more madness, i just cannot help myself
She still exists,
but I find myself trying to move on from the fascination as a protective measure to attempt putting my own life into perspective . . .
The results can be so discouraging
the truth of the matter is that I turn 31 tomorrow and I’m trying desperately to learn ‘Thinking About You’ by Radiohead, from Pablo Honey, for no real reason other than the guitar tends to calm me down, and some random internet persona has suddenly made me believe once again that I’m worth a shit . . . that and raging forth into futility occasionally seems the most logical thing to do in world gone mad . . .
the truth of the matter is that I fell hard,
why?
simple truth and a quick sampling of those who know me well would tell you that I am what we might term a ‘hopeless romantic’
the symptoms of this horrific condition manifest themselves as a gut-level reaction to contemporary culture – the gagging sort – and an almost (screw almost) desperate casting about for something, anything that will lift this frail condition that I find myself in.
Been thinking about you . . .
it can be damnably difficult to play the guitar and sing at the same time, and the accomplishment of this small goal means nothing on the larger scale . . .
but still I feel compelled to work so hard for it . . .
she was another one of those odd catalysts that strike the human individual, in this case me, for all my follies and foibles, she was exactly what I needed at that point in my life . . . she made me stop and reconsider one more time,
Of course, the die-hard fans of Pablo Honey know that ‘Thinking About You’ is immediately followed by ‘Anyone Can Play Guitar’ and the absolutely soul-shattering lines . . .
“Destiny, destiny protect me from the world.
“Destiny, hold my hand protect me from the world.”
The philosophical ramifications of those couple of lines is one of those thing that I’m still trying to work out, and since I’m a little bit drunk, I’m willing to admit that I’m willing to waste my life on something as foolish as a semantic concept . . . because I’ll tell you what, if ‘Jackass’ can pervade popular culture, anybody has a shot at the fucking thing, what’s more; that pendulum is due to swing back into a more intellectual realm sometime soon.
But this is all bullshit posturing, I’ve got a bit of a buzz on and my train of thought is of the sort that I’m more than willing to wander off from the original line . . .
That would in fact be you . . .
Whoever it is that you are . . . if I die without meeting you, than life is perhaps not fair, if only so that I can be disabused of my fantasies one more time.
The fact of the matter is that I’ve been looking at my life as of late and am not entirely satisfied with the way that it is currently working out . . . I’m still having fun mind you, but I see a whole host of ways in which I could be having even more fun.
The first time I took a tattoo gun to the arm was so that I could get the word ‘finite’ imprinted ‘forever’ upon my flesh.
The jester that I still wear proudly came next . . .
Occasionally I wonder what it would be like to submit myself to psychoanalysis . . . I’ve had a couple of really fascinating pipe-dream-digressions where I’ve gotten lost in the possibilities of what could happen if I turned myself in to be studied by contemporary thinking, and yes, I’m enough of an egotist to think that such a move would be beneficial for everyone involved. Then again, I’m egotistical enough to think that I matter.
The problem with a statement like that is that it requires you to put forth some sort of definition of stupidity and provide some sort of viable alternative; I’m not ready for that.
If I could quote another Radiohead song, we’ll stay on the same album for the sake of consistency . . . ‘I Can’t’ from Pablo Honey again . . . I’m not actually going to quote the damn song, either you know it or you don’t.
I watch and I hear and I actively search for intelligence . . .
I am so often let down . . . but I refuse to give up.
Because, to refer to Pablo Honey once more, the next song is ‘Lurgee,’ which could easily be misconstrued by the mind desperately in search of meaning as an ode to ‘The Hell With What The Fuck You People Are Doing, Here’s What I’ve Got Going
On.’
But facts are facts, I have my tattoos, I have my scars, I’ve got my past to enlighten me.
Still I dare to dream.
Still I dare . . .
I played some horrible rendition of ‘Thinking About You’ perhaps two dozen times this evening, working towards transcendence and never quite making it.
The terrible truth of the whole thing, is that I was once again reminded of the fact that transcendence is what you make of it, and as I earnestly played my acoustic guitar into a corner of my apartment while trying to sing along . . . I remembered something that a part of me really wanted to forget . . .
And at the end of the end of the night, what I was stuck with was the fact that I wanted so badly to believe in certain things that I’d give anything to make them real, and make them matter to me, that I’d be willing to sacrifice reason, truth and common sense; if only they could be so . . .
But at the end of the day, at least I can say that I’m a fool, fully aware of the fact that I am foolish . . .
there is a comfort in that . . .
someday,
i hope it is someday soon,
I will be able to touch that moment without all that it took to admit that I live for that moment.