high in your car. still donāt understand you. but i donāt really need to, i dont think ive ever been sure about you and i seem to be drawn to things like that
looking at CDs always makes me think of you. we talk about you still or at least i do, i still type like you do too, Argghh!!! i hope youāre doing well pinecone
played all the songs i stole from you in the car, and wrote you an unreadable letter. will you get tired of birds? i feel like i shouldnāt drag that. but it feels like one of the few things weāve bonded over. we havenāt bonded a lot. youāre a cherished friend of mine
one day we will part from one another and i am truly terrified by it. horrified. iām so scared. what am i going to do? stick around as long as you can
thereās an individual who reminds me of you, itās very rare that you hurt to think about but my heart is tender today. some moments, i would even like to talk to you. it seems permanent that iāll be curious about you, though curious is all iāll be. i donāt want to talk to you. but i am grown enough to admit how often i wonder about your world
i pretend not to know who sent me that anonymous message but i know it was from you. the mystery is comforting though. i donāt miss you. but you did change my life
iāll start by saying that this isnāt intended to receive attention. i doubt this will ever be seen by more than a few people, and those people will likely come upon it through me directly. i have this habit of trying to make things i write āpost worthyā or āinteresting,ā and usually that results in me never posting anything, which results in me never writing. iām trying to break the habit. iām just going to write and post here what i have. the blog is mostly for my benefit, but if you take an interest, i hope you find something of value, or at the very least see yourself somewhere within.
i have this note in my phone called āmoments i thought of peopleā where i write down times i thought of someone but didnāt or couldnāt say the thought to them directly. i do that often but donāt keep up on the note.
iāve been thinking a lot about birds, and about how unintentionally theyāve become a symbol to me in my head. when i look back on my writing i frequently notice recurring themes or symbolisms i didnāt even realize i had fallen into using. i donāt write as much as i used to, and iām always saying that, but thatās okay. the symbols are still there, and they appear to me every day, or at least when i take the time to notice them.
i love birds. i didnāt know that until recently. a long time ago i listened to āhours were the birdsā by adrianne lenker for the first time, and it stuck with me. at the time i wasnāt sure why, but i didnāt mind it, i never do, things just stick to me sometimes. sometimes something is spilled onto my heart and it settles like a stain i donāt want to wash out. this is one of those things.
later on i made a board on pinterest called āfor the hours, the birds.ā it was dedicated to my friends, unintentionally (but accurately) alluding to the meaning of adrianneās song.
the song as (i interpret it) is about change and the passage of time, which is something i think about often and has become a large part of who i am. if you ask me, āwhat do you think makes up who you are?ā i would say this: death, love, and time. but thatās a conversation for later, this would get off topic and much too long and itās long enough already.
this is about birds. and birds are symbols of each of those things ā death, love, time ā in so many cultures and forms of art. to me, death love and time are all one thing, which i think emphasizes the significance of the metaphor.
i have countless times found myself drawn to birds and interacting with them in special moments of my life. i remember being alone at a small beach in san francisco, when a pigeon hopped nearby me and we had small, non verbal conversation, and he reminded me not to feel lonely. another time, a bird and i were talking while i was on a date, and he asked for some of my food. i told him no. he told me to keep track who i am. there is a bird at my school who i often played a game with, he would land somewhere and i would follow him to the table. then the road sign. then the tree. when he got to the tree, the game was done. he told me itās important to play.
i will never forget once, being at the beach in chinook. i was hanging out the window of the back seat with someone i loved and her much-too-loud father, driving on the wet sand while her dog raced alongside the truck. she ran through a flock of small birds, and they departed like splashing water, scattering upward in a flurry of black and brown feathers. i knew in that moment, as it was happening, that i would never forget it. and i never did. it was years ago and i remember it as if it happened in the last hour.
recently i made a new friend who told me he was interested in birds, he said he would like to learn about them. he said, he wants to be someone who can point at a bird and tell you what it was called. that stuck with me too. i decided i was also interested in birds, and i also wanted to know about them. i started paying more attention to the birds after that.
the point of this is to say that, birds are so beautiful, and have always held some meaning to me, even when i didnāt fully know it. hours are the birds, fleeting and sweet. love is the birds, singing and soaring. death is the birds, as you donāt think much of them until one is right in front of you.
and you are the birds, you are everywhere i look, and when i donāt see you, i can hear you, and when i canāt do either, i know that all i have to do is seek you out. āyouā are my friend who i love very much. you are love. you are death; you are time. and you are the birds, and i adore you.
anyway. a great number of years ago people used to use pigeons to send and receive messages from far away. from wiki: the pigeons are transported to a destination in cages, where they are attached with messages, then the pigeon naturally flies back to its home where the recipient could read the message.
time is a great distance and i hope to write a million messages and send them to the end of it. everything i ever write will be tied to the foot of a figurative pigeon, and i hope that each of them will fly back to its home in time for you to receive it. in another life i am a carrier pigeon. i like the idea of that.
prguitarman
stormborns
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
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