We’ve been here before. Haven’t we?
No, that can’t be. This is new. Familiar, but perhaps only in my own delusion. But this time, this moment, these moments- have yet to be until now.
Though it is reminiscent. Maybe it’s the weather, or something like that.
Maybe it’s just me wishing of the past while the future continues to march over me. Wondering what might have been while what is to be cracks me in the fucking face as hard as it can. A constant reminder of my increasing age. The time before me grows short, while longer grows what falls behind.
All the sticky notes on the wall shall come down today. Both literally, and hopefully, metaphysically. I may damn the more yuletide type goings-on of this time of year, but I don’t harbor hatred for the new year. I don’t even mind the whole ‘start your year in the dead of winter’ deal. Destitution (or of that sort to a lesser degree) is a wonderful starting point. That is, if you manage to let yourself get any where upward after.
There is a part that pulls me to write of what was.
Another part pulls me to wonder what will be.
Quite likely, not enough of my mind is fixing upon the what is.
This time last year, I was about to leave for somewhere else. And there I would go. It’s true. I’ve got the pictures.
And so, I went. And it was, with all the things that come with being. And I’ve wondered upon it in ebbs and flows since then. It was a good thing to go, despite my imperfections. If you wait to leap until you are ready, you may never at all. Best try. That’s how birds learn. Off they go, to the will of gravity until they defy it.
I’ve seen it on the television.
For sometimes moments exist to be turning points. Not lasting things, but places to pivot. Places to plant your feet before launching off into the air again.
I returned from this place I’d never been and upon my return, I schemed. I had to do something to keep my mind from how much of a doofus I thought I was. So those schemes turned to a plan. That turned into goals. Vague enough to be interpreted, but specific enough to be accomplished. And so, it was done. It shall be done. Almost is. Delayed, but only slightly. Far better than much of my school work. Some of that is eternally waiting. Never to be accomplished.
But I’ve made my records. Thirty or so songs. There may still be something last minute in there. The last album will be done within a few days, though. Strick deadlines are overrated. I’d be a terrible wedding planner. I am great fun at a wedding, though.
The delay was a bit beyond my control. Physical forces of the immediate universe forced my hand. Got stuck in one spot for longer than anticipated.
It was peculiar. I hadn’t stayed in the house I’d grown up in that long for nearly a decade. What a wonder. Made me think of what was those years ago.
Oh, to go down the rabbithole, of older selves, seen younger. Who was me, a decade ago?
Nice enough kid. Dope, though. Not cool ‘dope’. Just dopey. Thought the way would be easy. That all would unfold effortlessly. So fixed upon daydreams, he could hardly notice the floor beneath his feet. Didn’t even have the sense to pay attention to the girls that liked him. Too worried, most likely, by those that didn’t.
And I wonder now, what an older man might say of me.
Some half a bum. Some beatnik not ever cool enough to be called washed up. A flop without ever even knowing it.
No… I don’t think that is quite right. As that kid previously mentioned wasn’t all that bad. He had a few moves. A few tricks. He could drum up a crowd. Captivate an audience, total strangers if need be. And to hold anyone’s attention at the dawn of the smart phone, what a thing to do!
So, when I reflect upon the now from some point in the future, I may not be so cruel.
One thing is for certain of my now and recent past- the effort was put in. Just speaking for this solar spin. What I could do, I did. And what I couldn’t, I tried.
And yes, I’ve been scheming onward. And yes, those scheme have turned to plans. They need just a touch more of specifics, but the goals are all but set. We shall see what this next year shall bring. And what it is that I shall be bringing to it.
But I will try to sing more, for sure. And not just in the shower, but certainly more there as well. And If I’m a better writer than singer, then I’ll have to get at that as well. Might be I already have plans to. Might be I already know what I aim to do.
And if I plan to work at those things I’m good at, I might as well get better at what I’m not. So be warned.
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, but allegedly, I used to be quite charming. An eon ago. Last time I really was in practice in the field was before swiping through dozens of faces to find a hookup was a thing. The norm, really. Not many folks meeting in other ways. And the other ways are all I’m good at. And I’m far too stubborn to learn.
But I’ll find a way. More likely to write a poem than say something sexy on a dance floor, but so be it. And I’d rather meet in a quite room than a loud one, for all the good it’s done me.
I don’t think you get many songs from going on Tinder. If that’s even the one to use anymore. And I don’t think the ones you might get from rolling face under the flashing lights of the dance floor will be very good. But what do I know?
Might be I’m getting old. Which is strange for a person who is never going to grown up. I read more comics this year than I have for my entire life. And I’m damn fucking proud of that.
It is all a work in progress, this life. That stuff. And the other stuff. My creative endeavors. My work. I work towards mastery with that. Because if you’re going to be an addict, and you know if you have the tendencies, you might as well addict yourself to the soul feeding sort of stuff.