we've changed in ways uncounted as stars

tongiht i am playing a key tapping game with older entries: yours, mine, a few others and i'm remembering something lost. i can't put a finger exactly on what it was but i know it meant something, something pure and wistful, liket he motions of tree branches. we used to tell stories, make memories of our lives, move betweena nd around events with such a subtle clarity. we had the ability to see and speak about the undercurrent of a benign and hapless situation and the wherewithall to write about it. we cared about the stories.

when did we stop caring about the stories? when did the ideas and memories and meanings, the feelings (growing up, getting old, falling in love, falling out of love) take a backstage seat to all this ranting raving words that lace themselves so beautifully but only sometimes can be understood by anyone at all toehr than he or she that writes it. what has happened to us?

i was reading through this entry by kenneth cole and this entry by shesajar and this one that starsforarms wrote so long ago and this one by barbara and i know, can see that we used to be so much more, so much better than we are now. i want me back. i want all of you who have lost your stories, all of you who have quieted or dulled down in the days that rain by: i want it all back.

come back to me storytellers, mental armwrestlers, gods of the lived-word. i refuse to trade you for good poetry.

2004-05-26 | 12:07 a.m.
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