|Screenshot of a montage of the video which is on the link below|
Please click here to view -
A grand time this was driving round Seattle this April, 2012. (I've been looking through movie footage I have from the trip, this was taken at the start of my mainland U S A journey, just after Alameda, San Francisco). Thanks so much to Nigel Rowe for putting those films onto disks for me in Chicago, they're the bulk of my images now after the theft of my laptop, except I hope to get some pix eventually from my 'merican phone.
I miss Seattle's dark spiky trees and the crows, so many large black birds the size of a small cat and vocal. One crow I managed to get quite close to, its black feathers reflected a little light when it stretched out its wings and flew away in a leisurely fashion. That was in the grounds of the old nunnery, where Amy took me. We walked the gravelly pathways, our footsteps crunched while talk smoothly smiled from us even when we were serious.
Mainly an overcast or rainy place but sunshine did appear occasionally and all the more brilliant with the contrast. Then those magnificent mountains surrounding Seattle, white on dull black as if someone placed a special effect in the sky by Georgia O'Keefe, (her painting in the Chicago Art Institute reminded me of mountains and snow), Mount Ranier enormous when it decided to majestically loom above and one day wearing its hat of clouds. I can see why Jimi would've wanted to kiss the sky, I still wish I could reach out to those mountains and touch them, run my fingers across their contours and feel the icy coldness of their slopes.
|A screenshot of extra-short vid 1, the link to longer vid 2 of Hendrix memorial in Seattle is below|
I feel like I should've washed my hands after visiting Jimi Hendrix's memorial in Seattle, but I didn't see a tap there. I think the only way I can do this ritual, (it makes things 'normal or everyday' again after visiting a sacred place), which some people in New Zealand follow, is to plant a tree to kiss the sky in his honour and wash my hands afterwards. I'm going to buy the tree today. What will appear to me especially for Hendrix I wonder at the garden centre in Grey Lynn? (Yes there's one there, a new place near Snake Studios and opposite the Roast Dinner place).
A Movie before the Real-life Story goes Private
The woman dreamt of rough plank buildings arisen from red-brown dust
in a long-forlorn town on the edge of what could be in one play a film set.
She saw the man at a table on the dried mud street with a bottle of something tan;
wherever he placed his hands palm down, shadows looked like calendar water.
They knew each other but did not speak or make eye-contact, just curl-smiled.
She said she believed the beginning of a love affair usually had more greenery.
He didn't reply to her almost-question but kept touching surfaces blue.
They were recently other people more like cartoons or children's drawings,
because of this each drew fake escapes sometimes and half-true identities.
The woman slowly gathered she needed to sieve the details and hush more often.
But a million-headed monster swallowed her whole; and blackness consumed her treasure.
Softness tumbled here or there away while mistakes snarled in the darkness.
The man watched from a telescope distance like a captain on a ship near icebergs,
as unreadable as anyone in a uniform may appear for reasons of safety and triumph.
Time lacked character, nevertheless behaving like it presided and counted.
It has to be said the woman felt she was being watched, categorised and measured,
even if this wasn't true - out in the fields near the dusty town, long grasses swayed.
She folded the ocean up in a concertina of silent reading to bring shores closer,
some words obscured but kissing skies and rolling with tones of voice.
The man she imagines has taken to tracks between trees for better viewpoints.
No one knows how anything can end or even if a finish exists except polishing;
guesswork a way to while - (views from the lania) laundry dries and trees grow.
The woman stepped out of the film frame and dust on her shoes patterned every day,
if she looks back the street and buildings appear flat like they've packed up.
The past lets people go into gardens and spin, cascades of water, petals and walking.
Please feel free to comment and thanks for reading, there are more and more views every day and I really appreciate your attention. x