Lists & Plans

On my last night in Philadelphia, my friend Helene asked me to recount the best memories that I'd collected during my time on the east coast. My brain froze, wiped itself blank and I struggled for images. In my head, I flipped through blurry pictures, throwing them on the floor of my mind's bedroom...flip, flip, flip, "No, not that one.", flip.....

The clearest memory was bittersweet. Of all my time in the city, some of my best memories are tied to a person that barely even acknowledges my existence. As for myself, I am indifferent to the whole thing. It bothers me, but I push it aside and move on because that's life. I can't punish myself for the past forever, so I won't.

But, oh, that memory, it sang to me. I remembered that late night phone call and driving to the beach at 2am, parking on an empty street once we got there. I peed behind an empty vacation house and we sat up till the sun began to rub the sand out of its eye and open over the watery horizon. And then we walked down the beach until we got bored.

I don't even remember what we talked about. It seems unimportant. It plays out like a silent movie in my head.

I said this to a friend recently and I meant it, "You have to let the good memories stay good, even if the rest of the relationship was poisonous. No time is wasted if you can take away even a few good things."

I feel this way about my time in Philadelphia. A lot of my time spent there is a blur. I often felt the city was detrimental to my growth, something about it got to me and made me sick and wounded, but only because I often wallowed in such things...It's so very easy to steer blame away; you just have to point. But here I am, back in Texas for who knows how long and after a day's worth of rest and meditation I am still thinking about Helene's question, about all of my good memories, and I have no regrets. My time was not wasted.


Michael & Me, summer 2005(?) photo by Zach Sulat




Scott Walker - Rhymes of Goodbye from Scott 4 (Philips/Fontana, 1969)