Monday, April 04, 2005
on the ground and wandering...
I was feeling transitory, so I am trying to reconcile my wanderlust with the desperate need to figure out what is going on in my life. That sounds so much less declarative than I thought it would, and fails to encapsulate the depth of how I am thinking right now. With events flying by, I am coming to realize the shortfalls of life without memory, and more importantly, life in this age of empires and romance.
I guess first off, I should put my hand up and swear that most of what I say is the truth, and the rest, well, is more unknown than lies. Besides, truth is still subjective, and, that being the case, leaves some of us with the distinct impression that there is something dark and clotted where life is supposed to be. Everyone I talk to seems unhappy in a strange way, and even the ones who testify to the happiness and justice of life lived in small towns seem to be wearing plastic faces. In short, I don't believe them. We are all spitting blood and words, as Bruce Cockburn would say, "We gotta kick at the darkness 'till it bleeds daylight." Does this even make sense to you? Can I get across what I am saying without whining or sounding like sour grapes?
It is amazing how much a change of perspective can invite a totally new understanding of even settled issues. Old friends reappear, and though I have forgotten why a certain gorgeous lady and I are dancing across white waters and cold beer, I can't help but make the connection to the man I always thought I would be and the man I am now. There isn't any time for commentary on the dearth of passion signified by chasing the ideal, so we'll skip the Freudian/Platonic bullshit for now because it would bore you, and most likely make me want to stop writing. Suffice it to say that the only thing that really seems to matter is the good music keeps playing and we all step back and realize we have 86 years to succeed, and more if needed.
I do so love falling in love. The unfortunate events vis a vis my former lives had obscured the rapid delight simply waiting to be claimed by those willing to stake a claim to the rewards of instantaneous affection. It so happens this is rarely returned, with a simple and honest explanation that would indicate an unfortunate tendency of women (an an astonishing number of men…Gentleman, romance was invented as an end in and of itself before being hijacked by shitty movies and poor writers. I am not what you would call elegant or classy in any real manner, perhaps more “rough around the edges,” but even I can see it. [CrbianFool Note: This does not mean I live up to any of this. In former lives, I have been known to be scurrilous and cruel, and these were on good days.]) to ignore the tenets of romance in favor of some Disney story. I am as guilty as anyone else, so don't think I am separating myself from the group, but is guilt tempered by awareness? For fucks sake, look around and tell me I am wrong. Somebody, somewhere, explain this to me, and please, provide evidence. Why do I fall in love with you? You fucking twat, don't you get it yet? There is no answer to that question. There never will be, and if there ever is, it means the end of things as we know it. Why do I love you? Why do you want to know? And would it make a difference if it were one reason rather than another? Of course not. I just felt another hair go gray, and I think I know why. No, the more important query revolves around the sensation of sleeping next to someone rather than with them. Strange worlds and complicated explications are no match for the sober knowledge that someone else is there, and if they really care for you, they are there all night. Suffice it to say that us insomniacs make lousy bed partners, but one of these days Alice, as the saying goes. I smile and nod, because I see you smiling, and it seems the polite thing to do.
I feel the need for refuge, but more tangentially, I want a place to watch the storm from without being out in it. If this seems hypocritical, I can’t apologize. With that in mind, I have been rapidly trying to plan out my escape from this hideous mountain town to a nice beach community. I have begun getting rid of all my fat clothes, trimming my possessions to the few items I need, and soon the car situation might be marginally improved. I say marginally because I can’t afford to drive even if my car wasn’t a total piece of shit. So, my car may be held together with Boston sports stickers and duct tape, but it moves slowly and has bad brakes. (Fucking Asshole CF, bad metaphor and transparent ploy. Hahahahahaha)
Well, the hour nears six and I have an ass-load of homework to catch up on. I have one of those prideful dollars to donuts bets going about sobriety and redheads, and perhaps, more importantly have a psychic sense that it will soon be time to roll, and preparation will be important. Picking a beach to move to is hard. I am torn between Carolina and Florida. Florida has better weather. Carolina is my choice in terms of proximity to friends and idealism. Doesn’t really matter in the end, I am still anxious to see who is waiting at the other end of the tracks. Truth be told, if the town has a half-decent sports bar with no college rock on the jukebox and a nice place to sit and watch the sunrise, I’ll be fine. Beautiful women a bonus, fellow Boston ex-pats a plus. Not greedy….all I really want is my rug back….are you smiling yet?
Time for to play. I’m going to take one to the head and go smoke a cigarette. After that, I think I’ll go laugh at all the fuckers so desperate to “make something of themselves.” After that, I’ll laugh at myself for being too idiosyncratic, then laugh at myself for being a fool who likes big words. Then, I’ll laugh at you, because that is really all that is left to do. With my good fortune, I found a Springsteen bootleg from a Hartford show. Listening to the Reunion Tour again, I would kill if the ESB was coming to Salem instead of Widespread Panic….when you want rock and roll, jam band music seems like Muzak….well, time to start laughing and smoking. I’m sure there will be more ranting later…
CF
I guess first off, I should put my hand up and swear that most of what I say is the truth, and the rest, well, is more unknown than lies. Besides, truth is still subjective, and, that being the case, leaves some of us with the distinct impression that there is something dark and clotted where life is supposed to be. Everyone I talk to seems unhappy in a strange way, and even the ones who testify to the happiness and justice of life lived in small towns seem to be wearing plastic faces. In short, I don't believe them. We are all spitting blood and words, as Bruce Cockburn would say, "We gotta kick at the darkness 'till it bleeds daylight." Does this even make sense to you? Can I get across what I am saying without whining or sounding like sour grapes?
It is amazing how much a change of perspective can invite a totally new understanding of even settled issues. Old friends reappear, and though I have forgotten why a certain gorgeous lady and I are dancing across white waters and cold beer, I can't help but make the connection to the man I always thought I would be and the man I am now. There isn't any time for commentary on the dearth of passion signified by chasing the ideal, so we'll skip the Freudian/Platonic bullshit for now because it would bore you, and most likely make me want to stop writing. Suffice it to say that the only thing that really seems to matter is the good music keeps playing and we all step back and realize we have 86 years to succeed, and more if needed.
I do so love falling in love. The unfortunate events vis a vis my former lives had obscured the rapid delight simply waiting to be claimed by those willing to stake a claim to the rewards of instantaneous affection. It so happens this is rarely returned, with a simple and honest explanation that would indicate an unfortunate tendency of women (an an astonishing number of men…Gentleman, romance was invented as an end in and of itself before being hijacked by shitty movies and poor writers. I am not what you would call elegant or classy in any real manner, perhaps more “rough around the edges,” but even I can see it. [CrbianFool Note: This does not mean I live up to any of this. In former lives, I have been known to be scurrilous and cruel, and these were on good days.]) to ignore the tenets of romance in favor of some Disney story. I am as guilty as anyone else, so don't think I am separating myself from the group, but is guilt tempered by awareness? For fucks sake, look around and tell me I am wrong. Somebody, somewhere, explain this to me, and please, provide evidence. Why do I fall in love with you? You fucking twat, don't you get it yet? There is no answer to that question. There never will be, and if there ever is, it means the end of things as we know it. Why do I love you? Why do you want to know? And would it make a difference if it were one reason rather than another? Of course not. I just felt another hair go gray, and I think I know why. No, the more important query revolves around the sensation of sleeping next to someone rather than with them. Strange worlds and complicated explications are no match for the sober knowledge that someone else is there, and if they really care for you, they are there all night. Suffice it to say that us insomniacs make lousy bed partners, but one of these days Alice, as the saying goes. I smile and nod, because I see you smiling, and it seems the polite thing to do.
I feel the need for refuge, but more tangentially, I want a place to watch the storm from without being out in it. If this seems hypocritical, I can’t apologize. With that in mind, I have been rapidly trying to plan out my escape from this hideous mountain town to a nice beach community. I have begun getting rid of all my fat clothes, trimming my possessions to the few items I need, and soon the car situation might be marginally improved. I say marginally because I can’t afford to drive even if my car wasn’t a total piece of shit. So, my car may be held together with Boston sports stickers and duct tape, but it moves slowly and has bad brakes. (Fucking Asshole CF, bad metaphor and transparent ploy. Hahahahahaha)
Well, the hour nears six and I have an ass-load of homework to catch up on. I have one of those prideful dollars to donuts bets going about sobriety and redheads, and perhaps, more importantly have a psychic sense that it will soon be time to roll, and preparation will be important. Picking a beach to move to is hard. I am torn between Carolina and Florida. Florida has better weather. Carolina is my choice in terms of proximity to friends and idealism. Doesn’t really matter in the end, I am still anxious to see who is waiting at the other end of the tracks. Truth be told, if the town has a half-decent sports bar with no college rock on the jukebox and a nice place to sit and watch the sunrise, I’ll be fine. Beautiful women a bonus, fellow Boston ex-pats a plus. Not greedy….all I really want is my rug back….are you smiling yet?
Time for to play. I’m going to take one to the head and go smoke a cigarette. After that, I think I’ll go laugh at all the fuckers so desperate to “make something of themselves.” After that, I’ll laugh at myself for being too idiosyncratic, then laugh at myself for being a fool who likes big words. Then, I’ll laugh at you, because that is really all that is left to do. With my good fortune, I found a Springsteen bootleg from a Hartford show. Listening to the Reunion Tour again, I would kill if the ESB was coming to Salem instead of Widespread Panic….when you want rock and roll, jam band music seems like Muzak….well, time to start laughing and smoking. I’m sure there will be more ranting later…
CF
