We never think they wouldn’t have remembered us slipping and sliding on farewells sprinkled along the paths of all those tired black and blue feet like it was just another regret that old mother time thought would be too funny to repeat to your former lovers. But they know what the score is, and they never misremember episodes of shame that twisted you in and out of strange scented rooms when you were up like rockets in the godly hours when unity and greatness spoke through your cigarette smoke and your booze fat face and words words wrdods swimming all around thinking god was there and now and all before the inevitable unravel, the fingers from below pluck and turn and reveal naked standing there. You.
There’s a lot more to that, you know. Every moment is fantastic. It’s amazing incredible insane we’re all here, in these supermarkets, pushing these carts, talking to each other — the more mundane, the more boring, the more meaningless the talk, the more incredible, the more fantastic, the more insane that we are here, that we exist, that this is me and that is them and these are us. It makes no sense anyhow, but the moment passes, we can’t keep the wonder for long, even beauty gets stale, and we submerse ourselves again in this gloom, as if it were all important, as if it were all serious, as if it MATTERED. People go insane thinking of that. And then that moment when you saw it all so clearly, when it all made sense for that brief beautiful wise split second… that moment you can’t even remember anymore. Those same dirty earthen fingers have plucked you out again, and they’ve left you by the wayside cold alone. You have no control over it, the invisible fingers dip you in and then pull you out and you’re always at their mercy. Just hope they dip you in again soon for all time old time good time’s sake.
We never think they wouldn’t have remembered us. The big meaty digits that hold our lives in frail fiery balances… no, we never think they wouldn’t have remembered us slipping and sliding on farewells left along those black blue plain feet like it was just another regret that old mother time thought would be too funny to repeat to your former lovers.
And what lovers they were. What beautiful, lonely, forgotten lovers they all once were.
