Woody Allen put it best.
I want to move to Paris and live in a studio apartment, surveying the people
Their meniscal bodies mirroring their minuscule purpose.
The 20s were a wonderful time
Action, love, Gilding
Everything coated with a sickening sense of hope and newfound “newness” that life could be better or life could change
Gil walks alone…
Down the empty streets of Paris
The midnight train comes to take him away
His purpose for writing is to escape, possibly explaining his character’s job at a nostalgia shop
Definition: A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.
A curious term…
Return, revert, return
The past always comes back to haunt us
It’s this transcendent power, seemingly touchable that everyone wants to keep
We waste our time and when it’s too late we want it back
Time is just a social construct
Or, is it philosophical?
A purgatory that makes us crave and yearn for something “new”
Yet, how is the past “new”
By definition it’s old; however, it is truly the experience.
The warm sun bathes my skin as we jump into the pool.
The smell of chlorine fills my nostrils as I struggle for air.
I resurface and all I can see is red
Rocks, swimsuit, flowers…
Our last moments together as friends.
We were racing the clock- not wanting to let go
But, it was too late
Our fate was sealed and by that evening I would be gone.
Her blonde hair matted against her pale skin
Untouched my pain or age
The sliding glass door shuts in front of me and all I can see is myself, or at least a version of myself.
I don’t recognize her. Her frame is the same- medium built, tall, athletic. But her face is different.
Sad, her eyes gilded with specks of gold that call out: Who are you? What do you want to be?
She’s gone now. Only to be replaced with another version of herself- a clone, an android?
Programmed to complete requests…
Yet, her maker is one-in-the-same
It is she who binds herself down to the stake and watches as she burns
The future memory fades and all that is left in the ash is what she wants to be
Reflections masked by innocence.
The fountain capsizes and the only sound left is the gurgling of the placid water.
Built in the 1820s a time of industrialization and drastic change.
Smoke fills the air as the screams of the innocent enter the busy streets
Mucked with dirt and grime as women empty their heart’s belongings
Progress is only relative
“The times have changed”
Yet, history repeats itself
If I could have one superpower it would be to time travel
To escape to an era that is an idea of what I believe what life should be.
But that’s everything that Allen is trying to explain.
We all want to go back to a subjective idea of what is “great” or “wonderful”
The only difference is that we do not have to wallow in the mistakes of others or ourselves.
The snow has cleared
Cars leave to and from work
The passing of seasons cloud my judgment
I sit alone
I want to go back home…
Her smile brightens the mood
The enigma that is…
Did you know that smiling causes frown lines- the cost we pay for living?
The inevitability of death holding us consciously aware of
What’s the point?
“I want it all back now!”
The gun pointed at her head
The old is dead
However, we never really change
We will always be moldable pieces of clay-controlled by our lack of self-reflection, craving for more, the thirst never filled
The vase cracks like the façade we each carry
Our masks hidden behind our backs
Truth is a lie
And lying is a truth
Are you getting my logic?
Sitting, mourning the loss of someone I don’t know. It’s funny how connections work- I’m sorry for your loss-I don’t mean it-I wish I did-If I went back, would I know you?
Pondering, Wondering, Thinking
Is it all you ever do?
The minutes falling away
“Hello, how are you?”
The door opens again- her reflection no longer there.
No, she’s in the pool
Water, Water, Water
Flowing, rushing, falling
A body- tall, athletic, and eyes like pools
The luster is gone
She knows the truth.
The sun sets on today only to come again
Is this inductive or deductive?
She no longer needs protection
Honesty is what she must consume
Everything must end
The lights come on
It’s only she and “Her”
Memories flood and stimulate
One last splash…