more than one way

  .mp3 --> "Evacuation Route" - Michelle Shocked

One of the most comforting things I ever experienced---did you experience this thing too?---was to be carried into the house from the back seat of the car, where I'd been sleeping, and up to my bed, directly, so's I wouldn't wake up fully. And I didn't, but I did wake up some. A delicious little bit. Don't know how many times I experienced that thing, but at least once. After dark, at the end of a long drive.

And there hadn't been a hurricane. When weather disaster struck us, we went to the basement, not the car.

Weather disaster, which strikes from outside in, can help out a family whose usual disasters strike the other way 'round.

I have reason to think that my father lied about weather disasters of his childhood. Not to anyone in the family. I had no indication of the stories at all until after he and my mother were both dead. It's a long story, but one I think of now and then. No one to talk to about it, really, who knew him, or us, really, or would care. Really.

Anyway, there's that song, if you want to listen. It has something about parents and children.

Funny how claiming the stories of what sucked in your childhood means you end up thinking less, speaking less, of the parts that didn't. However few and far between, however complicated. Friends and I talk so much of the fucked-up stuff. Me and all these survivors of the awareness of weirdness. We need to. So the other thing, optional, and a little reminiscent of delusion--- we speak of it, y'know, maybe not so much.

Then there's also the way that even the happy stories are sad, or at best bittersweet, when people are dead and gone.

Even as a child I realized that much of the joy of childhood is the absence of the pain of primal loss and the presence of a sort of "okay for now" suspension of disbelief. I wouldn't have put it that way, of course. If I could have put it at all. But I knew something about something I had.

We should tell each other more stories that harken back to innocence.

---

Came by the computer to write about Friday night. It was the first night of my get-away zip east-ish last weekend. ( I'll stick it behind here )

I don't know how coherent any of that is. I'm not caring. Sorry, dear. Bad steward of your readerly experience just now, what can I say.

I think I might be gonna make up some songs again soon. And they wouldn't be about that thing I was making songs up about for that last while.

This thing could be good.

more than one way

  .mp3 --> "Evacuation Route" - Michelle Shocked

One of the most comforting things I ever experienced---did you experience this thing too?---was to be carried into the house from the back seat of the car, where I'd been sleeping, and up to my bed, directly, so's I wouldn't wake up fully. And I didn't, but I did wake up some. A delicious little bit. Don't know how many times I experienced that thing, but at least once. After dark, at the end of a long drive.

And there hadn't been a hurricane. When weather disaster struck us, we went to the basement, not the car.

Weather disaster, which strikes from outside in, can help out a family whose usual disasters strike the other way 'round.

I have reason to think that my father lied about weather disasters of his childhood. Not to anyone in the family. I had no indication of the stories at all until after he and my mother were both dead. It's a long story, but one I think of now and then. No one to talk to about it, really, who knew him, or us, really, or would care. Really.

Anyway, there's that song, if you want to listen. It has something about parents and children.

Funny how claiming the stories of what sucked in your childhood means you end up thinking less, speaking less, of the parts that didn't. However few and far between, however complicated. Friends and I talk so much of the fucked-up stuff. Me and all these survivors of the awareness of weirdness. We need to. So the other thing, optional, and a little reminiscent of delusion--- we speak of it, y'know, maybe not so much.

Then there's also the way that even the happy stories are sad, or at best bittersweet, when people are dead and gone.

Even as a child I realized that much of the joy of childhood is the absence of the pain of primal loss and the presence of a sort of "okay for now" suspension of disbelief. I wouldn't have put it that way, of course. If I could have put it at all. But I knew something about something I had.

We should tell each other more stories that harken back to innocence.

---

Came by the computer to write about Friday night. It was the first night of my get-away zip east-ish last weekend. ( I'll stick it behind here )

I don't know how coherent any of that is. I'm not caring. Sorry, dear. Bad steward of your readerly experience just now, what can I say.

I think I might be gonna make up some songs again soon. And they wouldn't be about that thing I was making songs up about for that last while.

This thing could be good.