Calm before a rain

The clouds aren’t necessarily the first thing you notice when you leave your sanctuary. The darkness? Yes. That’s it. Day seems to have a darker shade before it rains. People carry about their work before a rain. Life is normal, if not more peaceful ---, almost as if should you remain very relaxed and very still, you could hear the earth sighing in relief, fully ready to receive the cleansing shower.

Darkness ---. Of course it is the clouds that cause this, but they are never noticed first. Maybe third or fourth, or if they’re really lucky second. The effort they must go through to even be noticed at all ---! As if, eyes full of tears, they must ball and weep with loud cries throwing electrical tantrums as wide as a city to command a peoples’ attention so seeped in excess and distractions of their own device.

And so it rains---, and people pull out their umbrellas and galoshes and call their friends and hurry to work and indoors and places they can watch without fear of the wet ---, and, and, and ---, and complain.

S.G. and the end of school

I heard you sing in the choir.
You were 17, thin, intelligent, lovely.
You had a beautiful voice, the kind girls should be jealous of.
We would spend time together every other morning,
you and I.
Others were there, but went unseen.
You became more distant---, more distant.
You were special, but I never told you.
Would it have mattered?
We grew apart and you became ever more distant---.
And one day everything ended and our ways were parted.
Was life kind to you where you were taken?
Did you lift yourself up, beyond all expectations?
... or were you crushed beneath the tides of chaos and unexpectedness which life carries so faithfully with itself.
Where are you now and do you still remember?

Prologue

And so it begins. Welcome to Memoirs of a Saturday Morning. This is the official intro post for this blog. It is my hope that Memoirs will reflect the inspiration for most of my writing: turn-of-the-century writer and poet Peter Altenberg. His work was like "snapshots" of the world he saw around him in Vienna during his life. Well, that's what this blog is all about. Not the Viennese, rather this blog is to be the outlet for all of my writings: be they about food, weather, society, or what have you. Essentially whatever I feel is noteworthy at the time or really whenever the urge to write strikes me in that special way. That sort of silly compulsion to put pen to paper type of feeling that you just can't ignore. I consider myself a writer, or at least like to pretend to moonlight as one on occasion. In any case, Enjoy.

Journalism Students

The lad scans the room of the observatory. People are seated everywhere there is to see.
One girl fidgets with her pencil, annoyed by the sound of students mumbling to each other.
The lad watches and watches.
People get up and leave, more come. The seats are continually filled in a rounding action.
It smells wet with a hint of april.
The lad watches.
He takes out a pen and paper,
and he writes... he writes---
A girl fidgets with her pencil, annoyed by the sound of the ambiance.
The lad scans the room of the observatory,
he writes more.

Is it important what he writes?

Yes.