Journal, Diary, & Blogging / Vacation Diaries
As I was freed from the earth, I remembered we had been here before. Thirteen months ago we weren’t as high, but at least then I could feel the wind breaking to smithereens upon my skin. The sky split; light burst at the seams of the clouds above me and pissed down below. I kept my fixated glare on the ground. The last thing I need is a vacation. Time off, time to think, time alone, and time awake.
Awake again. It’s still difficult to breathe up here, but at least I’m no longer caving in. Perhaps I’m not fully awake. Maybe it’s the caffeine or the powdered cream. I look out again. Remember when we were here? At this moment there we were. The rivers below me flow in undesirable fashions and bead out into the ocean. I see you again. Or am I only reminded of that picture you used to have on your wall? Remember you cried when we had to stand separated, ascending above the ground in that balloon? I’m told we’re all mostly empty space and points of light, so really we couldn’t have ever gotten closer. We had reached heights, but never heights like I do right now. I look underneath myself: there we were, above the land, the water, rippling the ocean with our content. You say the positives are endless, but they’ll never outweigh the one negative that I’ll carry forever. I look down at the ocean: I’m too high above to shatter its glistening surface or to break the waves, so maybe I’ll just leave it alone.
Would it be wrong for me to wish that we tail-spun full-speed into the pavement?
My life cycles every five years. Two years of this, two years of that, and one of nothing. But that one year contains all the meaning in the world. Those small two year breaks are just meaningless wastes of time. I’ll think five years from now about this moment and laugh.
National Treasure 2 is on three different channels, and neither are in English. I get ready for dinner to The Matrix instead.
Looking over the edge, water splashes on my face. Does it come from the sky above me or the waves below?
Lightning sparks beyond the empty sea. There is goes again. In the black. Back in. Back out. Black out. Either I’m cutting through these waves of the ocean, or the waves are cutting through me. I can hear the crashing, but I can’t see around me. There it goes again. There we go: cutting through. The ocean meets the sky in a gray crust. Lightning meets the waves, they shake hands and depart performing endlessly. If I jumped in, no one would see nor hear. The waves would swallow me in one gulp. Back and forth; this time ferociously. If I lost this notepad in the waves, I’d be lost too. I hang on tightly instead.
Everyone knows it but nobody says it. Instead they ask if the motion makes me sick. I confirm yes, but they know I’m lying. They know I’m sick from you.
It’s one of those moments when the waiter brings the unexpectedly large bill. You’ve eaten the food, but hadn’t realized the cost. You’re angry and frustrated at the restaurant for such high prices, the government for taxing on food and booze, and at yourself for ultimately not keeping up with the price of things you ate and drank. I hold back every urge, every desire until my soul crumbles, the sun sets, and I fall asleep.
A painting looks at me in the face: square in the eyes. It’s a portrait of a dock and some near-by homes. Two-thirds of the image is water, the sky composes a mere section reflecting endlessly back into the waves.
Awake again. Last night I dreamt that I stood by the ocean calling out its name. I yelled, in a dream. And as soon as I did, a fish the size of a football came sailing out and hit me in the shoulder. Hey! Don’t throw your fish at me! I yelled. Instantly, two more fish of the same size roared out of the waves; one hit me in the stomach, and I can’t recall where the second one landed. Why are you throwing your stupid fish at me? No response in this absurd dream. And why or even how could it respond? I was yelling at the ocean. I somehow managed to get my hands on a microphone, and this time shouted the ocean’s name. Just talk to me! Suddenly, ten, twenty, forty fish came screaming in my direction. They all hit me I remember, but none as hard or as swiftly as the fish who smacked me in the mouth. As the blood poured from my lips, I dropped to my knees. I tried to beg the ocean to stop this fish throwing madness. I was dripping with fish juice and odour. I could no longer utter a sound. I think my jaw was fractured or broken. There was a terrible clicking noise in my mouth that still exists to this moment. But as I rocked to and fro on my knees, gripping my mouth, the ocean spoke. The microphone cord I once cradled in my palm was now wrapped around my throat, choking me to no end. The cement cord came from the water and pulled me in – gulp!
I said I would leave it alone, but it haunts me too well.
I coughed up blood for the first time. Maybe its from my dream last night, or maybe I coughed blood from digging this six-foot hole in the sand of the driest and hottest of days. I’ve put everything I know in the hole, all in ashes of course, or else it would never fit. I had found a spot miles away from anyone or anywhere – completely alone. Nobody will ever find this hole. Not even the highest breed of dog specifically trained to search and find the scent of my misery. I begin to fill the hole and bury it all. It seems to work; I push all the sand I can find back into the hole but it isn’t enough. I need more sand. Just upon coming to this realization, the tide came closer than it ever had in all its life and swallowed the hole’s contents and messed up all of my work. I debate whether or not I should dig up another hole. If successful, I’ll most certainly be in pain from all of the labour; if I don’t succeed… well I couldn’t be worse off.
As I changed my clothes tonight, Armageddon, the movie, played in the background. I don’t remember much of the film, and this time didn’t give me much of an opportunity as I only caught the end. As the credits rolled, a familiar song played in the background; possibly an overture to the past couple years of my life (if it really is my life I remember). Moments past, moments locked away and…
Whenever I move farther away from the ocean, the faster I seem to move. So I stand close by at midnight when it’s the most talkative. We slow down for each other and pause. She tells me to look up; for an instant I reflect on the waning glory above me. Its light beats down into the waves of her ocean. I can see, at this moment, straight down into her murky bottom. Not as deep as I originally thought. I watch as the big fish eat the bigger fish and the small fish eat the big fish and so on. The ocean is not entirely what I thought it was: shallow and filled with deceit. How can I live by the movements of her irreparable tides? But it’s not fair for me to place blame on the waves. How could I possibly? We collide with each other; waves hit me and we both go in different directions. I can touch the bottom with my toes. Seaweed and gunk envelope my feet and pull me down. I’m sorry, I say. I’m sorry for kicking your seaweed and gunk, I dream, I mean say. No I think; I am thinking all of this as I sit back and watch her. She keeps up the conversation slandering my past. I look for the crust, but she seems to have engulfed it this time. Literally the ocean surrounds me as if I’m caught on the inside of her globe, encasing my whole body, my mind, and my world. There are no stars tonight, and the moon has waned away to nothing. I’m probably wrong about all of it though. Because if I jumped in, I wouldn’t even make a splash.
Seven miles of sand stick in between my toes. A crab walks by but we pay no attention to each other. What makes a beach beautiful? Is it sand soft and white? Is it water clear and warm? Or is it a tropical storm dense and unforgiving?
Asleep again and it only makes so much more sense to think and dream while sleeping than when I’m awake it’s so much more natural: images are brightest and savvy I can almost feel and touch and touch and feel the sounds of the hushing ocean pouring its wave and heart out but I know I’m only asleep so none of which could be true unless this is the most true it could possibly be if I can only dive in to the sweet taste of the salt and smell the sheer chill of its cold as ice body stars are out tonight laughing as I imagine their existence and taunt my lacking courage the tiniest one looks at me and giggles with her shuddering halo up north she smiles as I sit by a fire at her cottage and stare above with a grip at my hands but that was then and now I grip nothing but my pen.
I set back my clock today by an hour because of the different time zone. I somehow stepped back in time by crossing an imaginary line in my path. I thought that was a rather strange idea, so I set back my clock another hour or two. Not noticing anything different of my surroundings, I kept at it. Hour after hour, I rewound telling myself that I was only completing the narrative that belonged inside my head (as comfort of course). But obviously my efforts proved fruitless. I stood on the imaginary line, existing in no real time and yet attempting to control it. The agony of this thought unwound inside my head until spilling out of my ears, onto the floor, and back into the ocean: where all my blame resides.
It’s been four Sundays since we last spoke, or at least that’s how I remember it. It felt good to finally hear that familiar sound again. Startled and confused and nervous and heavy-hearted and I could go on, but instead imagine it. I found the ocean’s plug that prevents all the waves, light, life, murk, gunk, seaweed, and deceit from escaping. Much too heavy to lift; I’ll try again in a couple days.
Again again and again. Always the waves of the ocean move about again circumventing its victim again and keeping its distance. I’m too dumb for tricks; complications prevent me from playing them and I fall for her’s every time. We secretly know each other too well; we’re both five moves ahead but our kings are protected behind the black and white tiles. No matter the next move, I can never go back to that soft and comforting spot by the waves, and now I will forever stand on the threshold. It’s gone, the moment is gone, it’s gone. I land back on the earth from freedom and captivity. The sun rises and sets, and rises and sets again setting and swallowing me into the impenetrable darkness. And that moment? I’m done with it now.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
“three different channels, and neither are ” Neither is two; none of.
second paragraph, from the 10th sentence in: this is lovely. This could be prose poetry.
speaks. You might do well to italicize where the narrator speaks in the dream, as well.
“I yelled, in a dream” the dream, perhaps? Also, there’s swift repetition of ‘yelled’ here. I’d try another word, maybe replacing the “screamed” (of fish flying) with a less verbal noise. Also, in this same part you adress that no one answers in the dream, but go on to say that the ocean
“breed of dog” line. I get your intention, but it’s over-doing it. I’d just delete the line entirely and let the “no one will find it” stand alone. You’re stronger w/o the hyperbole.
Some words that are overused: hole (in the paragraph abut burying), dream, ocean. While I totally get why, I think there are places where the rep’s work for emphasis (ocean where personified, for exmple) but it’s overboard (dream in 4th para from end). Where you can use another word, do.
Last paragraph: again again and again. I don’t know which, but it needs a comma or an additional ‘and’.
- add/view comments (0)
Good job. I like that you relay commonalities for others to relate to. Keep up the good work.
Showing 1 - 2 of 2
Review item
Add to faves
GENERAL
REVIEW QUEUE
Ratings & Rankings
