Thought I’d burnt it all;
Every love note memory.
How can there be more?!
Was reading about dry drowning
And I suddenly was four.
Remembering my mother’s hypervigilance surrounding me
“It only takes a teaspoon to drown!”
And this led to my flooded warren…
My Piscean draw to the moon
Sand and waves
My mermaidian desires
How it wasn’t her android pelvis holding me back
But my fear of leaving the amniotic
Funny now, I think of it.
How we need the water
We’re 75% or something
(Same as the earth herself)
But she refused to let us wear seat belts,
Because if we wrecked in the drink, we’d drown.
She was so scared of water.
Never did learn how to swim
Except for underneath
And strangely, she never did come up,
To surface so she died:
In the life giving force we need
And instilled the fear
But it only made me want it more
Then the thoughts, they jumped to you.
The cliffs we slid down in winter,
And the irony of the ocean that day
Your ass hitting the ice,
A frozen attempt at life
You lost me in the sea grass
But climbed a tree to scout me a path.
I’m not hydrophobic anymore.
How much I love(d) Sarah McLachlan… whilst listening a soul sucking mean social media music provider, this song came on: Drawn to the rhythm and afterward I fell in a rabbit hole. The second CD that I ever bought was ‘fumbling towards ecstasy’. I think I was 13 or 14 and I spent the next few months with it on repeat constantly. I really felt connected to the words/songs and thought that they meant one thing, and I suppose then it did. I listened to the entire album today. I found myself instantly reconnecting. It was like visiting an old friend, one that you held secrets with and wax nostalgic but realize how much you’ve both changed. You realize with age and hindsight your previous way of understanding things are no longer the reality.
To you at least, everything has changed and you have a hard time remembering what made you love them before, because you didn’t even know then, the things that make you love them now. Ha. Perhaps this doesn’t make anymore sense in written form than it did outloud, but in my mind it was quite a profound thought to me.
Which led me to the train of thought about sharing things with friends or people you consider to wise, as you respect and value what they think and say. I’ve been having some pretty big contemplations as I’m want to do, as soon as things slow down, become complacent, comfortable (usually during the winter). I started thinking about the people that I would talk to then, and now, and the differences in how I would make decisions based upon what they would say. For example, I need to make a couple big decisions in the very near future and if I asked ten of my “go to people” (ha, ten is a stretch of people I would talk to about things) and how I could anticipate the ten, very different opinions they would give. They would be based on who they are, what they know about me, what they know about the situations, where they are in their own moods, lives, development, maturity, what they could have to gain or lose based on the outcome of the decision, etc. etc. etc.
And like the lyrics and meanings of songs, it’s all up to the listener’s present, their parallels to draw, their position to filter through.
So how does one make a decision about big things? Do you meditate? Ask your parent? What if that’s not an option? Peers? Siblings? Bosses? Therapist? TAROT for goddess’s sake? (Which again, is just like the lyrics… concrete definitions are applied to the words which communicate the meaning of the song but what is heard and inferred, well… that’s on the listener.)
Who knows. Maybe I just think too much. Just watch the lovely Sarah not trying to guilt you into gifting to the ASPCA. Isn’t she beautiful? Ughhh it kills me.
An oldie but a goodie…I always remember this poem this time of year.
Impending Summer causes
State dependent memories to invade my mind
Nostalgia triggered by a combination
Of the sun, STP’s “Creep”, and the linger of the sugar factory
Drifting around curves in a maroon ford tempo
Kisha hitting puddles, then American Beauty
Things that I had forgotten
like his brother’s birthday
Left like residual strychnine on my spine
Chlorine, boys and cigarettes
Morrison Hotel and the cliffs
Sheepherder bridge and you.
Hit me occasionally. I blame slacker. Most of my memories are fully associated with music and/or scents. Not unique, but still true.
This just came on and I for a minute, I was 19 again.
I still want to be friends with Tom Petty.
And a new guitar.
And to go to BC.
The bars are overrated.
And I thought of you today,
in a comparative fashion.
It made me feel nostalgic;
To reflect on what must have
my tertiary period;
cause that mud was so deep
It covered your brush guard and bowtie.
And I remembered everything
Things I wish I’d forgot
Things I wish I hadn’t reframed
Eidetic pictures of
Red flags I painted over
Made into romantic pirate flags
And I wonder what he smells like
Will it remind me of you
Evolution’s early warning system
These days I naturally rest around DEFCON III
(That’s just yellow these days)
And I was just recently informed
Only 2% of women recognize that color
You men, you don’t.
You go straight from blue to red
How fast depends on the green
Green like the quarter panel of your truck
With the slider I floated in and out of
Just to get you a Miller
Goat trails and water bars, right?
And I guess innocence was bliss
But this one surpasses those credentials
This one has photographic evidence
Proof that he was there
In fact, he’s already here
In ways you never could be
Not a bootleg version
Some recording you picked up or
trucks that you wrecked
like stories you retold
And I just don’t swallow anymore.
but…….only when it comes to my blog.
Seriously…Sorry friends…been doing the job-search-grad-school-hippy-hippy-shake (no really, its a thing) and then this week I’ve been in trainings….next week I am going to the ocean for a conference…it’s rough I tell ya, rough.
BUT every time I think the Universe is done throwing me curve balls, I get another one….this time it was an ok one though.
Facebook has this magical effed up skill of knowing who I have thought about or talked about recently and then WHAMO…they pop up on my radar.
Some people I am like:
I had almost forgot they existed!
And then others, I have a real soft spot for….
…sometimes I have “known” these people for 25 years…Oh my dear sweet ancient alien baby space monkey Jebus….25 years? Really?
I don’t always know anything about them except what has trickled through the rumor mill over the years….
What I remember from childhood is often very different from the people they have become…and yet, they are still those same people in my head.
Memory is a bittersweet thing.
But still, I wish them so much happiness it makes my chest hurt. Huh.
It really is all about love and energy. Even if you don’t know it.
I’ve been through some emotional roller coasters lately and the one concrete thing I have realized is that loving others makes me feel good, but they don’t have to love me back for me to get that benefit.
I would make mix tapes. I would call a radio station repeatedly and sit with my finger on the pause button (on the tape player that was already on record) just waiting for that first few notes of a song so I could record it asap….
That was special.
If you got a mix tape from me, you knew I was madly in love with you and I had been obsessively thinking of the perfect order, perfect songs, perfect everything….
Now you just make a lame playlist and click burn. It’s relatively easy if you have a nice collection of mp3s, which I do…..
I have made one just today (granted I had to purchase two songs to complete the theme…) but I did it.
I was proud of myself and yet, I missed my tape player. Especially when I saw the scotch tape I no longer needed to record over something and the pencil I no longer needed to rewind ever so lightly to use the tape length perfectly…
Kids today? Lazy. 😉
This is an old poem I wrote…about the banality of going to the same bar. I read it tonight and got all nostalgic.
I wanna go now.
I miss Kober.
I miss beer pong.
I miss Chuck.
I miss Dennis.
I even miss that hoochie that suckered TeaBag into buying her bazillion dollar shoes.
Fuck your couch.
I wanna sing!
Do we HAVE to go to the Klover Klub, really?
Smoke filtered colored light
Trashed girl crying
Cue ball clack
Inappropriate song choice
For a good time call….
Herds of girls
Pairs of boys
Painted women; laugh
Stained ceiling tiles
Tobacco and Clinique’ Happy
I was thinking, a little nostalgically I suppose today about people I have loved. And the oddest thing occurred to me, something I have briefly pondered before but really examined today: I remember hands.
Some people remember a lover’s eyes, lips, hair, voice, whatever.
Poets write of lips and hips.
“Eyes are the windows to the soul….”
Not for me. I had to really try to think of some people’s eye colors who I should just KNOW but their hands? I can instantly picture them:
How they looked.
How they felt.
If they had callouses or not, and where.
The shape of their nails.
Length of their nails.
Size of their hands.
Whether they chewed their nails or not.
Scars on their hands.
Tattoos on their hands.
Rings that they wore.
Whether their palms were smooth or always wrinkled.
How they held a cigarette.
How they played a guitar.
How they held onto a steering wheel or a gear shift.
Whether they were right-handed or left.
Just a casual thought that makes me smile, I wanted to share.