A fire in my head?
Apr. 24th, 2006 12:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jacktellsliesThe city looks new, with the trees just going green and pink. Even the oldest houses look older. I've been in this house a year now. I've been here all of the time longer than that. Things are coming back to where they were. Things are coming back different.
Some time ago I had a boy who would send me tea from London. I only just realized, in fact, that I'd probably never had truly good tea until he gave it to me. (I'm certainly not all his fault, but he did ruin me a little.) We've been talking, and I've been enjoying it immensely. He'll be a nurse soon enough, and he wants to move north. He is still thinking about a tattoo he used to think about when we thought about one another differently. He asks me questions I've not been asking. I've been such a secular thing, this year. I do not think it is bad. The metaphors are no less rich. But mayhaps I do miss feeling the thing under the meat, which was what I knew before I knew the meat so well.
I killed something today.
Today is Bill's birthday. I love to watch the rhythms of people, now, the way that they want community, and then want to be alone, all throughout their lives. We are little clocks. And I've had other thoughts. As a child, people told me that I was wise, and that I was old. And I always reminded myself that no, I wasn't. The thing they were seeing behind my eyes was more slow panic, long trauma, than substance. I'd tell them I was more mud than depth. I knew that if I was wise, I still had far to go. But I knew it as a kind of rebellion: it was like a riddle, and I thought myself all the wiser for knowing the trick at the end. And so there is the part of me that wishes that they had told me, too: you may be wise, and you may be old. But you are very stupid, and you are very young. And, perhaps more importantly, you only know what you know, and you are only as old as you are. I enjoy these paths, too, and I wonder what they will look like when I am somewhere else.
You must listen to the Decemberists' cover of Bjork's Human Behavior right now. It will break you.
Some time ago I had a boy who would send me tea from London. I only just realized, in fact, that I'd probably never had truly good tea until he gave it to me. (I'm certainly not all his fault, but he did ruin me a little.) We've been talking, and I've been enjoying it immensely. He'll be a nurse soon enough, and he wants to move north. He is still thinking about a tattoo he used to think about when we thought about one another differently. He asks me questions I've not been asking. I've been such a secular thing, this year. I do not think it is bad. The metaphors are no less rich. But mayhaps I do miss feeling the thing under the meat, which was what I knew before I knew the meat so well.
I killed something today.
Today is Bill's birthday. I love to watch the rhythms of people, now, the way that they want community, and then want to be alone, all throughout their lives. We are little clocks. And I've had other thoughts. As a child, people told me that I was wise, and that I was old. And I always reminded myself that no, I wasn't. The thing they were seeing behind my eyes was more slow panic, long trauma, than substance. I'd tell them I was more mud than depth. I knew that if I was wise, I still had far to go. But I knew it as a kind of rebellion: it was like a riddle, and I thought myself all the wiser for knowing the trick at the end. And so there is the part of me that wishes that they had told me, too: you may be wise, and you may be old. But you are very stupid, and you are very young. And, perhaps more importantly, you only know what you know, and you are only as old as you are. I enjoy these paths, too, and I wonder what they will look like when I am somewhere else.
You must listen to the Decemberists' cover of Bjork's Human Behavior right now. It will break you.
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*faints from giddiness*
Date: 2006-04-25 05:12 am (UTC)*does happy dance* You think my writing is actually decent? That means a lot... (Thinking: Huzzah! I am not in reality a complete and total loser!)
You're completely welcome to every kind word you've received. No need for thanks, but I appreciate it all the same. n_n
And yes, I quite like Placebo (as do my bandmates - er, bandmistresses - oh, whatever!)... but not so much as to interfere with my frothing rabid obsessions with AFI and HIM. I mean, come on. Davey Havok and Ville Valo. Enough said. Then you add both's lyrical and melodic compositions, what with their depth and - in my case, anyway - utter relateability (is that a word?), AND their music's total headbanging, rock-out potential... Shall I go on? I can. For hours, I've been told. n_~
I'm grinning like a loon due to your last sentence. I've earned your respect! This calls for - I dunno - the smashing of champagne bottles against the hulls of metaphorical ships, or the dropping of some structurally massive object with lights all over it, and definitely a mad fit of squeeing on my part.
Squeefully,
~Solar
PS. Glad to hear you like The Magnetic Fields. I've had 'When My Boy Walks Down The Street' stuck in my head since I first read your comment above. ...Butterflies turn into people when my boy walks down the street; maybe he should be illegal, he just makes life too complete...