You’ve it beat Sweetheart, until it beats you.

January 26, 2015 § Leave a comment


I’m buried by the buzz of a year gone numb.” – Buried by the buzz – Kevin Devine 

We whistled through our hangover. In the sync we were in we were passing up on the chance to really feel it. The form we were in we were well versed in passing this piss through our systems. It was second nature. Routine by now. It wasn’t a hangover so much any more as it was simply how we felt some mornings. It would pass by afternoon. It was our lives. It was how we coped with the problems that we constantly put in front of ourselves like so many way ward hurdles that we’d pray we’d make it over just to lay another one thick down in the way. We’d made our peace with whatever madness this was. We’d come to terms with those messy, poorly dressed, kids with bad haircuts who grew up to be us. Same haircuts, still dressed poorly, messy if not messier. We’d picked up some more baggage along the long way we’d come.

What can I say? I just love the way she looked. The way she moved her eyes. Fuck. After a little over two decades here I can say with as much authority as I can get away with that every now and then, every two years or so, you meet someone who just sings in your blood. They are to you how it feels to be young and drunk and in love. They’re that strange magic that you spend your days chasing in the hope that one day you can capture and keep. Hoping they stay around. As if that beautiful madness could become a regular fixture in your life. As if you could hold and keep that love and try and fit it into the measly 24 hours that make up your day. Hoping nothing spills over. Hoping so large, so important, so drasticly biblical can find a home in the mundane routine of your day. And the hope that the source of those feelings could feel the same about you. Now I’m no poet. I’m not great thinker or lover. I never pretended to be. But isn’t that it? Really? What we’ve all been chasing here? Isn’t that the carrot dangling over our heads. If I was to here to offer hope I would say this; If you haven’t found that feeling, if you don’t know it, if those words ring only in the context of hollow adulthood not allowing for the creeping madness of youth to smother out the cynicism, then you have no idea how close it is to being around the corner for you. You’re over due. Remember the last time? Remember how much it fucked you up? Remember how, after you hid and ducked and fucked and ran you’d have traded a limb just to feel anything again. Well this is that. That feeling. That pulse. That risk, that danger. This is madness and in your lonely hours you begged for it. Here it is. Be brave.

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