Monday, 11 June 2018

Bridges that guide us


On the bridge, remaining the same, only made different by the sunlight or the dapping effect of the clouds, looking like it was dreamed into existence rather than constructed, soulless but solid and safe, trains sweep past each other, providences fly tired and divergent. 

You've met eyes of someone you liked but then looked away to not meet them again. 

I am thinking of conversations we had, which are life, craft, zen, books, destinies, causes and all the discrepancies that prevent one from breathing into other's chest, which seems to be accessible only in parallel worlds. I read books and people, bridges on the background, walk miles, U2 is in my headphones, erasing ballerinas on the asphalt,  drinking coffee in liters. You know, I walked this city through and through, found a favorite hidden vineyard in Pimlico, learned to accept people as they seem and any forthcoming circumstances. A couple of months ago it credulously seemed to me that I was not afraid of anything. I even expressed it aloud to you and immediately bit my tongue. Today I'm rather concerned about not causing affliction or hurt to others. I learned to speak and write, it seemed somewhat to save me from loneliness. Only indirectly though. It opened the gate of opportunity, taking small steps towards leniency. You as nobody know how demanding it is to merge with me, not every playfellow of mine has enough longanimity and vitality. The wind in the street, almost rocking me back on my heels, graffitis, June has not yet been spent, tenderness overboarding, but it is not intended for anyone. Useless tenderness of mine. Mayakovsky's poems come to mind. Old friends are farther away, but in the psyche they are part of my kindred, and in here - people with all our human dramas. It remains only to puzzle. How good and keen it is to feel. And it is healthy to not always get everything you want, but sometimes to get what you really need. Walked my miles! Digested the day I lived. 

"I suddenly smeared the weekday map splashing paint from a glass; on a plate of aspic I revealed the ocean's slanted cheek. On the scales of a tin fish I read the summons of new lips. And you, could you perform a nocturne on a drainpipe flute?"

© Elin Vidoff