I cannot place the bullseye in my memories the origin of my affinity for watching rainfall. Dredging far back through the expired layers of yesteryear would have me scratching the back of my head from the inside. The closest and clearest—closer than oxygen to hydrogen in water and clearer than sunlight marrying horizons to ocean surfaces in the afternoon —memory that's still willing to take my hand, gentle like a mother walks her children across a street at a long red-light on their first day of school, is watching the ending credits of a Japanese cartoon, unfiltered and subtitled, and rediscovered in highschool. The protagonist observing a light rainy day from her window. A sequin smile cozy on her face. Her head cupped by hands and elbows snoozing easy with a dormant window sill. The camera frame is fixed only on her house with a tree in the left upper corner. That is all we will be gifted. There is a fool's gold tinge that glitters the screen, like an enchantment that will fade at the stroke of midnight, to imply the presence of a sun, performing the reign of evening and the hand-wave of afternoon, that hangs just out of frame, only for protagonist to see— maybe a star is behind the viewer? Delusion that looks like introspection. Wonder has a prison-cell in both of our purviews and hindsights. Neither of us will be the first to blink so wonder is the eternity contained in two minutes of credits. Loneliness that looks like independence. Soulless is the English version. It was shaken, fleeced, and excised of all resemblance of any cultural originality held after the required star spangled red, white, and blue sanitation. So it would become palatable for Big Uncle Sam's screen. So it could be dare be televised for Big Uncle Sam's audience. A fragmented Frankenstein of a caricature, so bankrupt artistically that it could pass for satire on localization parodies, that I nonetheless relished in during preschool like lungs treasure the first heartful breathe after CPR. A beautiful adrenaline shot of nostalgia into the soul, it made me long for the days before liquor, from a tiny bottle of plastic with the chipped red nail polish cap, flooding an open gunshot wound in the head. Reminiscence that looks like living.
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@The Rewind @Pete Damon @SumPissedChck WA @KMPatriot
Thank you all for the restacks!
"There is a fool's gold tinge
that glitters the screen,
like an enchantment that will fade
at the stroke of midnight,"
A contemporary fairy tale I dare say. Great lines, Daniel.