the hill outside of matches' deck reminds him of aspen. colorado, colorado. everything feels like colorado; why is it that everything must reference that which already was? certainly there are groundbreakings...but still. is this the danger of growing up? are things less and less 'new'? but just now, that was new. same as it ever was.
need some artwork for the ol' room! suggestions are welcome. little tired of seeing the same old walls, though the room may shift through states.
"Please beware of them that stare
They'll only smile to see you while
Your time away
And once you've seen what they have been
To win the earth just won't seem worth
Your night or your day
Who'll hear what I say.
Look around you find the ground
Is not so far from where you are
But not too wise
For down below they never grow
They're always tired and charms are hired
From out of their eyes
Never surprise.
Take your time and you'll be fine
And say a prayer for people there
Who live on the floor
And if you see what's meant to be
Don't name the day or try to say
It happened before.
Don't be shy you learn to fly
And see the sun when day is done
If only you see
Just what you are beneath a star
That came to stay one rainy day
In autumn for free
Yes, be what you'll be."
~nick drake - "things behind the sun"
and so, matches will be, what he will be. it's so endless and difficult to sculpt one's self...to constantly whittle away, honing and refining, in hope of making a more promising end product. don't get him wrong...he is still going to try to achieve, and to be the best person that he can be (or believe in). but, these things should happen of a harmonious accord; they should be natural intimations and instincts, instead of the dried and prying conscience of guilt that assaults one when time is slipping away unremarkable. he will be more self-reliant, instead of looking outside of himself for purpose and promises. m has an inkling that everything he needs in life is cloaked within himself, it is a matter of finding the passageways and obtaining the sight in dark places...finding the ability to allow consciousness an exit from the maze of being, with a shining star to guide it. the trick is that the star was always inside, not remote; it is both outside and in. and how would you expect to recognize it, if you hadn't danced and played with its children, learned to recite their names?
had you there for a moment. because a cold saying, a bland recitation (who ever imagined associating the word 'vanilla' with blandness, thesaurus? you think too lowly of one of matches' favorite flavors~ henceforth will feel no itching remorse for dog-earing your pages and pages and again, pages)...these things do not capture the spirit of an object. once you truly know someone (however possible that may be), it feels fumbling and awkward to refer to them by their names. how could matches say colin's name, in a conversation with him? colin has expanded far beyond the borders of a mere name. what's most funny about that situation is, people love to hear their own names. how glorious to be remembered! how appreciable to experience someone regarding you directly. it is quite charming when someone you have known for a thousand moons still calls you by your name every so often, in solitary dialogue. what a singular and simple, and intimate, pleasure. and at the same time, how ridiculous...are you still to be lassoed by a string of so few letters? has your known self not exploded beyond the means of the alphabet to this person? how loving, and yet how cursory.
perhaps if matches had a more melodious moniker.
but somehow, that was precisely the point. and yet not. question mark. to name something, to acknowledge that star of guidance lends a deep intimacy and tangibility to the world. but what if the world is not meant to be held on to? what if containing something within your hand, within your sight, within your thought, is the deepest of injustices? how then do we apprehend this "life" that sneaks to the side of our beds while we slumber, and wakes us, with the slightest of caresses, to a new day? how do we box yesterday, and put it behind us?
how do we do this?
gotta keep trying. and the beat keeps runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin,
* - actual results may vary
had you there for a moment. because a cold saying, a bland recitation (who ever imagined associating the word 'vanilla' with blandness, thesaurus? you think too lowly of one of matches' favorite flavors~ henceforth will feel no itching remorse for dog-earing your pages and pages and again, pages)...these things do not capture the spirit of an object. once you truly know someone (however possible that may be), it feels fumbling and awkward to refer to them by their names. how could matches say colin's name, in a conversation with him? colin has expanded far beyond the borders of a mere name. what's most funny about that situation is, people love to hear their own names. how glorious to be remembered! how appreciable to experience someone regarding you directly. it is quite charming when someone you have known for a thousand moons still calls you by your name every so often, in solitary dialogue. what a singular and simple, and intimate, pleasure. and at the same time, how ridiculous...are you still to be lassoed by a string of so few letters? has your known self not exploded beyond the means of the alphabet to this person? how loving, and yet how cursory.
perhaps if matches had a more melodious moniker.
but somehow, that was precisely the point. and yet not. question mark. to name something, to acknowledge that star of guidance lends a deep intimacy and tangibility to the world. but what if the world is not meant to be held on to? what if containing something within your hand, within your sight, within your thought, is the deepest of injustices? how then do we apprehend this "life" that sneaks to the side of our beds while we slumber, and wakes us, with the slightest of caresses, to a new day? how do we box yesterday, and put it behind us?
how do we do this?
gotta keep trying. and the beat keeps runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin, runnin,
* - actual results may vary
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