Bookends — February, 2010
I know some think me a fribble,
and what I do, fribble.
But between my book ends are stories,
and I will continue putting stories there.
One bookend: my birth
The other: my death
I don't know how many stories will fit;
I don't want to know.
But I will make them just the same.
Sky
Mountains
Rivers
Canyons
Forests
Plains
Places near
Places far
Family
Friends
Lovers
Acquaintances
Bystanders
Witnesses
The innocent
The guilty
Me
You
We
Us
Them
Comedy
Adventure
Erotica
Romance
Tragedy
Drama
Documentary
Embellishment
Hyperbole
A poem or two
Perhaps a lyric,
an aubade
Smiles
Giggles
Painful belly laughter,
and a sore jaw
Certainty
Fear
And something in between
Do you think she knows she makes me more nervous than my adventures do?
Principle
Ideology
Contradiction
Maturity
Childishness
If that's what we label wonder and awe
If that's what we label playful
Speaking of which,
Playful
Serious
Violent
Serene
My stories wander wide,
as wide as my curiosity.
My stories are neither coherent, nor linear.
They are continuous discovery, in action.
They are not reckless; believe me.
I'm too scared (or sane) for reckless.
So if you think me fribble,
think on this:
Your bookends may span wide,
But your stories remain sparse.
Your stories may sound like theirs do.
Your triumphs and your tragedies might read like all the others.
WE ALL DIE!
Whatsoever you save between your bookends is by your own design.
You sit nowhere but at the end of each and every one of your previous decisions.
Think about that.
Think about it some more.
Will your next decision write something wonderful?
Or will it write something mundane?
Will it write your wishes,
your dreams,
or someone else's?
And don't think your stories are written for you.
We all have our frailties.
We all have our insecurities.
We have all made mistakes.
Would you like to hear about some of mine?
I've been broken.
I've been broke.
I've broken hearts.
My heart's been broken.
I've lied.
I've lost.
I've walked past opportunities
because I was too stupid to see the signs.
Did you ever think "Fuck! I should have kissed her last night?"?
I have.
Maybe there'll be another chance.
Maybe not.
But I won't stop making stories because of the uncertainty;
The uncertainty urges me around the corner.
That tickle in my belly is uncertainty.
I hope it will last.
Maybe that other bookend comes tomorrow.
I hope not.
But it could happen.
And that's largely why I don't feel fribble today.
~ topher