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She lifted the window on this
September morn...
and paused to acknowledge the birds and the pink geraniums needing care to remove the browning buds.
she had kind of said goodbye to the last trip.
wilmington and myrtle beach
it was weird how effortless it had been - no one got pissed that she was leaving for an evening on our last day - except maybe my mother who we learned can't open a hotel room door herself, "Kristen's been gone since 12:30"
"look, I thought you said you'd be back by 4:30. I guess I should have added the usual two hours to it."
"she's just boring to talk to now."
"that's so very sad."
but the ocean had been beautiful. the mother had been happy to be there. kristen always remembers the last mushroom trip with her brother how she just kept saying "death. when someone asked what she was thinking about." and it was it was like nothing mattered. death had been looming, and today was the day - this afternoon. in the trip, she was an elderly spinster lady who didn't really care what anyone was saying but realizing that her life had been so empty and hiding and how it was filtered and she was alone. of course she thought of fucking Leon, but it was only because he sparked her up. and now to haver her brother be dying. she remembers feeling so suffocated inside the house. but she was in a bad place. that was like the third month after the crash. she still remembers how the only thing that would comfort her was the moss - it was so clean and well-groomed and healthy and real.
she sometimes thought about that concept - here we are in the infinite - knowing it's so is such a miracle - universe and the concept that observing something changes it and that we are really like that Star Trek episode - the pilot with captain pike - where we live through champions.
and seeing the ocean was lovely. the oceanfront room was a good call by the sister, and then she ventured up to wilmington and wow on wow. it wasn't exactly her taste at all, but the outside of Lance's house was exquisite with observed details - like someone - him - had wanted every space to be an object of love.
and the kid.
seeing him drum with Fred's band.
well, she's already told you, it felt hard to look at - hard to stay in her body. she was grateful for the beer and it all felt very safe and kind. and seeing the ocean again and children tumbling towards the sea - 'twas delightful.
but the trajectory of "maybe Fred!" will rescue her.
had she explained too much? one of her favorite new things to do was take the writings and feed them to the robot and then generate some self-congratulatory loops. it felt like the most futuristic form of narcissm, and she was here for it - and apologized to all trees for any data centers (were I the king ((unisex term), I'd be like "let's make these environmentally sound and efficient and something besides the fucking trees going into the fires of Mordor to make more evil.)
and it was another day. she was here. death felt a bit "no thanks" still, so she'd try this life thing. soon there would be a cool mixer with the historic society at the house of the first female - or was it second - architect in the state of Georgia - with California redwood siding.
ah nostalgia.
she wrote in her diary yesterday that she missed feeling broken and sad and intense about him. that startled her, but it was true. now he was just some "why was I so blind and dumb".
almost literally
excelsior
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