(no subject)
Why sentiment? What is it about remembering that induces knotting in the chest and soreness in the throat? Today I listened to David Darling, whose emotionally provocative cello-playing I enjoyed while studying at Cleveland State.
Seated at a table in the cold, concrete interior of the old student union center, the plastic, silver-colored mp3-cd player spins-and these October cello strings spin too, deep into my memory.
Is the desire to curl up under my heavy blankets and brood a reaction to sad music? Or to a random memory? David Darling’s music occupied that space as did the people I befriended and all the events in which I took part. Most of those people have moved on; those events-passed. To remember that space, that time, is an implicit acknowledgement that there are places where I have thrived, but to which I can't return.
I can't do the things that I did when I first heard this sound-it’s a ghost; I can do nothing now.
Seated at a table in the cold, concrete interior of the old student union center, the plastic, silver-colored mp3-cd player spins-and these October cello strings spin too, deep into my memory.
Is the desire to curl up under my heavy blankets and brood a reaction to sad music? Or to a random memory? David Darling’s music occupied that space as did the people I befriended and all the events in which I took part. Most of those people have moved on; those events-passed. To remember that space, that time, is an implicit acknowledgement that there are places where I have thrived, but to which I can't return.
I can't do the things that I did when I first heard this sound-it’s a ghost; I can do nothing now.