(no subject)
i remember four years ago, driving through the southern part of connecticut, listening to my brand new copy of red-eyed soul. i had just broken up with someone i deeply cared about, i had lost both my jobs, and i was living on an ex boyfriend's back porch. i was fighting with my mom and fighting with my dad and just feeling useless. so i drove to providence at three in the morning, walked around the city, and drove back to connecticut. as i was passing through new london in the early morning hours, my ears picked up a line i had never heard before. "i want my hope back." those words spoke so deeply to me, empathizing on a level i'd yet to experience. it wasn't that i hoped things would get better, but rather i hoped i could find the wherewithal to hope again.
when i came into this scene, i wanted to meet everyone. i drove hundreds of miles out of my way so i could give kids rides to shows, kids who later became some of the best friends i've ever had. i wanted to go everywhere and talk to all the kids. i wanted to see every show and learn all i could about the inferno and about life. that exuberance has been beaten out of me. i'm so sad when i find myself frequently saying, "i can't go to that show, she's gonna be there" or "oh fuck, he's showing up? i don't want to deal with him." maybe i'm deeply flawed as a human being, and am unable of creating positive energy or lasting relationships, but i feel like so many people feel that way about so many other people. that negative energy fills the air with gritty tension and weighs on my heart. there must be a way around or beyond that feeling, but i haven't found it yet.
the other night at the Hive with dana, she said, "i think i've gotten all i can out of the inferno, now it's changing and it's different and it isn't for me." it hit me later that i very much feel the same way. maybe we romanticize a past that never really existed [us punks are so good at that!] or maybe i'm overly negative because of personal experiences. this feeling isn't impacted by the new album, which i haven't listened to because i want to hear it live before i form an opinion. i guess you could boil my whining down to a simple fact, that i've never had a good sense of when it's time to get gone. maybe that time is now.
here, i never thought i would feel so misunderstood. here, i feel more solitary than ever.
a year or so later at a show in greenpoint with leftover crack, i walked up to jack as he leaned against the bar. i stood on my tiptoes to put my lips to his ear and said, "sometimes i feel like giving up." i stood flat footed again in front of him and he put his drink on the bar. he held my face in his hands, smiled, and simply said, "don't." he put down my face and picked his drink up again, and moved through the crowd to the stage. sturgeon gave him a hand up and they started to play "soon we'll be dead". i stayed by the bar where i had stood with jack and sort of swayed to the song. when the line "sometimes you fall, you can't win them all" came along, jack extended his hand to me. our eyes met across five hundred kids, and with the same sincerity carried by his "don't", he sang "or can you?" my very strings vibrated with new found energy. not the fangirl rush of jack's recognition, but the thought that maybe someone gave a damn, maybe someone really thought i could pull it off. you see, no one before had ever told me what i could do. i was told what i had to to, what i was supposed to do, and what i had done wrong. maybe i'm an abused child seeking parents in every rock star i meet. maybe i'm just a moron. or maybe...maybe that moment was something i can hold in my heart forever, and not taint with wondering why it happened or why it won't happen again.
when i came into this scene, i wanted to meet everyone. i drove hundreds of miles out of my way so i could give kids rides to shows, kids who later became some of the best friends i've ever had. i wanted to go everywhere and talk to all the kids. i wanted to see every show and learn all i could about the inferno and about life. that exuberance has been beaten out of me. i'm so sad when i find myself frequently saying, "i can't go to that show, she's gonna be there" or "oh fuck, he's showing up? i don't want to deal with him." maybe i'm deeply flawed as a human being, and am unable of creating positive energy or lasting relationships, but i feel like so many people feel that way about so many other people. that negative energy fills the air with gritty tension and weighs on my heart. there must be a way around or beyond that feeling, but i haven't found it yet.
the other night at the Hive with dana, she said, "i think i've gotten all i can out of the inferno, now it's changing and it's different and it isn't for me." it hit me later that i very much feel the same way. maybe we romanticize a past that never really existed [us punks are so good at that!] or maybe i'm overly negative because of personal experiences. this feeling isn't impacted by the new album, which i haven't listened to because i want to hear it live before i form an opinion. i guess you could boil my whining down to a simple fact, that i've never had a good sense of when it's time to get gone. maybe that time is now.
here, i never thought i would feel so misunderstood. here, i feel more solitary than ever.
a year or so later at a show in greenpoint with leftover crack, i walked up to jack as he leaned against the bar. i stood on my tiptoes to put my lips to his ear and said, "sometimes i feel like giving up." i stood flat footed again in front of him and he put his drink on the bar. he held my face in his hands, smiled, and simply said, "don't." he put down my face and picked his drink up again, and moved through the crowd to the stage. sturgeon gave him a hand up and they started to play "soon we'll be dead". i stayed by the bar where i had stood with jack and sort of swayed to the song. when the line "sometimes you fall, you can't win them all" came along, jack extended his hand to me. our eyes met across five hundred kids, and with the same sincerity carried by his "don't", he sang "or can you?" my very strings vibrated with new found energy. not the fangirl rush of jack's recognition, but the thought that maybe someone gave a damn, maybe someone really thought i could pull it off. you see, no one before had ever told me what i could do. i was told what i had to to, what i was supposed to do, and what i had done wrong. maybe i'm an abused child seeking parents in every rock star i meet. maybe i'm just a moron. or maybe...maybe that moment was something i can hold in my heart forever, and not taint with wondering why it happened or why it won't happen again.