened and i was asked to say out loud all the things that i was looking for in someone i would meet, someone i would want to know, someone who could turn me inside out and make me lose my footing. and i didn't know a name, but i knew there had to be something about being capable of falling to pieces and capable of being put back together. and i didn't know a place of origin, but i had ideas, i know what i like, and i know what languages make me want to forget how to sleep. and i didn't know a voice, and i didn't know anything about the voice, but i had a feeling i would know it when i heard it, and when i heard it, it would wake me up the rest of the way.
and i was told that this was true, that this would come true, and that i wouldn't believe it, but it would be true, and i would keep doubting that it was true all while it was unfolding, but it would still be true, and that it didn't matter if i believed or not, because it was true, that it was outside of my control.
and i said, "oh," because i wanted them to think i heard them, and think i believed them, and i didn't. but i remembered what they said. so september came around and i had a feeling there was something important happening, and i wasn't sure i believed it, but by the next month i believed it, it had everything to do with the voice, and it stopped me short, and i said, "oh," and that.is why.the story.begins.with.an.O.
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