I am trying to figure out what I mean when I say things like "This house is haunted as fuuuuuuuuck.". Which I have been doing every night, at this beautiful house with giant windows overlooking a gentle canyon. It doesn't feel like your typical haunted house. Whatever your typical haunted house feels like. Instead, it feels like the house I grew up in. It feels like there is a cocktail party going on one dimension over, and the socially awkward one of the bunch is sitting on the porch that happens to face your kitchen window, and they are watching you with a detached, happy sort of interest. It feels like the masks that cover these walls have spent so much time together that they've formed a Stitch and Bitch club, and you're the newcomer who brought banana bread that everybody else makes better. They're probably not whispering about you, but they are definitely whispering. Some houses are just haunted. Maybe not by ghosts, not by sad or angry remnants of hum...
Popular posts from this blog
Portland, how I love thee...
One of the reasons I love Portland so is much is the sky. It's always beautiful. I've always loved clouds, and the clouds here are Clouds with a capital C. Now, I love a bright, blue, clear sky as much as the next person. It's invigorating, that expanse of blue, makes you feel like you should be getting stuff done. But, since I'm not so much a getting stuff done sort of person, I prefer a sky with some it's ok to be lazy clouds in it. Clouds create a texture in that vast expanse of blue, a buffer between us and infinity. Clouds are friendly. Even when they're decidedly not friendly, when they're ominous and roiling, black and grey, crackling with tension, they're still fascinating. And in Portland, clouds have a beautiful relationship with the horizon. I remember driving through New Mexico, stopped at some rest area somewhere and looking off into the distance at the hills, watching the clouds flirt with them, coy shadows caressing warm umber like a hand ...
I've been thinking about being silent lately. About not speaking, for a week or a month or a year. For however long it takes to silence the cacophony in my mind. It's not that I don't like the noise. I actually really love the busyness inside my own head, the stories I am constantly telling myself. It's just that they have gotten jumbled and out of hand these days. Some of these stories are getting older, I'm forgetting beginnings and not allowing for endings. My head feels like a spice cabinet crafted by an overzealous yet lazy cook who, with the best of intentions, bought every ingredient ever known to man in order to craft the most amazing dishes, and then shoved everything but the garlic powder and italian seasoning to the back of the cabinet. Too many of my words are moldering in the darkness back there, sealed into air tight containers, but loosing all their zest and flavor. I think silence would be a refreshing spring cleaning, a bringing out into the light...












Comments
Post a Comment