Saturday, January 22, 2005
regardless of what I just typed, there are somethings that are seemingly "universally" haunting... or should we say, reminding.
Somethings that so succinctly describe a situation or feeling... they almost lack anyother description.
"Never Meant": American Football.
dammit, it says too much...
Somethings that so succinctly describe a situation or feeling... they almost lack anyother description.
"Never Meant": American Football.
dammit, it says too much...
Friday, January 21, 2005
There's something eturnal... something thats haunting and seemingly can only be explained by swiftly chilly autumn nights... and watching the water lap back and forth on Ocean Beach.
Something thats puzzling, but reminiscent: a warning, but oddly comforting in the fact that we're all going to "be ok".
In thinking more, I think its just a lamentation... a sadness of the futility in trying to capture a moment... like heaping up dunes only for the beach to wash away.
Its the passing through this eye... the needle... in which the interpretation is made and things felt... not the reflection and conjuring of past emotion... Like it can only be tasted once, and everything else is fleeting to taste again.
Its the unware enjoyment of the first time around that makes the reflection so bitter and jaded. It wasn't like that the first time. The sky was blue, ocean calm and grass green WITHOUT the noticing... we didn't stop to note "damn, this is the best hour of my life"... it happened and fled... to leave us only with the haunting reminder of its passing.
You can't bottle a moment... if you could try, it would die in the process. Almost loving something enough to let it go... the "freeing" makes the covetous beholder "free" too... "free" to let the moment be, and not reform it through the glasses of revisionist history.
To think back, I'm sure everything wasn't as perfect as we remember... it rained more, and things hurt just as bad as now... but the raking of the memory through time seemed to have steralized it towards the bad connotation... to be let go... that's all the moment and memory want. To let let go. To be let go to be what they were in the first place... nothing, but the casual passage of time.... uncerimoniously romanced in our collective and collaborative psyches into something that it wasn't.
IT WAS JUST A MOMENT. Nothing more!
Then why do I feel less. The older i get the less I feel? No... but maybe it was the first time you felt it; that being the circumstance by which it was cemented in your brain.
But I can't die by those. I can't live like those either. Trying to corral everything into the orgastic feeling of originality is fruitless.
I've been through the ringer... and am probably experiencing right now another time in the future I might think "the best of my life". Its the naivety, i think... the not knowing, then fleeting grasp that makes it so romantic.... the times you should have gone or stayed home. The numbers you should have called or thrown away... the decision to move to New Orleans... the decision to go to Grad school... and move back to UMBC.
Our lives are filled with simple decisions that bind our destiny.
I'm getting married to a girl I love by the action of simple decision. New Orleans wasn't that great anyway... :)
Something thats puzzling, but reminiscent: a warning, but oddly comforting in the fact that we're all going to "be ok".
In thinking more, I think its just a lamentation... a sadness of the futility in trying to capture a moment... like heaping up dunes only for the beach to wash away.
Its the passing through this eye... the needle... in which the interpretation is made and things felt... not the reflection and conjuring of past emotion... Like it can only be tasted once, and everything else is fleeting to taste again.
Its the unware enjoyment of the first time around that makes the reflection so bitter and jaded. It wasn't like that the first time. The sky was blue, ocean calm and grass green WITHOUT the noticing... we didn't stop to note "damn, this is the best hour of my life"... it happened and fled... to leave us only with the haunting reminder of its passing.
You can't bottle a moment... if you could try, it would die in the process. Almost loving something enough to let it go... the "freeing" makes the covetous beholder "free" too... "free" to let the moment be, and not reform it through the glasses of revisionist history.
To think back, I'm sure everything wasn't as perfect as we remember... it rained more, and things hurt just as bad as now... but the raking of the memory through time seemed to have steralized it towards the bad connotation... to be let go... that's all the moment and memory want. To let let go. To be let go to be what they were in the first place... nothing, but the casual passage of time.... uncerimoniously romanced in our collective and collaborative psyches into something that it wasn't.
IT WAS JUST A MOMENT. Nothing more!
Then why do I feel less. The older i get the less I feel? No... but maybe it was the first time you felt it; that being the circumstance by which it was cemented in your brain.
But I can't die by those. I can't live like those either. Trying to corral everything into the orgastic feeling of originality is fruitless.
I've been through the ringer... and am probably experiencing right now another time in the future I might think "the best of my life". Its the naivety, i think... the not knowing, then fleeting grasp that makes it so romantic.... the times you should have gone or stayed home. The numbers you should have called or thrown away... the decision to move to New Orleans... the decision to go to Grad school... and move back to UMBC.
Our lives are filled with simple decisions that bind our destiny.
I'm getting married to a girl I love by the action of simple decision. New Orleans wasn't that great anyway... :)
