)(( hannah mello ))(

have you ever...?

have you ever walked down a street like a tresspasser? where every person is a character-- every sound counts-- and every movement excites intrigue?

...the ice-skating roller-bladers
...the old man under the arch with the orange broom
...the blue shadows of the green posts in the yellow light
...the three women in the bakery-- three different decades-- buying succulant treats-- but when you saw them, they were still making their choice
...the quiet segment between thoroughfares
...the plunking of feet on stone

have you ever followed your ears with your eyes instead of your feet or your thoughts? have you ever given your ears the steering wheel of your cognition? have you let the space around you be a set and every movement choreography-- the poetry of theater?

dissonant sounds-- conflicting rhythms-- all.
lighting-- staging-- the expressions of faces--
whispered, murmurred, yelled and garballed language--
body language--
nature:
the nature of humans in nature <--
the verdant, the watery, the rocky <--
all places nature meeting nature <--
faces meeting/passing/ignoring faces-- the same thing.

in a train:
- the icy stare
- the 'i am in her house right now-- in her bed -- in her heart right now' stare
- the stare of the lists: shopping lists, to-do lists, avoidance lists ('i must avoid saying, going, doing, being--etc.')
- the avoidance stare (diversion of eyes <-- all energy channelled offensively with a quarter teaspoon of fear labeled as insecurity)
- the 'i wish i was like you and i'm not and for that i hate you' stare
- the ticked off stare -aka- the 'you waste my time- you've taken my space- you're invading my life' stare
- the kissing couple
- the silent couple

to be this tresspasser, you must be a certain kind of thief
invading and stealing moments of being present when
you were supposed to be--
destined--
restricted to be
absent.
taking each moment of presence as a treasure you've risked all to steal. you could have the opportunity of presence rightfully removed
at any time--
any second and so
you taste every single molecule.
it's your first and last meal and you don't know when it will end.
you're a meter-- two-- now three-- from
the containment camp of your typical cage.
you are seeing more of this world you have only read of
in poetry books and stage plays--
and now, you are one of the characters--
you're the author--
you're the lighting guy--
the stage hand--
the reviewer--
the kid that snuck back stage.
now the life you've always wanted will be, in moments, already lived.
you will be able to use words to describe it with confidence--
not random selection
or with the voice of some poet you pretend you are.
the whole time you're not receiving the signals from dreams AND
the world experienced
in the slow flow of
the tick-by-tick-by-tick-by-tick-by-tick of
your wristwatch.

your experience is ONE.
it's a solid newness because
your senses are so overwhelmed with input that your cognition has
no more energy
to open the doors of drawers of yesterday's daydreams and
last year's prose-penning.
as your cognition orders every shadow,
flicker of eyes,
rustling of leaf, dust, paper, page--
you don't read the labels it is applying for you to know the experience by
in a later hour or year-- instead
you only are aware of the sparks between motions--
the sparks between the outside world and the drawer where your memory will house that moment.
every spark has a wonderment attached to it--
a blur of echoing gasps and 'wow's'.
you feel like you are swimming in one giant 'yes'
made up of ten thousand 'yes-es' connected like dots in your kindergarten penmanship class-- and
collectively a 'yes' so bold that it is seven million 'yes-es' wide and
seven million 'yes-es' deep.

how did you get to be so lucky?

___________________________________
this was written:
- on two streets up from the via s. pasquale on the steps to piazza amadeo not far from castelnuevo in naples.
- on paper from my three euro bag bought on my Italia day seven at the weekly thursday market in front of dico discount supermarket where i weigh and label my own fruit with their price tags.
-on a paper in my palm while walking up stairs and down from the gianturco metro line one.
- when leaning against the sticky metro wall in the space between two cars
- while walking up stairs from the metro-- down stairs-- and waiting for the 19:20 cicumvesuviana train to baino.
- while italian eyes, sweedish tourists' eyes, and stazione guards' eyes threw question marks into the space that i occupied.
- while standing by opening train doors and walking down a frozen pomigliano d'arco escalator.
- written by me in motion.
______________________________

the photo is my own. taken of the street i first described in the 'this was written:' littany-- but some days ago.

posted by )(( hannah mello ))( @ 10:02 AM