Nov 07, 2007 22:51
it's years later, and you're bundled in a purple pashmina, hair white, face plain save for a little black eye makeup, (eyeliner and mascara no doubt), and the cbc is inter-splicing shots of you jumping rope in spandex black pants and a comfortable white t-shirt with this one you are sitting in now; an intimate interview.
Panned to while you speak are the pre-requisite photos of you being famous in the seventies and subsequently the eighties, before the pashmina, when you still felt a connection to your small, middle-of-nowhere maritime resource extracting town.
And now the lights have become familiar; the flood, the redhead, the backlight giving you a lovely halo and casting light softening shadows where your jowls might now show. does their warmth bring you back to the feeling of sweating, guitar on lap, staring out into what you know is a crowd felt by all your other senses save sight as you are blinded by and above camera spot?
Does it feel like no time has passed? Does it feel at times like all the same moment but with a dwindling specialness? What does it mean when the experiences many dream about and strive for and never achieve become a source of ennui? Hopefully you fight that, hopefully you stay appreciative, gracious.
stay gold.