No sleep tonight, it seems. My born on date hit while I was watching The Fisher King on the Movie Channel with a green apple Jolly Rancher in my mouth. Lefty at my side and Robin Williams delivering his allegorical monologue about the story of the wounded king. It called me back in so many ways to so many places - to the filming of the waltz scene for that very movie in Grand Central Station in 1990, to night swimming in the Atlantic off the Point Beach jetty, to bloody knees and broken bones and sunburns cooled with witch hazel, to damage and impairment decidedly subcutaneous, to mutilated bonds left unbound. To so many places unreconciled, defiled with denial all the while. I'm starting to sound like a bad U2 song.
4 comments:
As long as you don't start dressing like Bono (gay-o sunglasses) it's cool.
You're a allowed a little wordy reverie on b'days. Some great images there.
what a great entry...my first visit here. I am impressed :)
[lifting PK up and checking his bum...] Nope. Not expired yet.
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