Sunday, June 15, 2014

June 15, 2014





June 15, 2014

Time is just like a dream.  Loving you is a world that is strange.  Who knows if it is real, or both dreaming of.  Seemed to be a new day now, but it can be a beginning of a love.   The oddness of my feelings, as it is now, is like a wisp of a dream I had last night.  I can’t recall all of it, but I believe I woke up with a feeling of bitterness.  When I go to an image of you on Facebook, it is always a fleeting feeling.  Perhaps due that you only have images of flowers and pets on your page, but once in a while someone posts an image of you.  I should have captured it, because you eventually took it off your page.  Loving you made my whole life change.  Loving you, I could not grow old.  On the other hand, my memory of you exists, and therefore maybe you never existed.



I lived my life in countless comic strips.  Thomas the Engine took me to places that I could only dream about, but alas, even then I realized it was just an illusion.  As I got older, I went on adventures with "Corto Maltese," and eventually ended up in Siberia and the Salt Sea.  When Maltese realized he had no fate line on the palm of his hand, he carved his own with his father’s razor, determining that his fate was his to choose. A pirate’s wit is a young boy’s fantasy of a better world, yet, if I remember correctly, you were devoted to “Teena.” I had to get a book at The Secret Headquarters in Silver Lake, to keep it as a memory of our disagreements.  “Teena” was perhaps the first teenager in the comic strips, and yet, we were much older than that, and yet we bonded with fictional characters, that occasionally we forgot that they didn’t exist.  In our world, it was a precious one, where we had to balance our desires equally, yet owing to our temperament, we fought for our heroes quite dramatically.



You often treated me like I was a Harry Langdon character, a man who you felt was childlike, even an innocent who is wondering into a dark forest by himself.  Yet, I was devoted to Johnny Hallyday and Harry Nilsson, both artists that were easy to be misunderstood.   I often think of the Nilsson line “Well, in 1941, the happy father had a son And in 1944, the father walked right out the door.” Well, that’s the way it was.  You had an obsession with Waylon Jennings, due to him being handsome, yet, I think the only recording of his that I like is “MacArthur Park.” I remember how shocked I was, that you never heard his recording of that song.  At this time, I realize the distance between us.  Spring was never there waiting for us.  It seemed it was just the fall and winter.  I have a clear memory of your yellow cotton dress on the ground around your knees.  That’s my lasting memory of you.



Sometimes the memory is too painful.  I remembered when I was in elementary school, and we had a festival on the premise.  They built booths and brought a ferris wheel on the school grounds.  I didn’t think I could take it.  It’s the only memory I have of that you were you were not part of.  Lash LaRue, a cowboy star of my youth made an appearance, and with two quarters you could buy his 8x11” black and white photo with his name stamped on the image.   At the time, I was so excited. It was almost if he took his whip out and did a presentation of some sort.  A friend of mine who was there, told me that this didn’t happen.  He was truly there, but all he had with him were a dark suit and a black cowboy hat.  Even that, my images of my past life are fading into a world of my own making.


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