She sends me pictures of ducks

May 29, 2012 § Leave a comment


“Make the clocks move.” – Kevin Devine

How long have you been alive? And I’m not talking years since your birth. I’m not talking years since you remember or seconds you’ve been awake. I’m talking alive. Not this bullshit about clean water and clear heads either. Alive. To be young successfully you have to exhausted all the things that make you young. To grow up. To graduate youth. You have to become bored of it all. Alive, for me at least, is fear. That mad excitement that you feel right at the back of your mouth under your tongue. That pulses in the flat of your wrists that comes up through your arms, into the mouth and explodes out of your mouth in a mad squeal. You have to be afraid to make that noise. Just a little. Afraid and pushing past it. Beating that feeling. Like being drunk on the bonnet of a moving car. Being reckless and full of risk. BOOM-fires the brain. Whiskey in hand. Bottles hitting passing cars.

But before the bible-belt get all frisky about my initial environment, that feeling also comes in moments when the blood is still at least  95% pure. Sometimes. When a boy or a girl gets it just right. When a moment comes. Clear day, rainy day, doesn’t matter. What matters is the person.  The moment. You hold your mouth close to stop it yelping out. You can hear your heart trying to bust out of the chest. Your blood sings.

 

So how long? With many you can count it on a hand, and in seconds. They think it’s sad that my life is unstable. I think it’s sad that they’ve never felt how that feels. It’s shouting. It’s war. It’s that thing that reaches down into you and pulls out everything single fucking thing that you ever wanted to be, that you could be, that she needs you to be. Things you didn’t know where in there. Things you make you alive.

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