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Joli's Journal

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4 entries this month

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PRIVATE ENTRY
07:09 Oct 29 2010
Times Read: 1,066

• • • • PRIVATE JOURNAL ENTRY • • • •

21:49 Oct 27 2010
Times Read: 1,098

The urge to throw yourself from a cliff or a high building although you are afraid of heights. Many people are gripped by the fear that we will suddenly just do something irrational, that we are tethered to safety by only the thin and worn strands of our mind and will.

Somewhere along the twenty-four mile stretch of the Causeway, the thought that I may turn the wheel into the siderail, plunging the car into the depths, begins to tickle the back of my neck.

Or the road that disappears into the lake. I know that it is a boat launch, but it sometimes looks so tempting...a curiosity. What would it be like to just ride along this road first above the water and then beneath? How can it not for a microsecond look tempting? Not look like the most natural thing in the world...

COMMENTS

sahahria
22:48 Oct 27 2010

There is a road similar to this in Nova Scotia... only you have to drive on it to get onto the "ferry" which is basically a barge that goes from one side of the river to the other on a pulley system.

Driving my car on that, I felt as if I had been sent back in time to another place... the simplicity of it in our fast paced world simply was foreign to me in a magical kind of way.

Rationis
22:06 Oct 28 2010

Slide over and let Stabb drive, please.

Vampirewitch39
00:29 Oct 29 2010

That second of wonder...follow by the fear as water starts pouring in...

I understand the feelings.

Threshold
19:55 Oct 18 2010
Times Read: 1,151

I met Van Gogh at eternity's gate

Where falsehoods flaked

Like paint beneath a child’s gift

Rendered in a wax crayon spectrum

Of nature and nurture.

I tried to sleep,

To dream the dreams of someone else.

You enter and that invites me in,

Stays the hand

Of fight or flight

For another day

And another day

Telling me to sleep

In a hypnotic slowness,

The voice of a day

And a day and a day

Where Van Gogh whispers

“Take up your pencil.

It’s in the eyes,” he confides,

“Never cathedrals.”

I want a white ray of light

To expose every dark sermon

Proclaiming emptiness is form.

But what form?

I would wear my piety as unadorned

As my fears and fatigue

But for the sorrow of an old man,

The compassion of a girl child,

A crayon,

And the memory of a starry night.

COMMENTS