Sitting out back..listening to the birds and neighbors shuffling around as they go about their daily tasks.. one filled with song, the other is the sounds of packing up one life, in the pursuit of another.. The occasional sound of a passing car, interrupts the other wise tranquil state of these 4 corners and how this morning has found them..
Lost in these thoughts for a moment when it hits.. in a pursuit , how royally we fuck it all up.. over complicating the process, selling our time and our sanity in reach of our collective goal. We build the prisons and lock ourselves inside. As wardens to the prisoners, as we our to ourselves,we hold the handle yet do not see that one simple turn and just like that..your just set free..
in some stories dry land is more than just a myth …in others we drown in the bogs of sadness..its a struggle..but one that we don’t have to necessarily just volunteer to drown.
The sounds of boxes being shuffled as chaos gives into order I can hear the birds again but they seem further off now, white noise that fills the empty space between thoughts..
The fever retreats and sanity returns..leaving more questions than answers..hazy and reeling ..
Sitting here and an old song comes across the Playlist, through the speakers and sorta grabs me by the heart. Father’s day and it’s been roughly 18 years since I last seen my ol Dad.. “Son when you grow up will you be the savior of the damned, will you champion the weak? … He got old…he got sick.. what else can there be then?..same old fucking story the cancer fucking took him is all..smoking cigarettes and washing the years down .. choking on these memories and not having the strength to do anything different.
Days spent following and learning…growing up and in turn losing but appreciating the man that was my father..my very best friend. How it had to be is where we are and the results are found in the actions of the mundane…the management of thought and memory, walking the path while not looking back but at the same time never forgetting.
I miss ya Da.. I have not forgotten the face of my father.
How much time do we spend serving the mundane? Traveling now worn out paths, known routes.. and finding a deep warmth within the highlight reel of days gone by? Playlists filled with the fuel needed to hit 88 mph, jump thought the starry gate…dissappear and reappear somewhere so familiar that its not forgotten but not exactly remembered either? I mean correctly anyways..Stirring .. but not disturbing the comfort of those gentle waves. Spinning tires…burning ..not really stuck but finding an excuse to not get free? Mired by default..lost on purpose
Just start fucking hammering out the words because this phone and these words are just the only fucking thing that feels…idk…maybe like some sort of normalcy.. maybe its just a northern star to me? She tells her truth by the light of her very existence..for millennia..just there, out there..honest as all..shining…see it …dont ..see it..still there. Whos your enemy…do you know them? like theirs no one fucking paying any form of attention…. first one called …heavy or dirty…it always 1 of the 2…it never fucking changes. And why?…is it that secretly somewhere along the way shit went soooo fucking sideways that their just isn’t any fucking room for forgiveness?…is it that truth hurts and the in a effort to steer the ship the right fucking direction it gets a bit uncomfortable, shit gets rocky, waves crash over flooding like adding some sort of fucking legitimacy to the stories? Maybe… maybe it’s just that there’s some sort of comfort to be found in deceit, binging ones self to honour seems to be some what of an antiquated notion these days… How absolutely fucking twisted is that.. Fuck idk anymore, not that I ever really did but at least for awhile I kinda felt like I did…
How sad is it to realize that there are and will be generations of 20, 30 somethings sitting, playing…drinking, living their summers lakeside and Gordies voice will fade out. No longer will it echo across the lake and reverberate across… always a bit scrambled but you’d make it out and once realized..it kinda felt like home… How many summer days were set to that guys voice, how many times were the lyrics, unknown to us,painting the background of some of our most favorite memories? It always seemed so random and lucky and fate bound but wow…did those still frames ever add up, and how that music forever stained those times a hazy shade of rose..