A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || December 23, 2007 || 4:42 am

I can’t think for all the thoughts

Here is what I like about being sideways:

It makes the shotgun blast of thoughts

Unify into a slower, brighter channel

Where I can hang onto something,

Savor it and play with that




, and then lovingly let it go while simultaneously receiving the next.

Tonight someone said something about “…too much wine…” and I wanted to exclaim, in mock-surprise, “There is such a thing?!” I didn’t, though, because I remembered an incident with a Chardonnay some years back and my jaw locked involuntarily.

I hate surreptitious moments of remembrance that bounce up and clobber me. I have enough going on with my present without throwing analytical perspective(s) on my past into the mix.

There is this picture of me, my cousins Eric, Randy, Danny and in the center of us all is my much-older cousin Suze, kneeling and holding my then-infant sister. We are all knee-deep in plants; this is the patch of garden toward the edge where my memaw’s sunflowers grew. Suze was a teenager then and the rest of us range from three to justbarelysix. The boys are all wearing plaid slacks and pastel shirts with enormous collars. Suze is in an a-line minidress, soft yellow, and white kneesocks. I am wearing a crisp blue shirtwaist dress and frilly socks tucked into mary janes.

Everyone –even the baby– save for me is staring into the camera’s lens, squinting against the sun. I have my chin tucked and am looking down and away, my hands folded under the round face and I look like I’m somewhere else entirely. I have a look on my face that is far too pensive to be worn by a three-year old; it is startling to see it seated below a thick shelf of gleaming bangs, surrounded by long, innocent locks.

Eric did two back-to-backs in the military and is now a junkie, Randy is one of those Bikers For Christ types, Danny is dead, Suze is someone we hardly know anymore due to her mental state and my sister, well…she’s my sister and that’s the furthest we’ll go with that here.

Sometimes I sit and stare at that Easter Sunday photograph, marveling. I wonder how it is that I got from there to here with no more dings than I actually possess.

The other day I was pulling out of the gym parking lot and I was caught unawares by a sudden, overwhelming bout of missing my father. I don’t know where it came from; there was no real trigger for it really and I am no nostalgic fool where he is concerned. I’ve not missed him like that since I was about twelve. We talk every couple of years or so and (sadly but truly) my father has been relegated to the lofty position of Biological Factoid and not much more. I’ve been turning that occurrence over and over in my head since then, seriously perplexed by its suddenness, its ferocity and the unexpected way it arrived, unbidden. Missing my father, hmmm.

I thought by this stage in the game I would have gotten a handle on the way my brain works. You know, be able to categorize and manage its activities. However, things seem to be shaking out at cross-purposes to that. It’s becoming clearer to me that the more I experience, the more I learn, the more busy and complex what goes on in my head becomes. Things just keep stacking up and stacking up in there; they are precarious, overbalanced stacks with a rally race going on around them pretty much twenty-four/seven. When I eventually die, I think it will be more from sheer exhaustion than anything else. My tombstone will read, “The grey matter won, y’all.”

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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