A recurrent theme for me at present appears to be manifested in the form of an observation as to my life, that there is scant circumstance, and for fun, and for storytelling. But what if this situation was just the ticket? What if it was just what the doctor ordered? What if, as once evidenced in a solitary happenstance on the fields of Green Park one Saturday afternoon in 2005, I am actually quite boring?
Then I would actually and most probably be in the mode of being most likened to any other self respecting sane person - that is, in a state of happiness. Do not take issue with this fact. For I am sure I am like many others, and such others as, you may have seen, are happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Do not mock me for my tediousness, for I am like the Caribbean pirates, and Dickensian plot-drivers, and heart-essence that gets at least a modicum of American ghostbusting television shows their viewership. I am a ghost.
The year has shot by, and now it is September, and nearly October, and the weather drops in temperature, and the nights draw in, and evenings are more peaceful. And I should not forget the essence of the season, that after a stiflingly hot summer, we are content to watch such changes, and from the comfort of our homes. You have to appreciate the fact that in being encouraged to confine ourselves from fear of infections, at least we are warm inside. At least the world will move on all about us, and at least we are digitally connected. And in light of such connection, we can appreciate the delight that now, we are content to keep sparse our communications. That is, we keep them sparse in the sense of necessity, and only working life gets to have the key. And this is fine. Boring, but fine.
For me, today marked the first of the really chilly days, the day that tells you of looming winter. And I know that for some, such days bring about a cause for complaint. It must be observed however, that this year we may not have the chance! For me, this time of year brings back memories of old days, being that I was born in the winter months, and have always had reason to look forward to them. People will want to complain, but they won't be able to, for we must keep inside in any case. But I will not have such need, and am yet anxious to extend the sensations and feelings I have at these days, as they draw colder, and become darker, and I can pull close the curtains earlier and earlier.
It is good, that I am fully off everything, except those things on which I have to be. And even those things I have become used to. Some have spoken about their desire to re-enter that world of inner recreational strangeness, and I say, let them have it. I talk of old friends and, as I myself am seated at the entrance to phase one of true old age, I sit there with calm recollection.
One good old boy sought to reengage, to a welcoming reception, with my life, and I suppose that is one happenstance. This is the construct of aging men's world's, that it all relies on past friends who have gone their happy ways, and returned, and just in the nick of time to regenerate the feelings that we used to have, and it makes me happy. It makes me happy that such subtle nuances of middle age can affect us so deeply, and make us pensive and nostalgic. The boy was our drummer. He has not been in touch for many years, and we worry about him. Yet for all our worry, there is nothing much to be worried about. For he is still that good old boy, to me, to all those who know him. He spoke to my mother, and mother called me, and I contacted him, and... the old boy has not changed.
We took acid together, Nick and I. I have a sudden recollection of this specific instance once when, at the woods, when all our friends were there, and our girlfriends, and the music, it all got a bit much. His missus at the time, Sarah, she was closing down the hatches, and making the old boy very concerned... too concerned. She would fuss and mollycoddle, and bring up all kinds of unnecessary motherly feelings for Nick. And then the old boy got his hatches closed in - you could see it. It all got too much for him; he was under too much stress, getting confused with all the negative attention. Who needs it? In any case, the good old boy fell down to his knees, and then a whole crowd of them gathered around, fussing and mollycoddling, and I knew the old boy needed his space. All I can remember is the big man Eugene, getting in on the scene, with his big face and big concerns and I shouted... "FUCK OFF!!" It was all getting too much, and everyone went quiet.
I suppose that little outburst is a cause of some personal embarrassment to me, myself. I often wonder if it changed their perceptions of me, these little friends. But I thought they might understand. Nick just needed his space.
He still needs his space, I'm sure. One phone call, out of the blue, and after all these years, well, perhaps it's not enough to assume that the boys are back. But I know we want it. I know we want nothing more. People like me and Adam, we just want our band back.
And I told Adam, it's not your responsibility to save Nick. We have to take him at face value. We have to let him drive everything. Nick is sensitive, and so are you. I could tell Adam was perturbed by the resurfacing of the good old boy, and I knew he wanted to reach out, to tell Nick he is loved, and that he is forgiven. But Adam is not good at that. When Adam wants to help someone, what happens is that he ends in the mode of destroying the person. Because in truth, it's Adam who wants the help.
Adam, in fact, has a lot of untapped rage within him. He claims to have dealt with it, yet I know he really wants to lash out. Well, maybe lash out is not the right term. He is very sensitive. Adam wants to return all the pain he has had in his life, and instead of having the chance what has happened is that people who have hurt him have petered out and dissipated and there's no one to shout at. Now, Nick is not exactly back on the scene, but the good old boy represents something special to Adam, who wants to make Nick understand something about him. I shouldn't psychologize about it really, because sometimes I don't understand Adam, and perhaps Adam has tapped into some things that I myself wish that Nick understood.
Do I resent Nick? It wouldn't be fair if I did. What I can however safely say I do resent is my own reactions to his personal behaviour when those good things did appear to be happening, at the time. I resent my own inability - not to control Nick, but to befriend him so that we could have made something of the band. I know, there's more to life than the band. But I had dreams like anybody else, and we were good. I have had the dreams of beautiful nights in the club, playing to the mosh-pit that heaved under the crunch of our deep, happy grunge. It hurts that me that I couldn't see it for myself. Things could have been so different.
Adam is like me. He wants to shout at Nick to tell him WAKE UP!! THERE'S STILL TIME!! But curse the good old boy for his unconscious taunting. There's nothing more we can do.
It is what it is. And that is the reality of the situation. Life, like the changing of the seasons, is turning, and from a physical entity into a subtle remonstrance of the past. When you can see this happening, you are already at a loss to prevent it, because in many ways you yourself have brought this about, and in the end it is what you wanted. But it happened. The lives of the youths, that they lead so carefree and even deep into maturity, you can sense that they are a million miles away now. You can see it when you look around, and even all the old people can't see you, because you are not attractive any more. You know you are not attractive, because you yourself have lost the attraction to those youths, that you once were. You have come through the problems of sex. You have come through the problems of popularity. You have reached the other side, and now it is time to reflect, and undulate in your maturity.
This is phase one of true old. I suppose I am welcoming it, like welcoming back the promise of the past.
The promise of the past
It's a hello from me, and hope you are well,
A recurrent theme for me at present appears to be manifested in the form of an observation as to my life, that there is scant circumstance, and for fun, and for storytelling. But what if this situation was just the ticket? What if it was just what the doctor ordered? What if, as once evidenced in a solitary happenstance on the fields of Green Park one Saturday afternoon in 2005, I am actually quite boring?
Then I would actually and most probably be in the mode of being most likened to any other self respecting sane person - that is, in a state of happiness. Do not take issue with this fact. For I am sure I am like many others, and such others as, you may have seen, are happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Do not mock me for my tediousness, for I am like the Caribbean pirates, and Dickensian plot-drivers, and heart-essence that gets at least a modicum of American ghostbusting television shows their viewership. I am a ghost.
The year has shot by, and now it is September, and nearly October, and the weather drops in temperature, and the nights draw in, and evenings are more peaceful. And I should not forget the essence of the season, that after a stiflingly hot summer, we are content to watch such changes, and from the comfort of our homes. You have to appreciate the fact that in being encouraged to confine ourselves from fear of infections, at least we are warm inside. At least the world will move on all about us, and at least we are digitally connected. And in light of such connection, we can appreciate the delight that now, we are content to keep sparse our communications. That is, we keep them sparse in the sense of necessity, and only working life gets to have the key. And this is fine. Boring, but fine.
For me, today marked the first of the really chilly days, the day that tells you of looming winter. And I know that for some, such days bring about a cause for complaint. It must be observed however, that this year we may not have the chance! For me, this time of year brings back memories of old days, being that I was born in the winter months, and have always had reason to look forward to them. People will want to complain, but they won't be able to, for we must keep inside in any case. But I will not have such need, and am yet anxious to extend the sensations and feelings I have at these days, as they draw colder, and become darker, and I can pull close the curtains earlier and earlier.
It is good, that I am fully off everything, except those things on which I have to be. And even those things I have become used to. Some have spoken about their desire to re-enter that world of inner recreational strangeness, and I say, let them have it. I talk of old friends and, as I myself am seated at the entrance to phase one of true old age, I sit there with calm recollection.
One good old boy sought to reengage, to a welcoming reception, with my life, and I suppose that is one happenstance. This is the construct of aging men's world's, that it all relies on past friends who have gone their happy ways, and returned, and just in the nick of time to regenerate the feelings that we used to have, and it makes me happy. It makes me happy that such subtle nuances of middle age can affect us so deeply, and make us pensive and nostalgic. The boy was our drummer. He has not been in touch for many years, and we worry about him. Yet for all our worry, there is nothing much to be worried about. For he is still that good old boy, to me, to all those who know him. He spoke to my mother, and mother called me, and I contacted him, and... the old boy has not changed.
We took acid together, Nick and I. I have a sudden recollection of this specific instance once when, at the woods, when all our friends were there, and our girlfriends, and the music, it all got a bit much. His missus at the time, Sarah, she was closing down the hatches, and making the old boy very concerned... too concerned. She would fuss and mollycoddle, and bring up all kinds of unnecessary motherly feelings for Nick. And then the old boy got his hatches closed in - you could see it. It all got too much for him; he was under too much stress, getting confused with all the negative attention. Who needs it? In any case, the good old boy fell down to his knees, and then a whole crowd of them gathered around, fussing and mollycoddling, and I knew the old boy needed his space. All I can remember is the big man Eugene, getting in on the scene, with his big face and big concerns and I shouted... "FUCK OFF!!" It was all getting too much, and everyone went quiet.
I suppose that little outburst is a cause of some personal embarrassment to me, myself. I often wonder if it changed their perceptions of me, these little friends. But I thought they might understand. Nick just needed his space.
He still needs his space, I'm sure. One phone call, out of the blue, and after all these years, well, perhaps it's not enough to assume that the boys are back. But I know we want it. I know we want nothing more. People like me and Adam, we just want our band back.
And I told Adam, it's not your responsibility to save Nick. We have to take him at face value. We have to let him drive everything. Nick is sensitive, and so are you. I could tell Adam was perturbed by the resurfacing of the good old boy, and I knew he wanted to reach out, to tell Nick he is loved, and that he is forgiven. But Adam is not good at that. When Adam wants to help someone, what happens is that he ends in the mode of destroying the person. Because in truth, it's Adam who wants the help.
Adam, in fact, has a lot of untapped rage within him. He claims to have dealt with it, yet I know he really wants to lash out. Well, maybe lash out is not the right term. He is very sensitive. Adam wants to return all the pain he has had in his life, and instead of having the chance what has happened is that people who have hurt him have petered out and dissipated and there's no one to shout at. Now, Nick is not exactly back on the scene, but the good old boy represents something special to Adam, who wants to make Nick understand something about him. I shouldn't psychologize about it really, because sometimes I don't understand Adam, and perhaps Adam has tapped into some things that I myself wish that Nick understood.
Do I resent Nick? It wouldn't be fair if I did. What I can however safely say I do resent is my own reactions to his personal behaviour when those good things did appear to be happening, at the time. I resent my own inability - not to control Nick, but to befriend him so that we could have made something of the band. I know, there's more to life than the band. But I had dreams like anybody else, and we were good. I have had the dreams of beautiful nights in the club, playing to the mosh-pit that heaved under the crunch of our deep, happy grunge. It hurts that me that I couldn't see it for myself. Things could have been so different.
Adam is like me. He wants to shout at Nick to tell him WAKE UP!! THERE'S STILL TIME!! But curse the good old boy for his unconscious taunting. There's nothing more we can do.
It is what it is. And that is the reality of the situation. Life, like the changing of the seasons, is turning, and from a physical entity into a subtle remonstrance of the past. When you can see this happening, you are already at a loss to prevent it, because in many ways you yourself have brought this about, and in the end it is what you wanted. But it happened. The lives of the youths, that they lead so carefree and even deep into maturity, you can sense that they are a million miles away now. You can see it when you look around, and even all the old people can't see you, because you are not attractive any more. You know you are not attractive, because you yourself have lost the attraction to those youths, that you once were. You have come through the problems of sex. You have come through the problems of popularity. You have reached the other side, and now it is time to reflect, and undulate in your maturity.
This is phase one of true old. I suppose I am welcoming it, like welcoming back the promise of the past.
Daniel
x