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2001-05-30 || 12:18 p.m. || coats closet || there is something very comforting about the coats closet. the door is opened to find colors and patterns and textures aligned, standing at stable attention. red polyester. yellow wool. blue wool. brown knit. blue slicker. they are old colors, arrested textures, and their smells give away their age. among the coats, hung lifelessly on hangers, ghosts of past owners are folded and slung, materializing in the form of ancient tissues that desintegrate at the touch, inexplicable stains about the collar, cigarette burns and buttons hastily refastened with contrasting thread. i would like to climb in and stand among them, press the empty sleeves to my face, breathe in memories and moth balls and imagine the old women and men who pulled those coats tighter to them when they were cold and lonely. when they stood at bus stops and stood in doorways and stood over the stove cooking, when they sat in hotel lobbies smoking, oblivious to the fact they would get old and die and their belongings would outlast them. pass through different hands at each reincarnation. stubborn and proud of the unravelings and stains and smells that have worked themselves, like age, like the passage of time, down to the molecular level. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |