Sine Qua Non

I fell asleep in my wireless Sennheisers, drifting in and out between a collection  of Debussy and Mozart. I woke to the second movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23 (K. 488) and made the subtle  and barely cognizant observation that the movement is in F sharp minor. I do believe, although I might be wrong, that no other Mozart piece shares this attribute. My absolute pitch is a wasted skill; I can’t compose or write music. I vaguely remember caring…

What fantasies we entertain as children,  from the repressed trauma of the birthing process, we hit the ground screaming. We die screaming, most of us without ever having lived a single moment of realization of a confirmed dream. Those with the unfortunate gift of introspective insight carry the heaviest burden, gaining an disproportionate amount of imagination in our usually short lives, succumbing to some combination of risk related accident or over-stimulated mental nausea resulting in a DSM diagnosis that seems to correlate with the destruction of higher faculties on cue. We dreamers, we suffer. Not in the emo-sense. Not in the alcoholic sense (although it can help). In the same sense that reality seems to ignore the most uncreative of us in the species. Truth is easy and unkind. You are not wise for informing someone of the truth. You must somehow guard it, as it were something mystical, beyond us, magical and overwhelmingly pleasant… Dreamers suffer because we see what is not. It is a life of information overload and the equivalent to thousands of writer’s blocks associated and entangled in everyday activities. Too much things to say, too little time to say them.

And writing them is not fast enough. How the greats were able to put to pen their thoughts is beyond me… Typing as fast as I do is not enough. In this what can I offer but the monumental conclusion to the last 26 years of my life… and I can sneeze the “so far”.  The truth. Ha. Sure.

Most of you know damn well there isn’t someone talking to you and listening to your pleas for help and prayers for answers. Another issue. Another concern. Do you speak to yourself? Can you turn it inward? Have you tried?

Try it. Go a single day without lying to yourself. Wake up an hour early and ignore the mirror. Go to a coffee shop that you’ve never been before and drink the house black.

The world spins in us, as if we were looking in a giant circle. We can’t spin fast enough. We can’t swim forever. Our battle is with ourselves, with the balance of despair and the ignorance of our not-so-noticeable failures. I say embrace them. I would take the extra time in the morning and preview my life just a bit longer. I have forgotten today to be thankful.

Nothing wrong nothing right. I love it, imagine I could lie to myself finally… right at the end… what would I lie about?

Life is an abattoir of hopes. Is it worth it? Fuck yea.

cuz I like to be gone most of the time
and you like to be home most of the time
if I stay in one place I lose my mind