And as I stand here spinning around the middle of my room, going in
circles for a solid 15minutes. Making sure, absolutely sure that I am
not forgetting anything. Although I will remember at 10,000 ft I have
forgotten something, that I am standing here trying to remember.
I recognize a voice. Its Jackson Browne. I could spot that voice
anywhere, low with melodic power, the highs are deep, and the tonal
strength is suppressing. It was coming from my house mates room,
either he has it too loud, at 12:30am.. Or my hearing hasn’t been as
compromised as I thought it had. Because that voice could bring me
down anywhere. So I pick up the 80lb suitcase and wrap my key ring
around my index finger. Its time to fly.
“Guncrazy” 1992 & a snuggie at 2am on the couch. Boston covered in the
first snowfall at 4am, convenient.
Its been a long time since I’ve seen the sun rise anywhere other than
my bedroom window in the woods. But now I see it from a different
light. Two things are certain, the sun will always rise in east and it
will always set in the west.
I have displaced fields and mountains for trees. And now I’m on the
other side, things feel different as different as they look, as
different as they are. And now its time to face my demons and walk it
out. The rest of this will end, and now I musnt be selfish to fight my
own battles, and leave the side of the passanger seat, let me drive
the rest of the way. Because its my home, not yours. And there my
problems, with all my own pieces to pick up. We’ve gone and left now,
the places where cops drive mustangs, and the indians smoke their
cigars. Its not safe to drive like this, with every hour believing the
last was better than the next. We can’t breath as deep back east –
because theair is crowded.
Where the time isn’t counted by hours its measured by miles. Where the
hills really are purple, and now you understand it, you will always
understand it now. But you will leave what you saw where you left it,
and take what you learned in an image. And that photo may last you as
long as the trip itself, but the black and white dreams are all you
carry on with. Its down to the last hour, and this is the longest one. Every last
hour of every end of every few thousand miles has been the tongue
bitter. What will the next town bring. What does the next city hold
for us. Well this one is different, this one ends it all. No more
miles to count, no more songs to turn down. Were done checking in, and
I’m over checking out. We’ve sped past our last exit, and there is no
more turning around. Could the songs be sung one last time,can we take
that picture over again becuase your smile wasn’t quite right. And to
rememver none of this has been quite right. But we did it nonetheless,
we have spread arms over the length of the country, west to east. And
farther it goes on. The last hour is dwindling faster than the others,
I thought this might happen. Where the stars are airplanes, and the sky holds the rest of the world
in its perils, in one glance. The meteors over Nevada can’t be
redeemed, and Ill never forget the tears in your eyes when you heard
that song. I couldn’t understand it then on the 80 but I understand it
now.
The one thing to make me cry is sitting right in front of me. The
clock, like a timer, ticking to explode. To end it all. Every tear is
shed with every moment that digresses.
And its all gone in the blink of an eye. With displacing of the
trigger into park.
