introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- between the lyrics updownDOUBLEkick - thirtieth of august, 2002 "thats my favourite part to rewind my life on. when my world got dark, you turned my light on. i've watched it for hours and hours again in my head...i'd say i'm sorry but then you'd think i'm lying."~willie nelson i put on the webcast of wyep's nite time mix because i can't stand hearing the same songs playing over and over on the mp3 player sometimes. and i can't pick a cd because nothing sounds good. so i put this on. and i heard that violent femmes song. and it made me think of times that i can think of only with a twinge of sharp pain in my throat. i don't listen to this cd much anymore...that violent femmes greatest hits cd that we used to throw in your stereo while we all sat around your little hotel-furniture night stand and watched you pack up that metal bowl (you always liked the way it tasted, you said) with whatever pot you'd gotten your hands on when you were home on your break...or we'd all pitch in a little bit. regardless, it was you on your orange couch and me sitting on the edge of your big hotel-furniture bed or perched in your spider chair. and then, there'd be normrat and maybe susan or someone. and we'd pass that pipe and laugh. do you remember how susan used to get? and how we laughed about how she used that bowl like a microphone and didn't pass it because we'd started talking again. it was funny stuff, then, i think. but it wasn't the pot that made it the best time in my life. no, it wasn't that at all. maybe thats what brought us together in the beginning...the communion of the thing...the secrecy of drawn blinds and towels under cheap student-apartment doors and fans going to put the smoke out of the house in just the right ratio--getting it out to clear the air a little without alerting the passers-by. it was a science and we all loved the community of it, maybe. of getting away with it. of being a little better than the people that never would...because we were openminded and laughing and well...happy. but it wasn't the pot. i'll never believe it was. because all of the times that i've smoked pot since those days...they have never matched those days. now it seems a little stupid and lonely. its like how i never listen to that cd anymore. i will forever associate these things with you. no, it wasn't the pot on those nights when we sat by christmas light in months that weren't even holiday months...the light of christmas lights that you'd fashioned to spell out "fuck" as if it was something bigger than it was. profanity. thats all it was. thats all my love was, perhaps. perhaps the writing really was on the wall. it wasn't the pot on those nights, no. it was how we sat easily together and talked and laughed and normrat told stories and susan talked about susan things, all the while looking the part of the softest cat you'd ever petted from behind those brown plastic lenses of hers. and sometimes, i would hold her hand and squeeze it and giggle like a little girl because there was this sense of understanding between all of us. there was comradery. there was something. there was definitely something. and norm. god, he made us laugh. there was a punky monkey and four twenty brownies. there were hikes and magic games, for which i sold my soul to win. and then there was you. and i don't write about you much anymore...only on nights like this...nights when the weather hints at fall...hints at walks between your place and mine. of coming together for our own communion. of scuffing in sandals and drawstring khakis, hoping to capture a heart that wasn't meant to be mine. prowling in the night among the drunks and the sorostitutes that walked the streets. on nights like this...a friday night...we'd commune in your room or mine, holed up and warm, coming out for water. and in the background of every conversation, of every peel of laughter, of every game of magic, of every exhale-inhale-hold-exhale of smoke, there was the music that held it all together. because if the music stopped...sometimes, the mood was gone. and you were good enough to keep it going. it was tom petty. violent femmes. counting crows. moby. it was cranberries once or twice. it was negativland. it was the ramones. but church has long since been over and memories of those rooms are so far away.... but on nights like tonight, where the air tastes like leaves changing and the breeze tells of things to come, i feel like i ought to gather up my messenger bag with goodies, put on my best summer-worn sandals and head on down to your place without calling because i know i'll be welcome...because i know you know i'm coming. you could feel it on the air, couldn't you? no, so much has happened that cannot be taken back. i never really sent you much in the way of apology because, in part, i never felt like you deserved one. but the fact that i look back with a certain fondness on those days must say something for the healing power of time, i suppose. so maybe thats a roundabout way of saying that i'm sorry for all the sin...i'm sorry for all the parting of ways, however much for the best it has been. and know something, darling. know that i will always hear our laughter in between the lines and chords of those songs. it was perfect. it was...holy. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .what came before. - .what happened next. a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017 |
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