Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Wednesday, January 29, 2003

To Be Born Again... In Another Time... In Another Place... On Another Face

It's hard to write when the music won't stop playing upstairs. I try to find beginnings. Even when I don't know the plot, when I find a start the rest follows as naturally as rainfall. But when I have a choir of violins in my head and an acoustic guitar strumming underneath, I can't seem to figure out what to write, why to write it, or the point of dry words at all. The song that won't leave me alone, thankfully, is Astral Weeks. That's Van Morrison, kids. I bookend it mentally with Minstrel Boy by Joe Strummer and All I Want Is You by U2. Hello mixtape, I'm calling you.

Lovely wings of the dove above, slow-motion.

I try to avoid explicitly referencing music or literature in this journal. It's about me, not what I see and hear. This is a journal, not a weblog. I generally leave my references in obtuse headings and winking uncredited quotings. Yet with no place to wander my think, I slip my rules.

So I'm not here. My mental gears are quiet. All that's left in the absence of thought is sense. Five senses. I have warm blood. Smoke. Movement is easy, free and cheap. I am light of foot - I'm used to more effort and grimace to move. Now without that tackle, without that burden. No hangover penance. No pain for inspiration, no need for distraction. I can float. It's a good mood nowhere.

I speak my language. Abstractions like puzzle pieces whose picture I know, dropped in a pile online. You, reader, can't see that image, but fragments may shine when the light strikes them fine. Litte dots to dance and prance and all fall down.

Now more violins.
1:37 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


Post a Comment

left-arrow Home

Venture Into The Slipstrem Between The Viaducts Of...
Slim Slow Slider
Just Like Old Jelly Roll
World Yodeling Champions
How To Disappear Completely
Mundane (Ignore)
It's been Sixteen Days Since I Don't Know When
Everybody Plays The Fool, Sometimes, There's No Ex...
In The Jingle Jangle Morning I Come Following You
Just Say Whoa
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
August 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
February 2008
May 2008
August 2008
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
December 2009
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
August 2010
August 2011
September 2011
February 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
October 2012
November 2012
May 2013
August 2013
September 2013
December 2013
May 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2016