Sean Taylor's Blog, page 9

I can hear your broken ongoing laugh.

L'esprit de l’escalier
A French term used in English for the predicament of thinking of the perfect reply too late. English speakers sometimes call this "escalator wit", or "staircase wit”.

This is the spirit of the staircase, at the top step, of the top floor, of the highest skyscraper, in the world.
This is the final draft of your closing argument in the court room you’ve held to adore. And it comes complete with your honest as atoms chattering teeth.
It loses strength, along with sound, a...

At 2am songs are places you go.

I first heard this song in a cave off of highway one years ago, before we had met. I was traveling purely for the sake of movement. The cave was especially deep because the tide was out. It wasn’t strange until I started to notice it, but all of the shells in this cave were face down and the size of wide open hands. I thought to leave them. It was serene and neat. After I turned over the first shell I heard the opening glimmer of a guitar note, that came to leave, time and again, like the m...

It's like Jenny says, 'With every broken heart we should become more adventurous.'

I lied to the Make-A-Wish foundation. When I donated to them I told them I was an Admiral. Now when they send me mail it says Admiral Sean Taylor. Maybe that's my wish.

November

As we got older we stopped taking our shoes off at the front door.
There was something romantic about what we brought in. She told me for days, years ago, that I wouldn’t be able to do this forever. She said, they will run out of trees, or you, you will run out of back.
Her sisters told her, never marry a lumberjack, there’s that global warming, there’s no job security.
Every year in late November I move the best Spruce, Pine and Fir trees from our back lot to the front lawn alongside the high...

Writing Margot

She says, “When I get out of the shower I feel like a cat that fell into a sink of water.”

Think I'm coming down

Think of Angel Island, Point Reyes, Hearst Castle, Yosemite, Camping in the redwoods, Big Bear, the smallest Ferris wheel in the world on Balboa Island, Mt. Diablo, Big Sur, Russian River. A piece of the moon with meteor earrings, the lake where we rented a boat to chase the birds. Archery in GGP, the swimming hole at the Yosemite bug. I want to make a life with her and I don’t know what to do. The adventures in our minds at the MOMA, the poetry on Mt Tam. When you said you missed my lips my...

She wears red like a rose.

The way taxi drivers circle blood donation centers, weak riders are easy prey.

You're the lion's mane

The life that hasn’t happened yet, blog, that’s the life that gets me. I was driving home when I saw it, a billboard for the Lion King Musical in San Francisco, currently running at the SHN theater. Fuck you Lion King Musical. I would kill to see that with her. I would kill to see that and grab a cocktail and talk about it afterwards with her. I would give anything to do that. Fuck you Lion King Musical. Who knows, he’s probably already taken her. I’m dying wondering what we would have learn...

Something like therapy

I love this song, I want that painting. Tonight’s lesson, oh blog, is on amplification. I want to yell fuck, really fucking loud. I can taste it, it tastes like coughing, it tastes like release. I want to overtake every vibration in the air with it, this glorious release of mine. I’m sure I’d feel better if I yelled it at the top of my lungs. In the past I’ve punched walls and cut up my hands, but now that I’m thirty, I’m trying, I'm trying real hard to invest in symbols.
So I will sit...

One night drinks and laughs, the next exile.

This song on repeat for days.
Forgive me blog, you will become no more than a tool for grieving. And this would matter if anyone read you, but no one does, so you have been repurposed. Now say it with me blog, she is done with you, she is done with you, she is done with you, she is done with you, she is done with you, you do not matter to her, she is done with you.