skonen_blades: (Default)
There used to be a trail
Through the woods
A shortcut I took often as a child
A shortcut I reveled in
A shortcut I made long in my memory
Long with dawdling, running, swinging from branches, climbing.
Deviating off the grid in transit
A right turn off the street through some bushes and through into
Emerald trees jungling thickly with summer, translucent leaves dappling sunlight through a thousand feathering gateways, letting almost no light touch the ground
Multicolored patchwork autumn fireworks, stinking of death and rot but somehow more alive that ever.
Through quiet black fingers reaching up through winter's white ground, my footfalls muffled into silence
And spring's teases of young life exploring renewal

There used to be a trail here
And now it's gone
Now, at this spot, it's only forest by the road and there is no path
Overgrown with disuse
Or maybe I just can't
See it
Anymore



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skonen_blades: (gasface)
And the eighties come crashing down around my small-town head like a purple wave of leg warmers.

Cassette-tape hissing like a leaky balloon echoes around a decade based on an absence of cel phones and naked greed. Photographs stayed stuck on pages in scrapbooks or lounged in stuffed envelopes somewhere dusty, waiting to be viewed. It was chrome chairs and zebra-striped rugs.

It was the decade where I watched Sesame Street and was raised by hippies in a small mountain town. Computers were mythical beasts.

I can feel the ripples of that decade lapping at the pylons of my foundations. My roots twine deep around Siouxie and the Banshees, kissing to George Michael’s Faith, walking like an Egyptian, and experiencing pre-pope Sinead. I can feel the building blocks of my personality loving the Mohawks and hairspray that used to dominate. My child-self still thinks that clothes that change colour when they get hot or wet is an awesome idea.

I came shooting out of the eighties into nineties Vancouver. I think that moving from the small town where I ate home-made peanut butter and knew that everyone was equal into a big city where there were so many people and disdain ran rampant mimicked North America’s transition as well.

The new music was raw. The fashions lost their calculated straight lines. Make-up softened. The internet starting bringing us together. The nineties are orange to me.

It all fades and wiggles.

At the end of the nineties, I moved to Scotland. When the noughties are over, I wonder how I’ll perceive this decade.



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