well

dwell dwell well well
-The Shell of a Former Man

12;27am - Just informed of meteor shower beginning in 32 minutes and counting. Will not watch it though would like to take part in these sorts of activities more often. Though they seem to require a molasses like patience and willingness to remain awake for long hours (which I well know I am capable of).

Professionalism and posture like interlocked fingers and a beating heart, the slouch exhibits a great deal and a tiny body I encountered Sunday evening gave me brief thoughts of addiction and a sort of anorexia which I normally do not associate with men but something seemed unhealthy about this good guy and I wish to discover more about him. Meek but daring, an enigma with no armor.

As the days wind down here I feel a strange nostalgia kicking horse-like more and more at the growing hairs on the edges of my skull. Really there has been little accomplished in this month which I had great hopes for. Overshadowed by desires for adventure, my real and serious goals were easily crushed into lines and ice cubes floating over scotch. Which begs the question of the seriousness of these goals or the weakness of the man inside them. And more, the cliche meaning of it all. And all of which I feel the need to give a big fuck you to and take the Gary Cooper path, yea, the strong/silent bla bla bla but what is all this strength talk and such. Writing seems to make me dwell in some strange sense. But it is also a great purge, a deep breath, a digesting, a dwelling in order to forgo dwelling. And in this way it is akin to the elephantine importance of music, imprisoned in time and bursting with whatever can be done within a structure or a lack of structure. Only so far. The blues - feeding us a soul in pain without the dwelling and the giving in. It is the recognition and the awareness that it will be gone, a note bent and released, a letting go, a verse and a fuck it all solo, the slide fucking the neck up and down and finishing on the up swing. Jazz - the melancholy, the groove, all exploding with life. And now more than ever I'm beginning to recognize how I am so drawn to these two genres. How I need them and they give me life and feeling and feed the depths.

What I do know about my struggles here is that they have transformed and I with them, and the enormous amount of time whining to myself and or bitching and explaining things to others about this and that has really done me very little good because it is certainly more enjoyable to let the lines dissolve into a smooth Coltrane ride which ends before the sun comes up and i can dance. This is not to say that I have not learned, through conversations with others, what it means to analyze and reanalyze and reanalyze - to the point of exhaustion - but come from under the tumultuous waters with a more tenuous grasp of the problems and situations which have confronted me. Again and again.

Why I need music, why I feel most alive on the sad nights when an instrument is in my hands, or when I am dancing to a beat and moving my body and existing within a groove, a beat, a melody because then my soul isn't sitting idly but bursting like a comet on a night with meteors taking showers in the milky way.

I am one who needs organization in order to cope with chaos, but I seem to easily allow the chaos to take hold and beckon me into its dark corners where I can feel friendly with the demons that are chiseling away at my ability to enjoy myself in the days and nights which torture in some ways but allow me to tickle extremes which I do not often put my fingers on.

And so I return, like most nights to my little room in darkness, with some jazz or some novel or paper or screen. And sometimes I'm not sure what to do. Sleep is scary to me and I try to hold tight before I leave the day behind me. Even though it's now 3:24, one day after I began writing this it's always me warding off sleep, watering something to stay alive. Lingering in a loneliness which somehow loses a taste of loveliness when I remember the beautiful feeling of sharing moments with another, in love, and squeezing the one that lets her everything seep into your chest and wrap you up and drip from the pillow into your dreams.