words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Tuesday, June 08, 2004
This is the first time i've talked about football, trying to tell the story from start to finish at least. the idea frightens me, though it's been over ten years since I last wore shoulder pads. these memories are buried deep, and most of them, i have never told to anyone. no, not my brother or my friends or even myself. I have never spoken of most of them, except for the one time i babbled to two people i trusted very much - i didn't get much out because i was sobbing. I hoped the memories would disappear, but they haven't. They still taunt me, in my dreams, in the smells of fall and freshly cut grass. so i have to deal with them, just to take the air out of them, to cut them down to the size memory ought to be, small and far away. but it's like opening the door to a very full closet - if i'm not careful, the contents will spill all over me and i'll be lying on my bed crying beyond my ability to stop, like i did the first time.
i sound like an exaggeration, how could anyone be this concerned over football, over being godly, over childhood troubles? i'm wrestling with that too, wondering how these fears are so real, even today. we all have events that shape us, we all have ideas that envelop our heads and fashion the way we see the world. I'm not blaming football here, not even some the coaches i see as bad men. As much as I don't like football, I can't decide whether it encourages violence or allows boys to let their aggressions go in a sanctioned game.
I have so much doubt in me, wondering if I'm crazy, if i'm leaving myself open to become a laughing-stock, the boy who couldn't handle football. I have to tell myself though, that this matters, that I won't ever be able to forgive my dad and move on until I face his actions and the difficulty it caused me. I also have to tell myself that though I think I couldn't handle football, I did have a starting position on a nationally ranked high school football team, a team that won the state championship in Oklahoma (where football is the major sport), in the largest class of schools. for someone who hated what he was doing, i did pretty well at it. but of course, never well enough, for myself, for my coach, or for my dad.
7:45 PM
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