I find myself sitting in a cold, empty house, drinking beer, listening to The Pixies, Inspiral Carpets, Spaceman 3, Catatonia…A soundtrack I accept was not my own during its age. My “era” ran parallel but, like a walled garden, kept to its own devices. There can be no lying about how I really grew up, really, not under the circumstances. All the frozen surfaces outside do is remind me how natural things are, how God decrees the lives of each leaf, stone, and indeed human.
Another new year, then, and where better place than here to evaluate all things? Well, I know of a perfectly good place, but that diary remains tucked away amongst paperwork and bills, similarly ignored. Unfortunately the whispers of ghosts are growing louder. Static turns to screams. It’s no good.
The heart remains a child, so to speak. To coin a phrase, all that. Friends remain close…The “but” can be seen from space, right? Maybe this is not so a perfect place…
It’s understood. We grow up. We grew up. Suitcases cannot be packed so readily, so enthusiastically, without warning. Horzions cannot be reached so breathlessly. Peaks so hurridly. The heart remains pure, for all its worth.