When you see me making a wish, do you try to guess what I am wishing?
Well, I wish you wouldn't. Because then you would know that behind that penerating gaze is a shell--thin as a veil and empty as hell.
Catching floating flowers and releasing them on bonds payable next to never; crossing locomotive tracks with a singe stride; a candle on a cake; an eyelash.
Today--what remains of it--the memory of a week and sixty years comes and goes in a flash and the bang of a atomic bomb's mushroom cloud flattening a city and burdening a generation with the evils of their lords and mighty ones; warmongers and Presidents.
This week, I've been listening to the Technology Podcasts of Clark Boyd, BBC in Boston. This week, I've been listening to the accounts of the survivors, the memories that have only in this day and age surfaced. The memories interpreted are like my own. They are now my own.
I live very close to Japantown. In fact, I pass it everyday. Twice.
If I wished a wish, it would be never to hear a word said in anger again. Never to have a word said in anger laid in a fertile mind whereby only hurt and pain would grow. Never to have an idea of hate escalate into violence.
To those who have looked and found nothing new in this space, I apologize. I know what it feels like. I've been visiting stagnating blogs myself. Erch.
But I've also been busying myself with a new original song that I've been composing. An old one. Wrote it in 1999 in CDO. "Mercy me, is that a skyscraper I see lying on the ground?..."
You'll hear it soon enough.
3 comments:
the first few lines reminds me of something off the book a light in the attic.
I walked in the new Hiroshima. Saw its beautiful new buildings of silver stone with redwood accents. The streets, clean and smooth. The gardens, green, rimmed with a sky full of perfectly shapped clouds. Hiroshima Castle beamed against the summer sky, so white, an echo of the traditional. Still, that too was new. Of course it all was, everything was new! Nothing older than 50 something years appeared.
Was I stuck in an illusion?...If I was then it broke when I came upon the Atomic Bomb Dome, scarred and pink, like raw skin, its skeletal structure of a building that survived, if that's what you would call it. I stayed. I could see now the newness...a beautiful elaborate tattoo painted over a deep scar.
'stagnating blogs'? you'd better be referring to some other blogs you... grrr...
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