We're so close, to something better left unknown
I was driving down 41 today, listening to Metric. I thought that sometimes music is the best drug. It is. Take that however you want it. I was listening to "Gimme Sympathy" and I was in a new world. The sky was serene and free of clouds. There were no cops on the underpass, so I could maintain 60 in the 45. I thought about mystery. I thought about how it feels to not know somebody. I remembered how it feels not to know that anymore, but how exciting it feels to want it.
I'm done pretending to feel things. I'm done trying to pretend that I don't hurt, when I do. I'm tired of trying to say things, because I'm too scared to admit that I shouldn't say them. I'm tired of wanting to make people happy, because I'm selfish; and want to feel giving, even if it means not giving. And it was born out of not admitting that I have stopped trying. Maybe that, or maybe I'm just not motivated to really care about many things? I maintain a requisite care, but one that I feel is very sincere; if that could possibly be appropriate in this context. I've gotten away from this. I know that something isn't right. But you can conjecture about circumstances and what-not, but that isn't it. I should have been standing up for myself a long time ago. I got so used to pretending to be somebody, and later realizing what an asshole I had been, that I didn't try to stand up for myself even when I knew I meant it. A clown. A fucking clown. That's how I have been, and probably still am. Geeze, this post started listening to Metric and wanting to type again. Now, it's Lady Gaga. You can't not vent to this. Oh here it comes!!!! Ahhhhhh-- the chorus. A once respected place in the arts, the chorus that is. A device that facilitated drama, passed history along, and inspired the regulars to get to work the next morning; the chorus has connected a part of our creativity. It is the collective expression. We rise and fall in the chorus. We rise and fall in chorus.
I am inspired today. I don't know why. I don't understand it. It's something I can't rationalize. I can tell you the pictures, the day as it passed along through my mind, driving down the road, enjoying the thrill of an extra 10 MPH, and realizing that I have a sunroof. But what I enjoyed the most about the ride to John's tonight, was that my pointer and middle fingers were in time with the 16ths on the cymbals and my ring finger was on the quarters. I had adjusted for the fills. It made me the happiest when I could transition without ruining the beat.
I enjoy the tides. I enjoy where it takes me. I have tried for years to let it take me wherever it wants, but have manufactured choices. I am enjoying letting it take me where it will go. I am on my own now, without my favorite captain. My favorite Yankee. I will let my vessel sail until I find where it is that I want to be. The winds will have me, and I have always had them. I raise my arms to you, the West, but will always believe you come from the same Southbay that is in my heart, the frozen one from the deck, the willow and wool sweater, the clam fisherman, and my first meeting with barnacles; We have sat on this stoop together for too long, my friend. It is time that we shared the apricot nectar and got on the short-bus to camp. Amen, to our stuffed-mice! Amen, to the zip-lines! A pox on lost dollars! A pox on lost Italian-ice!
But bless what we can know and accept. We are not always the best of people. We can do better. I can do better.
I'm done pretending to feel things. I'm done trying to pretend that I don't hurt, when I do. I'm tired of trying to say things, because I'm too scared to admit that I shouldn't say them. I'm tired of wanting to make people happy, because I'm selfish; and want to feel giving, even if it means not giving. And it was born out of not admitting that I have stopped trying. Maybe that, or maybe I'm just not motivated to really care about many things? I maintain a requisite care, but one that I feel is very sincere; if that could possibly be appropriate in this context. I've gotten away from this. I know that something isn't right. But you can conjecture about circumstances and what-not, but that isn't it. I should have been standing up for myself a long time ago. I got so used to pretending to be somebody, and later realizing what an asshole I had been, that I didn't try to stand up for myself even when I knew I meant it. A clown. A fucking clown. That's how I have been, and probably still am. Geeze, this post started listening to Metric and wanting to type again. Now, it's Lady Gaga. You can't not vent to this. Oh here it comes!!!! Ahhhhhh-- the chorus. A once respected place in the arts, the chorus that is. A device that facilitated drama, passed history along, and inspired the regulars to get to work the next morning; the chorus has connected a part of our creativity. It is the collective expression. We rise and fall in the chorus. We rise and fall in chorus.
I am inspired today. I don't know why. I don't understand it. It's something I can't rationalize. I can tell you the pictures, the day as it passed along through my mind, driving down the road, enjoying the thrill of an extra 10 MPH, and realizing that I have a sunroof. But what I enjoyed the most about the ride to John's tonight, was that my pointer and middle fingers were in time with the 16ths on the cymbals and my ring finger was on the quarters. I had adjusted for the fills. It made me the happiest when I could transition without ruining the beat.
I enjoy the tides. I enjoy where it takes me. I have tried for years to let it take me wherever it wants, but have manufactured choices. I am enjoying letting it take me where it will go. I am on my own now, without my favorite captain. My favorite Yankee. I will let my vessel sail until I find where it is that I want to be. The winds will have me, and I have always had them. I raise my arms to you, the West, but will always believe you come from the same Southbay that is in my heart, the frozen one from the deck, the willow and wool sweater, the clam fisherman, and my first meeting with barnacles; We have sat on this stoop together for too long, my friend. It is time that we shared the apricot nectar and got on the short-bus to camp. Amen, to our stuffed-mice! Amen, to the zip-lines! A pox on lost dollars! A pox on lost Italian-ice!
But bless what we can know and accept. We are not always the best of people. We can do better. I can do better.