It's late.
Can't sleep again. Too many things rattling around inside tonight. It's a soft cacophony of words and images. Beautiful things. Some things that I don't like to look at as well.
And there is sound.
There's always sound here. A constant thrumming; a soft heartbeat even in the late hours. Sounds originating from the life and lights gently glittering across the water. In these quiet times its constant presence is reassuring.
My hometown could be so quiet. I would stand in my backyard late at night, and just stare at the stars. Nothing but the occasional disturbance of a car passing by, and me and my sky. She and I go way back. The sky and I have history together.
I wasn't sleeping much then either.
When I was growing up, there was a girl that mystified and intrigued me. Blonde, sharply defined features, slender figure. Graceful movements, like watching silk flow through fingers and fall softly to the floor. Always seemed effortless to me.
Never knew her that well, nor did I have the guts to say anything. I was always very shy. When she entered a room my eyes would follow the movements of that sprite-like form with wonder. Was so curious as to who she really was. Sometimes she would look over. I would quickly turn away, always pretending not to notice. Always pretending a lot of things, like that I could convince myself to have courage and conviction. I would one day be able to say hi without shaking or sweating, or stumbling on words. Those imaginings were so beautiful in my mind. It felt almost like I could make that moment real if I thought about it hard enough. But that's where my conviction and courage remained. Always in my mind. She would move on, a forest spirit made of mystery and magic, and I was an old oak tree, motionless and watching. I was always just watching the world go by.
When I was even younger, I used to believe that if I tried hard enough, I could touch the stars. I would stretch my tiny fingers up as high as I could, but could never quite get there. I thought that when I was older I would do it. If only I could have reached just a little higher..
I fell off of a fence once while trying to grab the night sky. I was deathly afraid of heights, including the small six foot fence that was to be my ladder to the universe and her secrets. Not even my fears could stop me that night. I fell hard and it hurt.
I got a little older, and I didn't look up like I used to. Hands didn't reach out as much, and instead found homes in pockets. I no longer saw fences as just another means to reach the heavens, but instead they became barriers erected to keep the bad things out. Walls that would always protect the good things inside.
The forest spirit and I reconnected in the most unlikely of ways. It could be said that we actually connected for the first time. Many years have passed.
She tells me that I always intrigued her. Silly girl.
She tells me that I can always make her smile. I like this. I wish she could have reasons to smile more often. The stories of her life often break my heart.
She posseses beautiful hopes and dreams that she is hesitant to resurrect. I believe that one day she can make them real. She tells me she doesn't know how.
Often I wish I could show her a path to her heart's desires, but I'm not the one. I think part of her wants me to be. Really wish I could have been him. I have learned that wishes can be flimsy things sometimes.
I have so much fire inside. Right now she is fragile; the rarest of inner beauties. Very delicate. A treasure worth protecting. A good friend. A confidant. I fear my touch would burn and break those beautiful things.
I am glad that I can always make her smile. It is a simple and noble feat.
It's late. I'm outside with hands in pockets, wondering if someday I can reach out and try to touch those stars again. It won't be tonight though.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Words and Music.
She tells me that I am strong,
and that she envys my life.
I almost laugh. I envy hers.
He tells me that he feels that it could be too late.
All he has left is wonder and regret. I pray for him a lot.
Hope he can learn to see the sun again.
She tells me that I am brave.
I am. She doesn't see my quiet corners though. I don't like them.
Keep looking there, and every time I turn around, I don't see what I'm hoping to.
It's almost like I'm waiting for something.
She tells me that she has to prepare herself to be strong to get through the upcoming days,
With loved ones that can offer no love.
She makes me sad. She's worth more than this.
He tells me that he smiles a lot, and almost never means it.
It's easier.
Likes being social too much not to fake it.
He's right about one thing.
He never means it.
She feels that it's easier to forget. Just start over.
Most of the time she's convinced herself that she has.
I almost believe it.
Those moments where you can't always occupy your time are the worst, though.
There are questions there.
He tells me about his future,
one that glitters and sparkles with possibility.
It will be beautiful.
I love them both.
He is incredibly intelligent and at times painfully naive.
Reminds me of myself.
She is classic beauty and brains, and utter empathy.
I love to bask in the warmth of their company.
They tell me about many things in their day to day lives.
They are a family of faith and frailty, strength and combined purpose.
Hope and hysterics.
Nurturing and helping.
They define what love is to me.
Soon I will be heading back to old and familiar places.
I know me.
At times I will be like smoke,
Visibile, viable, but
Impossible to contain.
I look forward to children's laughter and feeling the light of my loved ones shine in my eyes.
These are always sacred things. Good things. Things worth waging a war to protect.
For a while I will have substance again, a corporeal form to touch and hug. And to laugh with.
We'll share stories and music.
Then I'll fade and drift back into the ether.
I don't even know if that makes any sense.
But it's honest.
This is why she tells me I am strong.
and that she envys my life.
I almost laugh. I envy hers.
He tells me that he feels that it could be too late.
All he has left is wonder and regret. I pray for him a lot.
Hope he can learn to see the sun again.
She tells me that I am brave.
I am. She doesn't see my quiet corners though. I don't like them.
Keep looking there, and every time I turn around, I don't see what I'm hoping to.
It's almost like I'm waiting for something.
She tells me that she has to prepare herself to be strong to get through the upcoming days,
With loved ones that can offer no love.
She makes me sad. She's worth more than this.
He tells me that he smiles a lot, and almost never means it.
It's easier.
Likes being social too much not to fake it.
He's right about one thing.
He never means it.
She feels that it's easier to forget. Just start over.
Most of the time she's convinced herself that she has.
I almost believe it.
Those moments where you can't always occupy your time are the worst, though.
There are questions there.
He tells me about his future,
one that glitters and sparkles with possibility.
It will be beautiful.
I love them both.
He is incredibly intelligent and at times painfully naive.
Reminds me of myself.
She is classic beauty and brains, and utter empathy.
I love to bask in the warmth of their company.
They tell me about many things in their day to day lives.
They are a family of faith and frailty, strength and combined purpose.
Hope and hysterics.
Nurturing and helping.
They define what love is to me.
Soon I will be heading back to old and familiar places.
I know me.
At times I will be like smoke,
Visibile, viable, but
Impossible to contain.
I look forward to children's laughter and feeling the light of my loved ones shine in my eyes.
These are always sacred things. Good things. Things worth waging a war to protect.
For a while I will have substance again, a corporeal form to touch and hug. And to laugh with.
We'll share stories and music.
Then I'll fade and drift back into the ether.
I don't even know if that makes any sense.
But it's honest.
This is why she tells me I am strong.
Friday, August 12, 2011
little whispers
The setting is a dive bar near the beach. Beautiful view of the city across the water seen through the front windows. Someone's visiting from out of town, and a small group of us have gone out.
A couple of red motorcycles parked out front. Their sheen contrasts with the muted tones of the surrounding decay. Cracked sidewalks, peeling paint, old wood that has fought too long against the air of the sea. The building's still here, though. It must still think it's winning the war.
I have my Pepsi. The bartender's very gracious to me since I'm the designated driver.
I'm always the designated driver now. It's a welcome change.
~ Thinking back to another bar.
A whirlwind walks up to me. An embodiment of frivolity and subtle flirtatiousness.
I've met women like this before. I know what to do.
I crack a snide joke. Take another drink. I think it's whiskey tonight.
Then I see her eyes; feel lightning.
Her actions are a stark contradiction to the delicate beauty lying underneath.
I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like her before.
The whirlwind disappears back into the crowd..
I take another drink.
Sometimes I think that I think too much.
I've never been here before. Everyone's friendly and having a good time. Lots of laughter from the three of us.
I step outside for a few minutes. The view of downtown from here reminds me of fabled Atlantis. All magic and mystery.
Looking again at the bikes in front of this lovely dive bar.
It's like looking at glossy cherry-red nail polish painted onto the cracked nails of a corpse.
I love the contradiction. I can be a little morbid when I want to be.
~ I remember pleading in a parking lot at night. Please give something good a chance.
We are illuminated by a single light overhead.
I'm sure it's witnessed a scene like this many times before.
Don't do this to yourself. Not again.
~ The exchange ends with a hug. A good hug.
Her warmth is soothing and frightening to me.
She's shaking a little.
I pretend not to notice.
The embrace ends too soon.
I think I've convinced her that I'm not the devil.
I am not the others.
I am not him.
We're leaving the bar and heading home. I'll be back there again. I love the scent of the old wood inside. You can feel the history of a city in that place, and I'm sure there are a million fascinating stories the ghosts there could tell.
Hope to hear some of them someday.
~ Many Late night conversations. So much in common.
Lots of talks about the past.
Dinners at favorite restaurants and precious moments.
Talks about somedays.
Smiles & laughter. Time rushing by.
I could replay almost all of it.
Wanted to protect her from being hurt again.
Such a beautiful soul wrapped up in so much pain.
Shush. There's nothing for you to see here.
We're home now, still joking around.
There's a large group of us on the deck, chatting and looking at the sparkling city lights across the water.
Ships slowly moving through the harbor at night.
It's a good evening.
The scent of my coffee makes me smile and drift a bit.
~ The Holidays. Lots of laughter. I enjoy the company of these people I'm with very much. Such good hearts.
Mixed signals. There are always mixed signals.
Either that or I'm waiting to hear something that's never going to be said.
I'm confused a lot these days. It must be me.
Still a wonderful evening. No lack of smiles.
I feel shy tonight.
Probably drinking too much wine.
Trying to keep my footing and I stumble on words.
Still on the deck, playing guitar for my friends.
The music lightly sways us, gently floating away with the breeze.
It's now a quiet night. Closing my eyes and drifting on the notes I'm playing..
~ A going away present with a past.
Standing in a house that isn't a home, staring at the package that I placed on the table.
It's a lovely color.
I'm almost afraid to touch it.
Opening it slowly.
Too much trepidation on my part. It's just a gift. Doesn't mean anything, right?
It's so beautiful..
I cried a lot that night.
It's ok.
You can look now.
A couple of red motorcycles parked out front. Their sheen contrasts with the muted tones of the surrounding decay. Cracked sidewalks, peeling paint, old wood that has fought too long against the air of the sea. The building's still here, though. It must still think it's winning the war.
I have my Pepsi. The bartender's very gracious to me since I'm the designated driver.
I'm always the designated driver now. It's a welcome change.
~ Thinking back to another bar.
A whirlwind walks up to me. An embodiment of frivolity and subtle flirtatiousness.
I've met women like this before. I know what to do.
I crack a snide joke. Take another drink. I think it's whiskey tonight.
Then I see her eyes; feel lightning.
Her actions are a stark contradiction to the delicate beauty lying underneath.
I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like her before.
The whirlwind disappears back into the crowd..
I take another drink.
Sometimes I think that I think too much.
I've never been here before. Everyone's friendly and having a good time. Lots of laughter from the three of us.
I step outside for a few minutes. The view of downtown from here reminds me of fabled Atlantis. All magic and mystery.
Looking again at the bikes in front of this lovely dive bar.
It's like looking at glossy cherry-red nail polish painted onto the cracked nails of a corpse.
I love the contradiction. I can be a little morbid when I want to be.
~ I remember pleading in a parking lot at night. Please give something good a chance.
We are illuminated by a single light overhead.
I'm sure it's witnessed a scene like this many times before.
Don't do this to yourself. Not again.
~ The exchange ends with a hug. A good hug.
Her warmth is soothing and frightening to me.
She's shaking a little.
I pretend not to notice.
The embrace ends too soon.
I think I've convinced her that I'm not the devil.
I am not the others.
I am not him.
We're leaving the bar and heading home. I'll be back there again. I love the scent of the old wood inside. You can feel the history of a city in that place, and I'm sure there are a million fascinating stories the ghosts there could tell.
Hope to hear some of them someday.
~ Many Late night conversations. So much in common.
Lots of talks about the past.
Dinners at favorite restaurants and precious moments.
Talks about somedays.
Smiles & laughter. Time rushing by.
I could replay almost all of it.
Wanted to protect her from being hurt again.
Such a beautiful soul wrapped up in so much pain.
Shush. There's nothing for you to see here.
We're home now, still joking around.
There's a large group of us on the deck, chatting and looking at the sparkling city lights across the water.
Ships slowly moving through the harbor at night.
It's a good evening.
The scent of my coffee makes me smile and drift a bit.
~ The Holidays. Lots of laughter. I enjoy the company of these people I'm with very much. Such good hearts.
Mixed signals. There are always mixed signals.
Either that or I'm waiting to hear something that's never going to be said.
I'm confused a lot these days. It must be me.
Still a wonderful evening. No lack of smiles.
I feel shy tonight.
Probably drinking too much wine.
Trying to keep my footing and I stumble on words.
Still on the deck, playing guitar for my friends.
The music lightly sways us, gently floating away with the breeze.
It's now a quiet night. Closing my eyes and drifting on the notes I'm playing..
~ A going away present with a past.
Standing in a house that isn't a home, staring at the package that I placed on the table.
It's a lovely color.
I'm almost afraid to touch it.
Opening it slowly.
Too much trepidation on my part. It's just a gift. Doesn't mean anything, right?
It's so beautiful..
I cried a lot that night.
It's ok.
You can look now.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
It was always so pretty when we used to fall.
"I've never been so sure of something in my life", he says. We're on the phone. He's crying.
He's very close to my heart, and has played many roles within my life. Sometimes like a father, sometimes a brother, sometimes a son. It's complicated. It always is with those you love. I'm hearing music again.
I hear the vehemence and desperation in his words. He loves her. He knows deep down she loves him too, he says. If they could move past his mistakes he knows that they could have a beautiful forever. These are the things he says to me. Part of me wants to warn him that even though he knows he's right, he could be completely wrong.
I can't tell him that. I won't. I listen and nod on the other side of the phone.
It's a beautiful night tonight. The lights from the city sparkle so softly. It calms my senses and my nerves.
But that's not what this is about.
He sounds exactly like I did not that long ago. Makes sense if you knew him, since we're cut from a very similar cloth. That was before undertaking a short period of personal revenge on an entire
gender, waging an unecessary emotional war that could never have a victor, except for maybe the crumpled bedsheets that weren't so cold as often. It's easy to allow yourself to be nothing more than a physical object when you delude yourself into thinking you're the one in control.
I was sure I was the one who was winning.
Hope he doesn't do the same thing.
At one point you have to make yourself accountable.
I am the recurring theme.
I always have been.
As is he. He doesn't see that yet.
How long can he run from himself?
I love the nights here. The breeze off of Puget Sound breathes gently into my ear, tickles my neck.
I'm hearing more music.
It's not about this.
I'm glad that dark time is over. Thank God for the closest of friends who helped me feel real love. Unconditional love. They remind me of laughter and light.
He's still crying. We talk about fate and things that feel "meant to be". We talk a bit longer. I'm trying to offer support and an ear. He's about to go through more hell soon, and I know it. Soon, the unresolved questions will fill his heart leaving little room for much else.
The idea of fate has no humanly identifiable characteristic that can empathize with us.
He will have to learn to be accountable for himself and his actions. It's not a judgment. Just a very painful and unavoidable fact.
"It won't always last", I tell him. "No matter how things work out, it won't always feel this way."
Fate has no recognizable savior to offer the lost some comfort and hope.
He'll feel better while we talk, but when this phone call ends he'll be left with himself. That's when the torture begins. My heart aches for him and all of those I love who are involved in this madness.
If you believe in Fate, you understand that it has no conscience, pulls no punches, spares no blows.
Yet I believe in fate, as much as I believe in God.
I believe that sometimes fate has to be crueler now so that it can be kinder later.
We finally get off the phone. He thanks me earnestedly before hanging up. He really believes I helped him. Maybe I did a little.
Much more music in my heart.
Seattle is so beautiful at night.
He's very close to my heart, and has played many roles within my life. Sometimes like a father, sometimes a brother, sometimes a son. It's complicated. It always is with those you love. I'm hearing music again.
I hear the vehemence and desperation in his words. He loves her. He knows deep down she loves him too, he says. If they could move past his mistakes he knows that they could have a beautiful forever. These are the things he says to me. Part of me wants to warn him that even though he knows he's right, he could be completely wrong.
I can't tell him that. I won't. I listen and nod on the other side of the phone.
It's a beautiful night tonight. The lights from the city sparkle so softly. It calms my senses and my nerves.
But that's not what this is about.
He sounds exactly like I did not that long ago. Makes sense if you knew him, since we're cut from a very similar cloth. That was before undertaking a short period of personal revenge on an entire
gender, waging an unecessary emotional war that could never have a victor, except for maybe the crumpled bedsheets that weren't so cold as often. It's easy to allow yourself to be nothing more than a physical object when you delude yourself into thinking you're the one in control.
I was sure I was the one who was winning.
Hope he doesn't do the same thing.
At one point you have to make yourself accountable.
I am the recurring theme.
I always have been.
As is he. He doesn't see that yet.
How long can he run from himself?
I love the nights here. The breeze off of Puget Sound breathes gently into my ear, tickles my neck.
I'm hearing more music.
It's not about this.
I'm glad that dark time is over. Thank God for the closest of friends who helped me feel real love. Unconditional love. They remind me of laughter and light.
He's still crying. We talk about fate and things that feel "meant to be". We talk a bit longer. I'm trying to offer support and an ear. He's about to go through more hell soon, and I know it. Soon, the unresolved questions will fill his heart leaving little room for much else.
The idea of fate has no humanly identifiable characteristic that can empathize with us.
He will have to learn to be accountable for himself and his actions. It's not a judgment. Just a very painful and unavoidable fact.
"It won't always last", I tell him. "No matter how things work out, it won't always feel this way."
Fate has no recognizable savior to offer the lost some comfort and hope.
He'll feel better while we talk, but when this phone call ends he'll be left with himself. That's when the torture begins. My heart aches for him and all of those I love who are involved in this madness.
If you believe in Fate, you understand that it has no conscience, pulls no punches, spares no blows.
Yet I believe in fate, as much as I believe in God.
I believe that sometimes fate has to be crueler now so that it can be kinder later.
We finally get off the phone. He thanks me earnestedly before hanging up. He really believes I helped him. Maybe I did a little.
Much more music in my heart.
Seattle is so beautiful at night.
A little quiet to go with all of that music...
My hands are shaking tonight. I'm infused with a powerful cocktail of too much caffeine and pre-show jitters. Still happens sometimes. There's a lot going on in my head, and it's difficult to find my center. I've decided to play some older material, see how the old friends are doing. I start the evening off with an improv. Need to see where I'm at.
It's a quiet night. A close friend has accompanied me. I'm very glad she's here, and I always enjoy her company and our talks. She will be my rock tonight. You can't be strong every day, as much as you pretend to be. I'm very good at pretending sometimes.
The second song I play has been with me for a long time. I still love it's simple beauty. This song was written inside of a Mexican restaurant, during an open mic night.
That restaurant is now a parking lot.
Things change.
I wrote it for a girl who that night professed that I was the most wonderful guy she had ever met. She confessed that she loved me, and always would.
We broke up a month later.
We'd talk about how she wanted to be in a relationship where she was no longer considered just a sexual prize, one where she would be loved for who she really was. I understood and respected this, having recently emerged from a relationship where love seemed to always be measured by the amount of scratches on my back.
She would cry sometimes when we talked.
We decided to take our time. Really get to know each other first. We knew that when that precious unveiling occurred, it would be ours, and ours alone. It would be powerful. It would be love.
A few weeks later. She felt things were going too slow. She didn't feel wanted, since I hadn't tried to ravish her with my affections already like everyone else always had. Was she not pretty enough? Had she done something wrong? I found out about this much later, and much too late. This was a conversation we never had.
I wanted her.
I felt that physical need for her every time I saw her move.
Was trying to be respectful of her tears.
Didn't want her to feel used again.
A friend of hers obliged her and her need before I knew our relationship had ended.
She felt wanted again for a moment.
He left when he was done.
He never called.
She felt used.
Was now looking for a man who would love and respect her for who she was, faults and all. Someone who wouldn't consider her just another sexual prize.
She called off and on for a while. Sometimes she asked why every man she had ever met always ended up using her, without exception. I would just listen.
She's happily married now. Amazing husband, beautiful children. A good life filled with lots of love and smiles.
I'm glad that she doesn't feel used any more.
Next song.
I revisit a lot of beautiful moments in my mind as I continue to play. The time my oldest niece learned to walk. The time I hosted an open mic and was so proud of those petrified souls performing for the first time, that I wrote a song about it. And of course, there are always songs of love.
Looking up from my little reverie I see my friend, all smiles, dilligently attacking her homework but taking a few small moments to take some pictures of me. She and her husband are always so supportive. It's good to have them in my life as I explore these new places I am learning to call home.
In the very back, I see a young couple. All smiles and handholding, and lost in the potential future they witness in each other's eyes. She is shy, pensive, with plain but very pretty features. He is more like fire. His gaze is intense, but not as much as I think it normally is. He's softer with her. She makes him softer, I think. Allows him to be gentle. He makes her braver, and she feels confdent enough to be able to trust and love with him. They move subtly to the soft rhythms of the music, but aren't consciously aware of anything but their heat, and a shared touch.
Love can be beautiful.
It's a quiet night. A close friend has accompanied me. I'm very glad she's here, and I always enjoy her company and our talks. She will be my rock tonight. You can't be strong every day, as much as you pretend to be. I'm very good at pretending sometimes.
The second song I play has been with me for a long time. I still love it's simple beauty. This song was written inside of a Mexican restaurant, during an open mic night.
That restaurant is now a parking lot.
Things change.
I wrote it for a girl who that night professed that I was the most wonderful guy she had ever met. She confessed that she loved me, and always would.
We broke up a month later.
We'd talk about how she wanted to be in a relationship where she was no longer considered just a sexual prize, one where she would be loved for who she really was. I understood and respected this, having recently emerged from a relationship where love seemed to always be measured by the amount of scratches on my back.
She would cry sometimes when we talked.
We decided to take our time. Really get to know each other first. We knew that when that precious unveiling occurred, it would be ours, and ours alone. It would be powerful. It would be love.
A few weeks later. She felt things were going too slow. She didn't feel wanted, since I hadn't tried to ravish her with my affections already like everyone else always had. Was she not pretty enough? Had she done something wrong? I found out about this much later, and much too late. This was a conversation we never had.
I wanted her.
I felt that physical need for her every time I saw her move.
Was trying to be respectful of her tears.
Didn't want her to feel used again.
A friend of hers obliged her and her need before I knew our relationship had ended.
She felt wanted again for a moment.
He left when he was done.
He never called.
She felt used.
Was now looking for a man who would love and respect her for who she was, faults and all. Someone who wouldn't consider her just another sexual prize.
She called off and on for a while. Sometimes she asked why every man she had ever met always ended up using her, without exception. I would just listen.
She's happily married now. Amazing husband, beautiful children. A good life filled with lots of love and smiles.
I'm glad that she doesn't feel used any more.
Next song.
I revisit a lot of beautiful moments in my mind as I continue to play. The time my oldest niece learned to walk. The time I hosted an open mic and was so proud of those petrified souls performing for the first time, that I wrote a song about it. And of course, there are always songs of love.
Looking up from my little reverie I see my friend, all smiles, dilligently attacking her homework but taking a few small moments to take some pictures of me. She and her husband are always so supportive. It's good to have them in my life as I explore these new places I am learning to call home.
In the very back, I see a young couple. All smiles and handholding, and lost in the potential future they witness in each other's eyes. She is shy, pensive, with plain but very pretty features. He is more like fire. His gaze is intense, but not as much as I think it normally is. He's softer with her. She makes him softer, I think. Allows him to be gentle. He makes her braver, and she feels confdent enough to be able to trust and love with him. They move subtly to the soft rhythms of the music, but aren't consciously aware of anything but their heat, and a shared touch.
Love can be beautiful.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Love in a parking lot
"I don't want to talk! Stop asking me to." She screams at him from the parking lot of the local 7-11 I like to frequent regularly for my recently developed slurpee cravings.
"We are too old for this! We have to REALLY talk sometime. I'm tired of it!" He's yelling right back, and his hackles are raised, but something in his movements betrays the fear and desperation he's feeling under his aggressive exterior.
She's walking away. No looking back. No response. Just walking. Curvaceous, very attractive, and using that to full effect in her walk. Determined and proud, but with an enticing and sexy sway to her hips that lets us all know what he's missing.
"You'll come back. You always do." He tries to make it sound so matter-of-fact, but you can see in his eyes that this a question. It's a desperate one, and it scares him. She doesn't see it. I don't even know if she's listening to him. She's still walking.
I've been in the store the whole time. Everyone around me is aware of this exchange, but are awkwardly going on with their shopping as if pretending that nothing's occurring at all. Understandable. It's really uncomfortable.
I'm trying not to watch, but I can't help but notice. I'm riveted, and I hear music.
I buy my sugary nectar of the gods (man, I love slurpees) and walk out. He's there kicking the tires of his car, a black Audi TT, which is parked right at the front. He looks up a little timidly. He looks beaten and tired. "I'm sorry everyone in the world heard that. We're not usually like this." This is a lie. I think that they're like this a lot. I tell him it's ok. We've all been there. I try to smile for him. Maybe for myself too.
The walls crumble for a second. He looks me straight in the eye. "I love her so much. I have for years, but I hate this. I need her to come home, but I hate when she does. At least the make up sex is amazing until she leaves again. ..I've gotta go. Sorry again for that."
He gets into his car and drives off like a bat out of hell. I'm standing there with my coke slurpee. I decide to go on a longer walk before I head back home.
"At least the make up sex is amazing until she leaves again."
I dated a girl years ago, and we were crazy for each other. Fought like you wouldn't believe. After a year, our relationship revolved around the 2 F's (Fighting, and well, "making up"). We loved and lusted after each other fiercely, and thought that the rest disappeared once we made up (which consisted of forgetting our problems through sweat and sleep). If things got too close for comfort, she'd leave. I knew she'd be back. She always came back. And when she did, sometimes I'd leave. I didn't want to talk either.
A lot of the little fighting at the end came from the simple fact that I was unable to write her a song. Always tried to. Just could never do it.
This was our world.
We were 18.
We loved and hated each other.
We were unable and unwilling to talk.
We didn't want to forgive.
We talked about having children one day.
We wanted things to be "perfect".
We thought we were going to be married.
We were foolish.
I'm definitely hearing music now. Maybe a new song is coming. Maybe it will be in my heart at my performance tonight.
"We are too old for this! We have to REALLY talk sometime. I'm tired of it!" He's yelling right back, and his hackles are raised, but something in his movements betrays the fear and desperation he's feeling under his aggressive exterior.
She's walking away. No looking back. No response. Just walking. Curvaceous, very attractive, and using that to full effect in her walk. Determined and proud, but with an enticing and sexy sway to her hips that lets us all know what he's missing.
"You'll come back. You always do." He tries to make it sound so matter-of-fact, but you can see in his eyes that this a question. It's a desperate one, and it scares him. She doesn't see it. I don't even know if she's listening to him. She's still walking.
I've been in the store the whole time. Everyone around me is aware of this exchange, but are awkwardly going on with their shopping as if pretending that nothing's occurring at all. Understandable. It's really uncomfortable.
I'm trying not to watch, but I can't help but notice. I'm riveted, and I hear music.
I buy my sugary nectar of the gods (man, I love slurpees) and walk out. He's there kicking the tires of his car, a black Audi TT, which is parked right at the front. He looks up a little timidly. He looks beaten and tired. "I'm sorry everyone in the world heard that. We're not usually like this." This is a lie. I think that they're like this a lot. I tell him it's ok. We've all been there. I try to smile for him. Maybe for myself too.
The walls crumble for a second. He looks me straight in the eye. "I love her so much. I have for years, but I hate this. I need her to come home, but I hate when she does. At least the make up sex is amazing until she leaves again. ..I've gotta go. Sorry again for that."
He gets into his car and drives off like a bat out of hell. I'm standing there with my coke slurpee. I decide to go on a longer walk before I head back home.
"At least the make up sex is amazing until she leaves again."
I dated a girl years ago, and we were crazy for each other. Fought like you wouldn't believe. After a year, our relationship revolved around the 2 F's (Fighting, and well, "making up"). We loved and lusted after each other fiercely, and thought that the rest disappeared once we made up (which consisted of forgetting our problems through sweat and sleep). If things got too close for comfort, she'd leave. I knew she'd be back. She always came back. And when she did, sometimes I'd leave. I didn't want to talk either.
A lot of the little fighting at the end came from the simple fact that I was unable to write her a song. Always tried to. Just could never do it.
This was our world.
We were 18.
We loved and hated each other.
We were unable and unwilling to talk.
We didn't want to forgive.
We talked about having children one day.
We wanted things to be "perfect".
We thought we were going to be married.
We were foolish.
I'm definitely hearing music now. Maybe a new song is coming. Maybe it will be in my heart at my performance tonight.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The Intimacy Of Our Evenings
"I think that you're running from something." This is how this older gentleman introduced himself to me."My wife thinks that you write the loveliest music, but it makes me very sad to watch. I mean, I really enjoy it, but at times you have a look. Like there are demons chasing you." Shakes his head. "Don't listen to me. I'm just an old man. How much are your cds?"
Another performance. Another moment of broken barriers with strangers that I didn't expect.
I've met and made some dear friends in situations like these.
One of the things I love so much about an intimate live music setting is that whether you are a listener or performer (and I love being both), it can be the great equalizer between all, and at times the best of icebreakers. It seems that within this sacred realm those precious walls that we spend so much time fortifying can effortlessly fall away, and an absolute stranger can look at you and make the most penetrating statements.
Those simple words that make you think long after the lights go out and the crowd has left for their warm beds.
It's a setting like this where I think we can all feel safe, because we shared an evening together with music as the guide to our ears, ours hearts, and sometimes something else. It could be a time of joy, of sadness and maybe a little silliness. An evening that won't ever come again.
There will be others, and just as wonderful, but not exactly like that. That night is ours. We felt like we walked with giants that night and let our hearts rule us. We let the sounds lead us unto beautiful lands, where it's not enough to just feel good again for a little while. We could hope and dream again on our night.
Because that night we shared was only meant for us.
Little things:
- Tomorrow night in Tacoma at the Mandolin Cafe. 6-8pm
- Submitted music today to potentially be licensed for use in TV shows and videogames, among other things. Cross your fingers.
- Have been in discussions with a few indie labels about the future. It is exciting, to say the least, but I still don't feel like we share the same vision. I'm trying to be open-minded.
- Reviews are opinions from people. I used to get very, very excited or depressed depending on the words within a review. I now just appreciate someone taking the time to write one. :) Even though it is a necessary thing, and sometimes very good for personal growth, I'm more interested in your thoughts and opinions.
Thank you as always for being supportive and believing in me and my dreams.
~ Jonathan
Another performance. Another moment of broken barriers with strangers that I didn't expect.
I've met and made some dear friends in situations like these.
One of the things I love so much about an intimate live music setting is that whether you are a listener or performer (and I love being both), it can be the great equalizer between all, and at times the best of icebreakers. It seems that within this sacred realm those precious walls that we spend so much time fortifying can effortlessly fall away, and an absolute stranger can look at you and make the most penetrating statements.
Those simple words that make you think long after the lights go out and the crowd has left for their warm beds.
It's a setting like this where I think we can all feel safe, because we shared an evening together with music as the guide to our ears, ours hearts, and sometimes something else. It could be a time of joy, of sadness and maybe a little silliness. An evening that won't ever come again.
There will be others, and just as wonderful, but not exactly like that. That night is ours. We felt like we walked with giants that night and let our hearts rule us. We let the sounds lead us unto beautiful lands, where it's not enough to just feel good again for a little while. We could hope and dream again on our night.
Because that night we shared was only meant for us.
Little things:
- Tomorrow night in Tacoma at the Mandolin Cafe. 6-8pm
- Submitted music today to potentially be licensed for use in TV shows and videogames, among other things. Cross your fingers.
- Have been in discussions with a few indie labels about the future. It is exciting, to say the least, but I still don't feel like we share the same vision. I'm trying to be open-minded.
- Reviews are opinions from people. I used to get very, very excited or depressed depending on the words within a review. I now just appreciate someone taking the time to write one. :) Even though it is a necessary thing, and sometimes very good for personal growth, I'm more interested in your thoughts and opinions.
Thank you as always for being supportive and believing in me and my dreams.
~ Jonathan
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
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