sometimes i can't listen to John Lennon because the music is too beautiful. i feel as though i cannot say it is amazing, it is so spectacular. what it is is him. it is so much his own and i can't help but feel awkward trying to absorb someone else's thoughts. what a commitment, to put yourself out there for all these people to try and understand you. to relate to you without ever having met you.
New Years-
candle wax, mothers worry about drapes catching on fire. a short girl in a black dres with a crush. a clear shot of smirnoff, a dark room and some movement. cold. running. Loud loud loud. every thing every where but really it's just music and people all rocking and pushing together as one. Bartender. white dress. Line to the bathroom. Talked as if everything was just a dream. Treated everyone as if they'd dissapear in the morning with all the fake intoxicated closeness i shared with them the night before. that they'd bury it, drown it, three hundred and sixty five miles away. talked to someone about feeling a woman's stockings through her dress. it was one of the most beautiful ideas in a book i just read. you've probably heard of it.
Night drive. night drive. night drive. a phrase, two lanes, made custom, patented with my youth here. A town in which I was young and allowed to make mistakes. Now older, being durg down into the same mistakes twice over. Now it's time for everyone to feel as hurt and ashamed as i did years ago. now it's their turn to face the the music and i feel as though i am involuntarily playing it, screeching it shamelessly in front of their faces. Their failures, lyrics to the songs that open wounds.
It will be my turn again soon though. to face up, to feel the shock of failure. the circle is spinning. the cycle will soon land on me for long again.
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