Because all of the ways you think she could help you are really ways you need to help yourself.
Because the songs she played for you would be great even if she wasn't the one who played them for you, but she did and that's better.
Because she's flawed, and all you can think is that you're flawed too.
Because you have faith in her even when she doesn't have faith in herself.
Because all of the ways you want to help her you can't.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
the moment you stop thinking about her
When you realize that her making you a better person was just you making you a better person.
When you realize that her favorite songs were not your favorite songs, but your favorite songs of her's.
When you realize that the reasons why you were meant to be together were not the reasons why you were meant to be together, but reasons that you wanted to be the reasons why you were meant to be together, because you wanted to be together.
When you realize that you want to be together and not because of reasons that you want to be the reasons why you are meant to be together, but because you want to be together.
When you realize that her favorite songs were not your favorite songs, but your favorite songs of her's.
When you realize that the reasons why you were meant to be together were not the reasons why you were meant to be together, but reasons that you wanted to be the reasons why you were meant to be together, because you wanted to be together.
When you realize that you want to be together and not because of reasons that you want to be the reasons why you are meant to be together, but because you want to be together.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
boots on a stump
The first house west of Woodward on some street in Ferndale (Saratoga, I think) has a pair of boots fastened in some fashion to a stump that's painted white sitting out front. The stump is tucked just under the edge of the bushes at the front of the house. This made me think it was put there just as the boots obviously were. When I saw them today, the boots were colored green from a recent lawn mowing. I couldn't imagine any other reason for such an arrangement than a dedication to a friend who had passed away. Whether or not that was its meaning, I was touched by the potentially intended sentiment. I thought about this maybe dead man (or woman) in the past standing on the stump, previously rooted in the house's backyard - maybe his own. On Friday or Saturday nights this guy would love to elevate himself several inches above his gathered friends and make some special announcement. Maybe he was famous for telling stories on that stump. He would stretch tall to demand attention and bend low to whisper at a dramatic moment in his tale. Or perhaps the stump was a shared stage for joke telling and karaoke; retired now. The white paint on the stump made the boots stand out, rather than blend in with the wood underneath. It seemed a fitting tribute.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
the Quiz (a work in progress)
1. What do you want to do before you die?
I want to see Abu Simbel. I want to ride the subway in New York. I want to run a marathon. I want to be put up in the hospital. I want to have a piece of my writing published. I want to write a song. I want to eat sushi in a restaurant in Japan. I want to feel like I have no responsibilities. I want to see the band Halloween, Alaska live. I want to get married outside. I want to see a live platypus. I want to finish a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle all on my own. I want to meet Simon Pegg. I want to survive an entire day eating nothing but bananas. I want to compile a decade's worth of monthly playlists. I want to own an electric car. I want to brew my own beer. I want to own and read every book by Kurt Vonnegut. I want to sleep for fourteen consecutive hours. I want to steal a street sign. I want to try curling and feather bowling. I want to visit Easter Island.
(6/11/2010)
I want to see Abu Simbel. I want to ride the subway in New York. I want to run a marathon. I want to be put up in the hospital. I want to have a piece of my writing published. I want to write a song. I want to eat sushi in a restaurant in Japan. I want to feel like I have no responsibilities. I want to see the band Halloween, Alaska live. I want to get married outside. I want to see a live platypus. I want to finish a New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle all on my own. I want to meet Simon Pegg. I want to survive an entire day eating nothing but bananas. I want to compile a decade's worth of monthly playlists. I want to own an electric car. I want to brew my own beer. I want to own and read every book by Kurt Vonnegut. I want to sleep for fourteen consecutive hours. I want to steal a street sign. I want to try curling and feather bowling. I want to visit Easter Island.
(6/11/2010)
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Effulgence records
When I was eighteen or so I started my own "record company" called Effulgence. My logo was a bold-faced asterisk, and I numbered my records eff001, eff002, etc.
Of course, I had no connections with actual bands or actual music production equipment. My fun with this idea came from a keen interest in compiling mixes of my favorite songs into well-segueing playlists to fit 80 minute CD-Rs. I got the moniker from a poem by a friend/online-crush named Laura who lives in Vermont and lost my attention when I learned she drank. Mark's Hard Lemonade and an affinity for Jack Daniel's... two things that have plagued me ever since. She was the first person to give me a mix CD - for Christmas - and two songs from it still stand out in my mind: "Pretty Girls Make Graves" by the Smiths, and "Beautiful Freak" by Eels. The latter was the final track on the disc, and I believed that she wanted to be the freak: gorgeous in my eyes, and my eyes only, because one source of affection was all she needed. I spent some time combining spectacular songs into an anthology of my emotions in musical form. I decorated it with a large sharpied star, added eff001 in the bottom-right corner and mailed the CD to her; or I didn't mail the CD to her. In a haze of whiskey it's difficult to remember. In the following months, through AIM conversations I came on too strong. We grew apart, and at the time it was devastating. I have never been able to separate myself from moments of extreme heartache and longing. Everything exists in that instant. If I have any sort of good fortune it is counteracted by my inability to see my feelings in future-tense. I can plan for financial stability but my emotions are the shotgunned side of a dog whose caught rabies and still just won't die before another chance to sink his teeth in.
So several things stayed from that assembled selection of memories. I still make mixes. In fact, that aspect has been magnified. I burn a new CD every month. In my own way of accelerating my life, each new collection is more my thoughts and hopes in lyrical form. Beside, my ability to crumble at the feet of love has driven deeper. Living in the moment has left me trapped in the moment. Effulgent, I am, in making love my priority.
For all the CDs I've burned since eff004 - or wherever I left off - Effulgence records is no more.
Of course, I had no connections with actual bands or actual music production equipment. My fun with this idea came from a keen interest in compiling mixes of my favorite songs into well-segueing playlists to fit 80 minute CD-Rs. I got the moniker from a poem by a friend/online-crush named Laura who lives in Vermont and lost my attention when I learned she drank. Mark's Hard Lemonade and an affinity for Jack Daniel's... two things that have plagued me ever since. She was the first person to give me a mix CD - for Christmas - and two songs from it still stand out in my mind: "Pretty Girls Make Graves" by the Smiths, and "Beautiful Freak" by Eels. The latter was the final track on the disc, and I believed that she wanted to be the freak: gorgeous in my eyes, and my eyes only, because one source of affection was all she needed. I spent some time combining spectacular songs into an anthology of my emotions in musical form. I decorated it with a large sharpied star, added eff001 in the bottom-right corner and mailed the CD to her; or I didn't mail the CD to her. In a haze of whiskey it's difficult to remember. In the following months, through AIM conversations I came on too strong. We grew apart, and at the time it was devastating. I have never been able to separate myself from moments of extreme heartache and longing. Everything exists in that instant. If I have any sort of good fortune it is counteracted by my inability to see my feelings in future-tense. I can plan for financial stability but my emotions are the shotgunned side of a dog whose caught rabies and still just won't die before another chance to sink his teeth in.
So several things stayed from that assembled selection of memories. I still make mixes. In fact, that aspect has been magnified. I burn a new CD every month. In my own way of accelerating my life, each new collection is more my thoughts and hopes in lyrical form. Beside, my ability to crumble at the feet of love has driven deeper. Living in the moment has left me trapped in the moment. Effulgent, I am, in making love my priority.
For all the CDs I've burned since eff004 - or wherever I left off - Effulgence records is no more.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
reprises and priorities
Another day of lapsing judgements. Another day of different intentions. Another moment of music making memories of ideas I didn't pen, or kept as secrets on my bedroom shelf. I am angry with the thoughts I keep from her, and it is difficult and wrong to shoot their arrows at her when she offers me so much with her company. But I need guidance to get me through, and more than anything she is my closest friend. I am finding footholds where my own well-being wins for once. Some faces I call friends, some enemies, and some don't answer the phone.
It's always better looking back. Now I have an unintended chapter: Winter, 2010, that my heart turns to for proof.
It's always better looking back. Now I have an unintended chapter: Winter, 2010, that my heart turns to for proof.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
stacking your own deck
The tower of cards is collapsed. I see myself smiling in the rubble. Hearts and spades at my sides.
I pick through the debris around me. All that I have been or meant to be made of, now disconnected. One slip sitting next to me catches my eye, and I raise it to catch the sunlight. Patience: enjoying the here and the now, and not mourning what you miss. Time so often taunts me with its passing. When did an afternoon with a book become boring? and when did boring become evil? In the paper pieces I see too many tiers of over-exertion and disenchantment. This is not all me; so much is just faces and numbers. Now is another opportunity to replace my priorities. I know the wind will blow again of change and test me to trust in who I am. I reach for more building material: The folly of being everyone's friend. The fear for fitting in. The jealously and comfort of following in someone's footsteps. This is not my card.
I pick through the debris around me. All that I have been or meant to be made of, now disconnected. One slip sitting next to me catches my eye, and I raise it to catch the sunlight. Patience: enjoying the here and the now, and not mourning what you miss. Time so often taunts me with its passing. When did an afternoon with a book become boring? and when did boring become evil? In the paper pieces I see too many tiers of over-exertion and disenchantment. This is not all me; so much is just faces and numbers. Now is another opportunity to replace my priorities. I know the wind will blow again of change and test me to trust in who I am. I reach for more building material: The folly of being everyone's friend. The fear for fitting in. The jealously and comfort of following in someone's footsteps. This is not my card.
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