drown soia stuck underwater for years I finally touched the bottom sat there until I felt like I couldn't bear it any more had to come up to breathe never so glad to be alive 010303 ... silentbob I've mastered drowning down to an art 010303 ... soia the art of drowning, har har I finally bought that because I was finally able to see the beauty in it that I was missing before 010303 ... unhinged the last time i swam in the ocean i got this overwhelming sense that i was going to drown and got out as fast as i could. i think i just wanted to drown. for the next three months i kept sinking and sinking and sinking 010401 ... surrealchereal if you don`t want to drown, cut the weight take your clothes off 010529 ... birdmad drowned rat maybe i could see clearly again if i could just get closer to the surface 010530 ... tender_square i am walking in a neighbourhood and come upon one of my sisters and my mother waiting on the corner for the fireworks show to begin. there are lots of other people on adjacent sidewalks, looking up at the night sky to see the explosions of colour. many of the people appear from the past; everything has that tinge of browns from a breakdown in photo development emulsions. i am in a car that is speeding across a bridge. the bridge is wide. on the right are a line of concrete barriers blocking half the lanes, with plenty of interconnected white tents and large ventilation tubes snaking through them. there are plainclothes officers in bulletproof vests and expensive sunglasses patrolling the bridge with huge guns. i see other first responders move in hazmat gear through the tents. the fireworks are exploding above us, like they are being launched from the bridge itself. i keep listening to the detonations, expecting the debris of cardboard and plastic and papier-mâché to come crashing down on the windshield. the car is speeding, we are the lone vehicle, but i can't recall who the other occupants are or who is driving. up ahead, there is a part of the bridge on the left that sticks out like a tail and we slow to meet it. i am standing. there is a set of stairs leading from the bridge to a dock on the water below. a woman disembarks from a boat. she wears glasses and carries a clipboard and she consults it when i tell her who we are. she says we can join her on the boat; it is the only way to get to shore. the watercraft is a chairlift, and the slatted seat rests against the water. the woman gets on and settles in the furthest corner in front of a steering wheel. i can tell that boarding requires balance if i'm not to tip the woman and the boat. i waddle in winter gear to the edge of the dock and step and seat myself on the strange boat. it rocks in the water beneath my weight. i reach out so my father can join me. i am worried about him struggling to board because it is difficult for him to follow instructions. he tries to step onto the boat but loses his footing and falls into the river with all of his winter gear on. i scream “dad!” and try to reach for him. he slips beneath the dark water and doesn’t surface. i debate diving in after him but i know i will die too. i'm yelling, “it was supposed to be shallow!” the woman in the boat does nothing. 221226 ... ovenbird Once, after a hike in the mountains with a friend and our two boys, we stopped at an alpine lake to swim. My son swam out to a small island but on the way back started to tire out. I could see the panic in his eyes and the way his arms slapped the water as if he might be able to grasp the surface and hold himself aloft. I swam beside him, urging him on. At one point I tried to drag him to shore but immediately realized he was too big, too heavy. I wasn't a strong enough swimmer, or knowledgeable enough about water rescues, to save him. I knew in that moment that there was nothing I could do to save him from drowning. He made it to shore and we both dragged ourselves from the cold water, shook off the momentary terror. But I live with the truth of it perpetually now: I couldn't have saved him. It haunts me, this knowledge of my own inadequacy, the knowledge of our human fragility, the way the cold water could have closed over his head and claimed him. 250324 what's it to you? who go blather from