I ponder. Often. It’s something every no doubt does, but not the way I do it. It’s a vicious cycle, the way I think. I blame it on the years I’ve spent watching film and reading books, sadly life doesn’t end after 2 and a half hours or 300 pages. If I could go out in 2 hours of celluloid glory I would. Without a moment’s hesitation. It would be better than waiting around day after day surrounded by rising action that leads to a climax so lame it would make Dustin Diamond look like a sex god.
Wilco does this to me, they make me feel like I’m wasting my time. I’m going to school training to become something I don’t want to be and I tell myself that I’m making up for it with all that I read and write and watch. The fact of the matter is I don’t pay enough attention to what I read and I don’t write nearly as often as I tell myself I do and I watch far too much shit on my 32″ Vizio.
I sit around late at night sometimes and listen to a playlist that I never sent out to the girl that I made it for, it’s filled with songs that reminded me of her and still do to this day. They are filled with heartache and beauty that my vocabulary could never do justice to just like the songs barely hint at what she does to me. It’s funny that she played me my first Wilco song, I told her it was an adventure to listen to. She told me that was the cutest thing I could have ever said.
But I listen to other songs too, even though any song by any of the artists on the playlist make me think of her, some songs are still mine and mine alone. I let far too many songs belong to other people, I need something for myself. Mayer Hawthorne is mine bitches. I do wish I could be her hummingbird again.
The fact that I STILL write about this shit says tons about my character. I think. Jesus Christ, I want to be like Charlie Huston. He writes the strongest characters, but I’m strong right? Maybe I am one of his characters and just don’t know it yet.
My chum Robert says we need to meet people not attached to the endless streams of bullshit we suffer through on a daily basis. I respect the hell out of that man’s opinion, maybe he has a point. He also said once, as he crossed his right leg over the knee of his left and pushed up the brim of his glasses, that “we are artists, Tyler, it’s in our nature to obsess over things and we are especially susceptible to women.” Tell me about it dude.
“Only the curious have something to find” says one of the songs on this mysterylist. Well I’m curious like a cat, it’s why my friends call me whiskers. I’ve got plenty to find and if you’re along for the ride then that is fantastic. If not, then I’ll write about you and how beautiful you all are.
Oh, and I miss my best friend a lot. Where’d you go pal? I’m still here, I didn’t go anywhere dude.
I’ll drink to maybe I’ll wink at you.
God, I’m about as deep as Tony Danza sometimes.
I’m your worst nightmare butt-horn!
“If there was a mountain misted with rain I wouldn’t climb it for you no more, it couldn’t be worth the strain.”
