Time left you in the streets

Sent this to my sister after reading some of her old stuff. Kinda like it.

You aren’t what I remembered: the cascading beauty that I always longed for. My memory decided it was better to not know you completely. My memory was right.

I read those words again–the beautiful ones… the ones that were always on the tip of my tongue… never written… except by you. But you stopped and I started where you left off. But. It will never be you. It won’t be as good and as beautiful. It won’t be those short snippets of fireflies and truck bed dates. It’ll just be… me. A little rhetorical. Mostly holding up parallels hoping that someone else might find them interesting. But most will just laugh at the repetition. The apparent desperation for a certain point to be recognized. It’ll never be the words you wrote. It’ll never be the pretty snippets all creatively timed. It’ll just be me. And I imagine you reading “me” and cringing at some of it. I imagine you laughing at other parts. I imagine you crying at most. Because that’s you. And it wouldn’t even have anything to do with how your words form those perfect bits that I just dream of… it would just be the same reaction you always have to me and those same things I write… just the same as how your beautiful snippets inspire a despair in my soul because those snippets were only of despair.

We wrote everything different; you were praised by English teachers, and I was praised by Calculus teachers. I never wanted to step on your toes. And I never do. And I never will.

Sometimes here I think how I’m alright and you’re alright both in our own rights. Right now is irrelevant because this doesn’t even make sense. But, mostly, I look at some of both of ours writing and I think how different it is. How… how different… so you can’t really scale it. But personally. I think you’re way better.

Especially right now. I don’t have much on the side of creativity. I just have lists and facts and a book split into perfect seasons. There’s a main event each season, and, sometime, I’ll invite you to sit and watch, but, mostly, I’m thinking how the random snippets you have are what I wish I could send out.

And there’s that feeling. When your words are read, there’s that cascading. We fall, fall, fall into each new word and sentence and fragment until the sudden stop. But it’s always a perfect stop.

And I know if you read my snippets you’d say the same and you’d say how you hated all your endings or non-endings… but most of all you’d say how you hated that blank page you left on your nightstand when the pen was too heavy and the words wouldn’t come.

I’ll tell you how the words aren’t coming and it is awful and you’ll read the pieces that are full of cliches and laugh how I laughed when I buried them away. And then we’ll grow quiet cause we both know that when we started burying those awful cliche filled snippets we started burying creativity along with it. We started holding out for the right moment, the right feeling, the right words when we know we aren’t supposed to. We know we’re supposed to write everyday and write what you know and write… bird by bird. But we stopped looking out the window at the birds and became too absorbed in the inexpressible, all-consuming (and often irrelevant) emotion behind everything.

So. I imagine us in silence and I imagine all this and our un-had conversations when I put down the drafting pencil for a pen, CADD for Word, and I imagine how I pick up that pen again and I write about the cliche and I write every cliche and I write about the birds and their obvious colors and behaviors that everyone knows and I write the dialogue we’ve all had and I write and write and write, never feeling inspired or creative and I look back towards you… I look back towards you and you have a daughter who’s writing, a son who’s building, and a baby who’s listening… and I see that your heart came alive in a way our words never will and in a way our words never even could.

Relocation Complete

So, I finally got around to transferring all my posts from wordpress.com to this website. However, I got some error messages about some of my media not making the transfer. So, if you click on anything and it doesn’t work or there are missing pictures/files, too bad.

I would say, “Please be patient while we undergo maintenance.” But let’s be real. I’m probably never going to get around to transferring all that over.

So, too bad. Move on. You will never know.

Accidental Stupidity: A Life Update

I made a mistake. While I was putzing around with the added functionality of wordpress.org over wordpress.com, I deleted my incredibly valuable seven posts on this website.

And then I was able to save them all via the app which hadn’t deleted them yet.

And then I imported all of my posts from my blog over here.

So I came out on top.

Anyway, I haven’t done much on here lately… err… ever, but I’m at a different place now.

That’s what we all say. I’m hoping I’ll actually stick around longer this time: I’ve got a plan, and I’ve actually been writing a good amount outside of this internet world.

Plan: I’m writing this on Thursday, September 8th. I’m initially scheduling it to be posted on Sunday. I have other posts already scheduled for Friday and Saturday. Genius. I can be my normal inconsistent self that writes five things in one day, but appear consistent to the world.

Happenings outside of Internet: My book is actually coming along! Anything I could post here would probably be incredibly painful to read, but let’s not talk about that. I have a number of hand-written pages for my book (see About Katherine page) that I need to type up. This is my next task and will also include some very rough proof-reading and editing. It will be painful to read those scribbles.

So, life is coming along. I’m getting married next month. I’m nearing the editing stage of my book. And I’m selling mattresses again! I’ll probably go back to school and finish my degree soon (I’m about 12 credits and two CLEP tests from graduating!). When this is posted, I will be enjoying a small Bridal Shower.

So, yeah, cool stuff.

-Katie Z

Ephesians Poem

The storms will never quit
On this desolate earthen bit
Here where the devil roams
Stirrin sand, fire n dust
But I know,
–Even within earth’s moans
That he will only come to rust
For the One in whom I trust
Can stop every burn and gust
And not only this!
He also truly is
The Lord of lords and King of kings!

And the God who always brings
Every promise and word to pass
Sent him to become my pass
Into heaven, into home
Into family and eternity
So we no longer roam
Nor live with cursed enmity
Instead we rejoice in His grace
While our hearts learn our new place
Beside the risen Christ
Above evil in Christ
As brothers and sisters in one accord
Sons and daughters under one Lord
And God’s treasure forevermore.

A Meeting With Time

In Time’s study, I sat looking at her from my armchair. I don’t even remember sitting down there. I was just walking through the woods, working to clear my head. And then I was facing Time. He was sitting under his lamp, bookshelves full behind her. Other than the illuminated book in his lap, it was dim, curtains mostly closed and the woods outside shielding the room from light.

I knew she knew all there was to know about me, but Time was still entirely indifferent to my circumstances. She counted today as irrelevant and probably tomorrow too–really, my whole life. However, I did not find his brashness harsh; I almost took comfort in his indifference that nearly curled his nose while she considered my futile plight.

“Pitiful,” I think I heard her mutter under his breath, but maybe he was just exhaling as he turned a page.
Time found my life meaningless, but, then I noticed, with the same looks of disdain, she held reverence. How he portrayed both of these I simply cannot know or say.

“I envy you,” Time spoke, to clarify the look I saw.
I understand Time’s words as much as I understand how he looked at me with both indignant indifference and reverence.

Time offered no explanation and I imagine did not care if we sat there forever.

“Envy me?” Of course I had to restate this with my disbelief added to the words. Time continued flipping through his empty notebook–I assume it held something I was simply not privy to.

“Yes. You, generally speaking. Humanity.” He did not stop flipping through her book. She also made no indication that she would talk again.

“Why?” I asked after she went through a few more pages, after a few more moments of what felt as though Time was struggling to remain here–her presence remaining tangible, but his soul seeming to disappear into her book itself.

“You experience what I never can.”

At this statement, Time finally stopped flipping through his book and regarded me. He seemed to grow weary the longer her eyes were not on the pages, but, she spoke with less monotony and indifference this time.

“I’m outside of this world. I’m here only as a study of sorts; I am continuously disconnected. I see your world and universe in one field– as you would view a two-dimensional piece of art. But here you are: experiencing a life just as tangible as mine, even if much simpler.”

The indifference returned as her explanation ended. Time began flipping through pages once more. Immersed in whatever the blank pages held, I left Time in his study and continued on my way. I walked out of the woods and arrived at a country road and my car.

I’m still here. Whichever way I look, painted yellow dashes stretch from horizon to horizon.

I’ll always be here. Deciding between right or left, backward or forward.

I know that in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter: I’m one in seven billion; I’m unique like everybody else. I know that between right and left there is no substantiated correct direction. I know this in light of Time itself. I know of all the indifference, the cold, and the bitter in the majority. I know that everyone regards their state in life as their only god; selfishness absorbing every opportunity for love while disdain and jealousy consume.

I know…

But
I saw the reverence too.