Tuesday, March 19, 2024

It Might Be Spring

I feel like Bob Harris in "Lost in Translation" lately, trapped in a life that has been lived so long it is impossible to escape.  That moment when he is in the tub talking to his wife is the scene.  I've just spent twenty minutes trying to find that clip from the movie on YouTube and the rest of the internet.  You can find just about every other scene but that one.  WTF?  I tried to find a transcription.  Nope.  How can this be?  The film is about four relationships, not just the one between Bob and Charlotte.  


"I went to a cool party tonight.  I want to change the way I eat."

Something like that.  Mundane profundity.  And of course, the mood and tone of his wife, Lydia, in response.  We've all been there.

Bob is a terribly flawed man.  He knows.  We know he knows.  He watches one of his old movies one night on t.v.  He has made the life he wants to escape.  

"What are you doing here?"

"Forgetting my son's birthday.  Getting away from my wife."

I've been trapped in dreams lately.  We can't escape ourselves in dreams or nightmares, can we?  There the past, present, and future mingle and our flaws are ingloriously exhibited in cinematic technicolor. 

Nobody is perfect in sleep.  

Thank you, Doctor Freud.  

Some people keep quiet about it, though.  Perhaps that is best.  Eight billion people in the world.  All that jabber.  

It's just that I have more alone time than most of you and less distraction.  Sometimes it is my thinking that pisses me off.  Sometimes it is your distractions.  

I think the old saying, "Hope springs eternal," is true, however.  We could not go on in the face of utter reality.  Perhaps. . . . 

Today is the vernal equinox.  Or tomorrow.  It occurs just before midnight.  Seems odd, but who's to question the authorities?  We can call today the First Day of Spring, but that is questionable as well.  There are many ways to mark the season.  

We'll call it Spring.  

It is what e.e. cummings might call the Carnal Equinox.  The sap starts to flow.  The creeks start to rise.

"in Just-"

in Just- 
spring          when the world is mud- 
luscious the little 
lame balloonman 

whistles          far          and wee 

and eddieandbill come 
running from marbles and 
piracies and it's 

when the world is puddle-wonderful 

the queer 
old balloonman whistles 
far          and             wee 
and bettyandisbel come dancing 

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and 




balloonMan          whistles 

I have too much to do today and it is the opening round of March Madness. I don't want to watch it, but I know I will.  There are far too many games, however, and as I say. . . there are things I must do.  

Isn't it queer that the old goat-footed balloon man is lame?  There's something to ponder.  

I'll buy you balloons, honey.  Just for you.  You should come and see.  We could have something more than fun.   I'm mad as a March Hare.  

No comments:

Post a Comment