goodbye tomorrow

a sample of the unfinished, unedited

Built with remorse from the beginning, since beginning the realization of what becomes of life by being stuck up tom waist in snow, weeping with a Childs honest sorrows. I had begun to see things from sadness’s and despairing of ever gaining anything from life…. I had broken myself young and have lived with this singular aspect now to my later years. And by fighting it have built myself a life3.

 

The apartment was cold, the ceiling high and the kitchen counters were large and had linoleum surfaces. We had no lawn outside but had to play in the driveway. During that summer and into the fall when I for the first time had been brought to the first grade, up a hillside of tall anonymous trees, the path to the school shone by someone, another child, ran through the last segment to be part of the nationhood with a stone surface where someone else, an older child told me that there were in fact dinosaur footprints here, that they had seen them and that they would show me where they were. It was on this path up a very steep incline that I was expected each day to pass to the upper fields, all manicured into the baseball field with tall chained fences around which we had to maneuver to the back side of the school. I had had dreams later of this school. It came when I was afraid of something and it showed me the fear in a manner of its choosing.

 

The great discovery of dinosaur evidence continued to push myself and by now my sister as well, her being for the first time brought herself to kindergarten. We would go out to the trees to find these tracks.

 

　

Where these children came from I do not recall, they appeared to myself and my sister when we moved here from Bethel, having moved, the big van backed to the kitchen door, the door propped open by a box and with my nervous father in charge. He was filled with energy back then, standing on one leg, squinting lighting his cigarette in cupped hands, and then talking, telling, doing, pushing boxes and carrying the heavy ones out of site into the building. We kids were “in the way” and needed to go play, though we had no idea where we were to do this since there was no place, no lawn but only a street. We so much wanted there to be a place to go play, but there just wasn‘t. our old house had a lawn and good smelling bushes all around the house, with tunnels opening from the back corner of everything where you could hide yourself. Crawling space to play animal, in the cool green leaves, to pull the dog into, to play tea-set. But here we felt cast from everything without notice. Therefore My sister and I bonded into the one soul that small children have together mostly just wanted to watch. My other sister, the third in line Lily, was

 

 

 

 

 

 

　

But I must digress to my first memory of this time in my life when I was stuck there in the snow. I cannot tell who it was who finally rescued me, but my mother had been summoned to help, and I had to have such help, for it wasn’t the snow, but my life, and this being the beginning of some larger hardness, the world that up until now was a sheltered reality of faces come down from the heavens of their lives; adults with their godlike words, laughter, knees from chairs, brandished about in a world high above the three foot level me and my sisters lived then. Having uncles, aunts, magic appearances with vast knowledge were were not privy to. It brought a security that was evident allowed.

But with school, then there came difference, divided worlds, a teacher who cried over me. How I became stuck in snow, the full implosion of the outside universe was sudden swift brought to me with the facts. And this recall goes even further back.

The dialectic of who I would be later with all my various intimations, fears, sadness’s, and inner beheld meanings would be brought about in my youth without my choice as it is for all of us living in the stream of life having once begun it, we must first learn to confront unchangeable reality…for it comes that way packaged with effects we incorporate. For out of all the field of meanings there are we have been pushed into one set of facts, called our life.

And mine came to the moment of defenseless agony when all the facts of life in its gluey stages and counter findings brought this one life which I, almost suddenly discover to be mine, and no one else’s. That I can no longer swim up into its currents, that I cannot find the way in the dark afternoon windows of a five year old staring out kneeling on the boney springs of our ancient couch to look out the big panes, out the picture window of our street in white river, looking at all there is to my world that had at its coffer the real winter darkness. It was that same sprung couch with its center springs having herniated, rupturing through the dusty fabric. Knowing where to sit so your bum didn’t get pinched made for considerable laughter. When the Mormons came to visit us, something my mother hadn’t told anyone about, at least not my father or my Grandmother, especially not her as my grandmother who was still taking part in our daily lives though now she would have to drive the twenty five miles down the white river on that highway to come see us, not like in bethel when she would be always carrying one (my new brother came sometime in this, between moving and the blither of change)

But catching someone was something we enjoyed, the pinch really did hurt as well. That couch was part of our lives. Such inanimate aspects, couches, animations of dogs and cats coming into our lives brought a steadiness. That couch stayed with us through all the many moves being lifted and carted onto pickups and flatbeds, always with a veneration I think for my parents could have gotten a new or at least a newer couch but the thinking that way never seemed to enter their heads. It would only be later, when a more greater phase, when money didn’t wrinkle into the pocket of my mothers pocketbook quite so ominously, when the money for things….like a couch, or dishes didn’t come from the flat handed condescension of my grandfather, with every bill coming, every bag of free potatoes that came, signaled to my father that he wasn’t a good provider. My father couldn’t allow there to be anything new, no appliance, since he could not afford it.

　

　

　

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[kmartell]

goodbye tomorrow
A Story by kmartell

" a sample of the unfinished, unedited "



Built with remorse from the beginning, since beginning the realization of what becomes of life by being stuck up tom waist in snow, weeping with a Childs honest sorrows. I had begun to see things from sadness’s and despairing of ever gaining anything from life…. I had broken myself young and have lived with this singular aspect now to my later years. And by fighting it have built myself a life3.



The apartment was cold, the ceiling high and the kitchen counters were large and had linoleum surfaces. We had no lawn outside but had to play in the driveway. During that summer and into the fall when I for the first time had been brought to the first grade, up a hillside of tall anonymous trees, the path to the school shone by someone, another child, ran through the last segment to be part of the nationhood with a stone surface where someone else, an older child told me that there were in fact dinosaur footprints here, that they had seen them and that they would show me where they were. It was on this path up a very steep incline that I was expected each day to pass to the upper fields, all manicured into the baseball field with tall chained fences around which we had to maneuver to the back side of the school. I had had dreams later of this school. It came when I was afraid of something and it showed me the fear in a manner of its choosing.



The great discovery of dinosaur evidence continued to push myself and by now my sister as well, her being for the first time brought herself to kindergarten. We would go out to the trees to find these tracks.



　

Where these children came from I do not recall, they appeared to myself and my sister when we moved here from Bethel, having moved, the big van backed to the kitchen door, the door propped open by a box and with my nervous father in charge. He was filled with energy back then, standing on one leg, squinting lighting his cigarette in cupped hands, and then talking, telling, doing, pushing boxes and carrying the heavy ones out of site into the building. We kids were “in the way” and needed to go play, though we had no idea where we were to do this since there was no place, no lawn but only a street. We so much wanted there to be a place to go play, but there just wasn‘t. our old house had a lawn and good smelling bushes all around the house, with tunnels opening from the back corner of everything where you could hide yourself. Crawling space to play animal, in the cool green leaves, to pull the dog into, to play tea-set. But here we felt cast from everything without notice. Therefore My sister and I bonded into the one soul that small children have together mostly just wanted to watch. My other sister, the third in line Lily, was













　

But I must digress to my first memory of this time in my life when I was stuck there in the snow. I cannot tell who it was who finally rescued me, but my mother had been summoned to help, and I had to have such help, for it wasn’t the snow, but my life, and this being the beginning of some larger hardness, the world that up until now was a sheltered reality of faces come down from the heavens of their lives; adults with their godlike words, laughter, knees from chairs, brandished about in a world high above the three foot level me and my sisters lived then. Having uncles, aunts, magic appearances with vast knowledge were were not privy to. It brought a security that was evident allowed.

But with school, then there came difference, divided worlds, a teacher who cried over me. How I became stuck in snow, the full implosion of the outside universe was sudden swift brought to me with the facts. And this recall goes even further back.

The dialectic of who I would be later with all my various intimations, fears, sadness’s, and inner beheld meanings would be brought about in my youth without my choice as it is for all of us living in the stream of life having once begun it, we must first learn to confront unchangeable reality…for it comes that way packaged with effects we incorporate. For out of all the field of meanings there are we have been pushed into one set of facts, called our life.

And mine came to the moment of defenseless agony when all the facts of life in its gluey stages and counter findings brought this one life which I, almost suddenly discover to be mine, and no one else’s. That I can no longer swim up into its currents, that I cannot find the way in the dark afternoon windows of a five year old staring out kneeling on the boney springs of our ancient couch to look out the big panes, out the picture window of our street in white river, looking at all there is to my world that had at its coffer the real winter darkness. It was that same sprung couch with its center springs having herniated, rupturing through the dusty fabric. Knowing where to sit so your bum didn’t get pinched made for considerable laughter. When the Mormons came to visit us, something my mother hadn’t told anyone about, at least not my father or my Grandmother, especially not her as my grandmother who was still taking part in our daily lives though now she would have to drive the twenty five miles down the white river on that highway to come see us, not like in bethel when she would be always carrying one (my new brother came sometime in this, between moving and the blither of change)

But catching someone was something we enjoyed, the pinch really did hurt as well. That couch was part of our lives. Such inanimate aspects, couches, animations of dogs and cats coming into our lives brought a steadiness. That couch stayed with us through all the many moves being lifted and carted onto pickups and flatbeds, always with a veneration I think for my parents could have gotten a new or at least a newer couch but the thinking that way never seemed to enter their heads. It would only be later, when a more greater phase, when money didn’t wrinkle into the pocket of my mothers pocketbook quite so ominously, when the money for things….like a couch, or dishes didn’t come from the flat handed condescension of my grandfather, with every bill coming, every bag of free potatoes that came, signaled to my father that he wasn’t a good provider. My father couldn’t allow there to be anything new, no appliance, since he could not afford it.

　

　

　



© 2011 kmartell

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. serah .

. serah .



. such a beautifully poignant piece of writing, mr. kmartell ... with so many

[...]

. such a beautifully poignant piece of writing, mr. kmartell ... with so many hues of life ... and layers of profundity ... the tinge of nostalgia ... and even a sense of regret ... life is so unbelievable ... and so mysterious ... sometimes kind and sometimes absolutely cruel ...