another anniversary passed that he didnt celebrate

he did however acknowledge it

bittersweet

remembrances he shared quietly  inside himself   thought them through thoroughlywiped a tear from his eye as one does when remembering thingsjoyous things  bygone

he didnt utter a word

and as all things that are passedthese in particular  when he was dead    they would die with him  their perspectives their stamped coins their etched glass  these memories couldnt be sifted out of his ash not melted metal not slag or beads of glass  nothing   nothing more than cold grey ash mixed with his cold grey ash

oddly he took comfort in that

that he and they were inseparable  coalesced  one

                                           and when handfuls of his ash were tossed into the air at the foot of the hill the old cemetery stood on at the confluence of two Bitterroot valleys and they swirled like fading woodsmoke

hed take his rightful place in the world as insignificantly as he was

it was an enormous world and universe and universes

there was no sense trying to parlay any worth amid its endless howling systems and circuits and eddies and devises

he was

he wasnt

he could acknowledge that

             

1222,  Sunday,  15  1. 17

of course the ad came up during the football game

though it seemed to him the Viagra girls were slipslipslipping(possibly into obscurity)

Man who the hells in charge of talentSTOP                                  

STOP!


his head got twisted around he suddenlywalked a mile in talents shoes                                                         

What the hell  Come onWHO

who among talent in their right mind wanted to be associated with the drug(it was collateral  it didnt achieve its assigned task)  who wanted to be associated with a drug that ratcheted up an erection in utter and in complete disregard of their aesthetic beauty their sex appeal and prowess

There was that  wasnt there? 

Talents not stupid  

1543,  Saturday,  14  1. 17

he liked to lay in bed at night  after they made love  or after they worked hours apart in separate rooms on their art and she finally finally conceded she was tired  then he would come to bed and rub her legs her back  he softly rubbed her butt telling her a story  shed quiet and he listened to her consciousness getup to leave and sleep scramble onto the bed relieving her of her day its mischief and skillfully effortlessly lay paint on her dreams

he heard everything in her breath

relationships respired too

he was convinced 

the breaths of relationships were their goodmornings their goodnights were found in their simple touches caresses gentle kisses sighed in their Iloveyou Imissyou

sometimes there were reasons why he couldnt hear their relation breathe 

separation was the most obvious

they used to write letters  breathe

they used to hold hands  breathless

they used to call to say goodnight when they were apart

they used to cheat surreptitiously send text while workingbreaking their work ethic tho satisfying their sudden pangs

it was wonderful to open a message and see I miss you something fierce I was thinking of you and forgot what I was supposed to be doing The sun doesnt warm me like you do You ran across my mind and left footprints

and it was awful when the texts became fewer  and   fewer

breaths fewer  and   fewer

he could hear its wheezing hear insincere breaths from up high in the chest  up high and far away from the heart

then he convinced himself otherwise

inveterate optimists are made that way

                             that way that It aint over until the fat lady sings

weemorninghours,  Saturday,  14  1. 17

Chicago  Rediscovery  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxfUzRh7E2o