Greetings dear friends and readers! I have missed you, and I trust the likewise sentiment to be equally applicable. Messages of "come home soon!" which have graced my lowly Twitt'ring abode, has brought tears of joy to my travel-worn eyes.
In this cold October month, I embarked on a journey to meet my love, Sarah, face to face. Sadly, the fates did not smile upon my Jangling antics, and many trials were spewn at my face, dripping into my lonesome eyes, causing a great stinging. I have written my tale in full, and shall be posting it upon this blog in moderate portions. Like the Holy Trinity, it resides in three parts. I offer Part I now, to speak the words my twisted tongue would naught but muddle.
Book I: An Earthy Hymn
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Sur quelle route ma amour-fleur fleurit-elle ? Dans quel lac salin son âme réside-t-elle?
Αναζήτηση και βρείτε, le vent des réponses, Αναζήτηση και βρείτε.
Clinging –
the earth to my boot like a child
Rustling --
the leaves; reiterating the ancient percussion of Ophion
Mingling –
the dirt and the snow, a flawed purity
Singing --
the wind its breathy tune
(il ya la beauté)
I feel the message, biting and cool upon my jangling face,
It whispers to me an urgent secret
(à votre portée)
I climb higher atop the mountain peak
(non vi è bellezza)
The message infiltrating every pore
Of my lonesome, broken flesh
(a portata di mano)
My eyes are opened,
My journey clear.
I embark to find my Bellum.
(there is beauty within your grasp)
Book II: A Retelling
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“You look dreadful friend, simply dreadful. I’ve got plenty to warm you up. What’ll you have? You don’t say. Just here for some shelter then? Well I don’t blame you son, I haven’t seen rain like this in…oh…nine, ten years by my count. The floods came in ninety-eight, had to close shop it was so bad. Cost me a fort—no, no, that was ninety-seven, before the renovation. Or was it…”
The bartender’s chatter continued. I surveyed my surroundings. The room was saturated in a comforting aura: three elderly men were enjoying a game of darts, a young couple were engaged in flirtatious banter over a few mixed drinks, a blue collar fortysomething nurtured a pint in content nostalgia. I put my feet on the neighboring barstool, finally at ease.
“Say, what’s that tattoo you’ve got there? A bulldog dressed up like a pirate? What’s that? Oh, a pug you say? So sorry, an old fool’smistake.” If he caught the hint of yearning in my voice, he kindly ignored it. “You are a character, that’s for sure. Tell me, Mr…Janglewhat, you say? Ha! Now that’s an odd name. Makes me think of Frankenstein! Now, now, I didn’t mean to offend you; it’s all in good fun. You strike me as the traveling type, may I ask where you’re headed? Ah, LDS I suppose? Oh, well it was just a guess. At any rate I hope you’re not planning on heading out tonight: Green River will be flooded, I guarantee it. So tell me, Janglestein, what’s a fellow like you doing heading barefoot to a place like that anyway? Ah, love, yes, very romantic, but be more specific. A long story, you say? We’ve got all night...”
The drumming rain began its final crescendo. It had been a long night already.
Book III: Ripples
----------------------
SARAH
Floating atop the pool of my mind
The name had rested calmly, till
Jolted by the wind’s sweet calling
It moved
The ripples traveled outward
Toward the influx of my heart
Uncovering pain
Buried in the sands
“She has no love for me.” (Is your love then annulled?)
“She has rejected me.” (Have persistence)
“She does not know me.” (Know her stil)
“She will not meet me.” (Go, then, to her)
At this, all doubt was silenced
Left, like footprints, against the frozen ground.
My tears ceased dropping.
My fist unclenched my swollen member.
No longer would the overflow of my heart
Be naught but cream and saltwater.
Instead, it would be action.
To visit the source itself.
To visit
SARAH
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2:56 p.m., MST
10/11/08
Rain pours
on a saline sea’s
metropolis.
The sun has deserted her familiar heavnl’y post
But the celestial body of my affection
Moveth not
The scent of gingerbread permeates the air
Mingled with the gas of a
canine queen
So lies my angel, ‘neath sheets of linen
Neither cleaning, nor laundering, nor schoolbook learning
Only being
It was enough
3:56 p.m., CST
10/11/08
on the lonely road
of highway 83
My heart yearns for its happy fulfillment
My engine strains to quicken its speed
Both encumbered by time and space
A transient pleads with me silently
His thumb extended in my direction
I ignore it
Clinging to my treads for miles
Till returning to the ground once again
The only drifter I heed is the rain
It was enough.
Book V: Listening to the Radio Moments Before the Crash
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…Now the wintertime is coming,
The windows are filled with frost.
I went to tell everybody,
But I could not get across.
Well, I wanna be your lover, baby,
I don't wanna be your boss.
Don't say I never warned you
When your train gets lost…
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