But I do not control the reels. The memories can charge in, spool winding madly, tear off from their balsa-wood frames, and envelope me in their prismatic net. This is allowed.
Some might call this an "issue." I prefer not to.
Not to speak of anything in isolation. Gestalt. Issues and issues.
Back issues. All the original covers, sealed in amber (heh!) but tethered by such long strings as to allow some kites to hide away concealed by distance or blending in among familiar constellational groupings.
In such situations it is beneficial to befriend the breezes. Never bad advice, eh mate?
When I think of kites, I cry.
Talking to my boss about this didn't go well. I was relieved, or fired, or maybe they set up the paperwork so it appears that I quit. No matter.
It's not about my unsupportive and hostile ex-employer. It's not about blame, though I certainly maintain my own responsibility for the things that I said. It's not Me. It's not even about kites and strings.
It's about reels.
"Reelity"
Of course a good proper hurricane would blow them all away indiscriminately, with it unfortunately as well as all the people and their delicious beach-time snacks and non-alcoholic cold fizzy beverages.
The simple solution is to dispense with the destructive intrusive memories by forgetting them. Find the tether of each and burn the connection. But that guarantees nothing. Nothing but the freeing of the kites.
Of course they're indestructible because they are forever interred in the unchanging past. Illustrative kites carved in eternal first mass.
The temperature has crept up to 97 F. The morning breezes have slowed to less than a trickle.
Arizona is burning.
East Valley Tribune.com tells and shows more.
Yes. It occurs to me that kites can be burned.
