some of us run from it as if it were the reaper, truth so meticulously constructed just a gust would whip it away. some of us run into it headlong, constant whirlwind dislodging any roots we may take up. running from something else, perhaps. we think (as in all things) change is something best kept in balance: in check in accordance with tolerance and appetite. the kind sought out, the type that arrives a pleasantry, and those shocks those bolts the very least expected. that spin reality redefined. however it arrives, always be grateful for the new. impossibly tragic, a soul stuck on replay.
the heartache arrives only to answer to the dream of it: the potential for what it could have been. what it was, before things changed. it’s a test (a tortuous one) to try and distinguish fact from fantasy. to introspect impartial as to what was real. him, or just the hope of him.
at first we never considered what it was, what it would be, what it could. we just felt the need, the words itching our fingertips. the loudest voice is always stretching to be heard. a quiet wisdom, anything but. we can’t remember what we wrote, that day or any other really. we just sit down log in and write.
when did you get to decide what this was? what it looks like, how it sounds? conduct the pace of our prose, the taste and shape of our words as they stumble round your mouth. who says what we are, the very things we’re not enough of, except for us?
the rain arrives, bringing along with her the gusts of old man winter’s chill. an insistent, assured cooling off from the blurred, sticky heat that seemed to lend this summer an air of imminent turmoil. slowed down by a soupy panic, masses as molasses. a very weird world. we’re grateful for the relief, the return to normalcy: routine, wardrobe, way of life settled into a song we like the sounds of. melody, mercury finally on-beat with the uni-verse.
smell it. fall. a spice in the breeze, wind wrapping a chill only a chunky knit can cure. despite the sun still delivering us glimpses, blessed slivers left to saturate our fill, it seems the seasons have begun to turn. and in more ways than one. back to school patterns, forever ingrained: fashions, intentions, attitude seem to each get a lift come fall. it’s the new new year. it’s been a while.
how splendid, moments to our self. barely yesterday it was quite the contrast, a winter hibernated with few more but our pup, our own bedeviled banter and a peppering of carnal callings. perhaps a meeting or two so we could pay the rent. twas at once a delight and a plague, in many ways just a reversion of needstate. an adaptation to animal.
some gorgeous, wretched truths sure surface in solitude. hours spent in thoughts both tortuous and inspired, in bouts of discovery. you can end up places good, others far from. a rather interesting experiment if you have the chance.
and now returning to march, the return of something set free, the best summer days we’ve witnessed in life; these hours sometimes feel like they’ve turned to ash. but it’s really only in these moments where the mind moves on, evolving what you think you know, how you’re sure you feel. it’s no coincidence a brain enjoys tracing the walls of a maze with grace, it’s function to figure and problem solve. they’re critical and we should each use in earnest. spend time wisely. means more books less blogs. no bachelor, but bach. create, and carry your creativity with you even to places it doesn’t belong. and listen to the voice (the one that doesn’t involve your mouth).
we’ve come to note a rather disturbing wave making way across our city; an innuendo, influence tinting the vibe of many a boy about town. oh don’t get brasandranties wrong, this has always been a bit of a problem. but things seem to have dialed up while we were looking the other way.
hair gel and chains. tees muscled, silkscreened. chests puffing fists pumping. there’s guidos, guidos everywhere.
while brasandranties may be a proponent of a good old g-t-l for the soul, we just cannot fathom how the jersey shore circus is actually turning into trend. we’ve watched an episode or two, perplexed and horrified at just how very orange, but 5.5million people watch this shit weekly. for pleasure. and it’s starting to show.
a revolving episode of partying and pulling girls, all of it made dramatic by the frequency beer goggles find the busted en hot tub, the complexities of coordinating multiple hook-ups, testosterone and tequila infused beat-downs, and the blue-balled frustration of being left in the lurch (on camera, no less). and in having lapped up the lives of america’s most curious sweethearts, we’ve (er, you’ve) idolized them, normalized and glorified some pretty nasty ass habits. a sociocultural green light to guido-out. the situation will bank $5million in 2010. what a dire situation it is.