Matt's Missives

i've gotta find a way to survive this work thing. tomorrow is my "on" shift--having worked monday and tuesday, i had a two day break, now i work friday and monday, then thursday and friday. anyways, i'm totally dreading it. i know i just have to suck it up and say get on with it, but there's part of me that just says this is not how i want to spending my time . . . particularly since it's gonna involve crawling around in a dank crawl space surrounded by fiberglass--toxic stuff. anyways, i don't mind working hard, i just hate doing stupid stuff for other people. whine whine whine i know. this is me being negative.

Posted by matt at 01:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

hold on magnolia
i hear that station bell ring

you might be holdin' the last light i see
before the dark finally gets a hold of me

and it's about to get hold of me, but not yet. i'm holdin' out against sleep, cause i've forgotten the power of dream. i don't look forward to them right now, though that will change, given time. i hold on in the dark, against the light of sleep. i want to stay away for fear of missing something, and yet to let go is such sweet relief.

hold on magnolia to the thunder and the rain
to the lightnin', that has just signed my name

hold on magnolia to that great highway
no one has to be that strong, but if you're stubborn like me
i know what you're tryin' to be.

and so it is, and so it goes. hold on magnolia, i hear that lonesome whistle whine. it's calling for me, it's saying matt, it's almost time, stand, face the north, face the west, face the south, face the east, face it all, let it all go. such is life, so it is.
goodnight.

Posted by matt at 09:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

you ask "is this real? fantasy?"
but i can't answer

there's no clear, dividing line
between truth and illusion
just a meandering river
that seperates one bank from another:
it's we who set these in opposition.

you can see yourself as one person, play another
see no fiction, no fracture in them both.

when we wake our dreams stop
but they don't become less real;
light of day illuminates supposed illusions
just as dreams grow from waking life.

the only answer to your question
is yes.
and no.

sunburnt

i came out of the desert alive,
but wounded.

with lips like shattered glass,
harsh, sharp-edged from the wind,
now incapable of tenderness,

fingers cracked and bleeding
callused and hardened by burning dust
unable to feel softness anymore.

but every scar bears a lesson
and every hurt holds the promise of strength--
the desert reminds me that while broken hearts heal
a body unmarred by love remains tenderly ignorant of living.

beer, diluted with saltwater

sadness pervades this place--
it's subtle, invisible, but you can smell it
hiding in the smoky carpet.

you catch a whiff walking by
and it draws you in
the romance of pain.

once it gets you though
it's quicksand pulling you down real slow:
and the booze drowns you, not just your tears,
leaves you choking on the pain
you can't swallow and can't cough out.

just embrace it,
let it float you to the surface
till you reach the edge,
and find something to grab hold of.

Posted by matt at 08:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

and just like that i'm home again. did some roofing on emerson's shanty yesterday, and there's discussion of building me a shack before winter hits heavy. it's coming. the air is cooler, the clouds lower and things are greening up. pace is slowing down, warmth feels good again and the mushrooms are sprouting. i carry the audubon field guide in my pocket, and a knife. no wallet, no keys, no identity more than the one i choose. morning was spent cutting and hanging tobacco, getting reacquainted with the plants. this afternoon we pick walnuts. it's harvest time.

Posted by matt at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

and another week passes, somewhat unlike the ones before. a week in the insanity of a desert beset with alkaline dust storms, hot off the ground kicking up into your eyes, nose, mouth. my mouth is raw, because despite our best precautions dust gets everywhere, especially food, and as you eat it subtly burns your mouth, so by the end of a week your tongue and cheeks feel raw from that alkaline taint. my lungs are raw, because despite the respirator i wore, it still crept in. my skin is baked a deep brown, and dried from the sun. my senses are shocked, my body recovering from dehydration, improper eating patterns, lack of sleep, exposure to extremes, some good-natured drug abuse, and all around over-stimulation.
picture 30 thousand people, mad max, salvador dali, the circus, a pagan celebration of rebirth through fire, experimental intentional communities, and giant rave, roll them into one, put them on the moon (or in this case the black rock desert), and you've got where i've been for the last week. i left the desert partly relieved, partly reluctant. i fell in love, and though we left the burning man fantasy behind, i'm not sure i left her in it, though only time will tell. she, a true desert rat, me, a child of ocean and forest and mountain. compatible, but destined? who knows. i'll save the cheesy, heartbroken poems until properly polished.
as emerson says: build create communicate destroy. to that i'll just add:
burn baby burn.

now homeward bound, to the place i love so much.

Posted by matt at 12:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)