Originally published February 5th, 2003.
as the weekend passes and the weekbegins occur…
we passed through the city a million times to begins and ends.
but never a middle.
there are no weekmiddles in our lives.
the lights were bright enough to make you sterile.
our money was found in the hands of beggars and children.
we swiped the card a million times; we crossed the street once or twice or twenty-times.
time stood still the way people always describe it to.
the way people describe things the same way a million times.
the way people pass off memory as intelligence; memory as creativity.
well i will tell you this:
here there are no memories
but a moment and not a moment too soon
and again that is what everyone says
way too many times.
but the weekends, the weekbegins; the lack of weekmiddles.
they converge and diverge
and indulge in pleasures we think about too many times
and pass off uniformity as intelligence
and pass off uniformity as creativity.
but in the words said by a million people a million times over:
“we will meet again. once more these roads will cross”
and once more we will find ourselves
nothing but silhouettes of a weekend.
and here i have said 2539 too many words
and all have been said before
but just like you
i am passing them off as original and creative
as i force myself through the weekmiddles
and recollect the weekbegins and the weekends.