Listening to Bookends was like reuniting with an old friend I didn’t know that I had: only after hearing the album start to finish did I recognize that these songs have been around me all along.
As the end begins, so near, so close,
memories become an illusion crying for attention.
The voices of your fences disappear and
are replaced by the intention of neighbors.
For what was once is now a ghost,
lingering on your shoulders,
haunting you
like a nostalgia craving to be relived.
They say they understand,
the words are redundant,
and at times meaningless.
They tell you it’s life,
but never prepare you when the end begins.
There isn’t a person in the world that isn’t just a little bit insane.
…Insane in the membrane.
Listening to Bookends was like reuniting with an old friend I didn’t know that I had: only after hearing the album start to finish did I recognize that these songs have been around me all along.
French phrase that means ‘to wander aimlessly without a plan’
Inspiring.
Imagine a foggy morning. It’s kind of chilly, you can feel the droplets of water and can almost taste the dim air. The sun completely hidden and it appears as though the clouds in the sky have fallen onto your streets.
Fog is an interesting dynamic. It disguises a distance that, a mere hours ago, was visible. You know what stands behind the mist and clouds of grey. You still know what street comes next, what house is on the corner and what stranded parking lot is on the left.
Yet you are forced to squint eyes and fight to see once again. Your mind is forced to rethink something that is second nature, something that is routine. You find yourself with doubts about navigating a neighborhood that on, any other day you would be foolish to think twice. You are no longer comfortable in your own element, so you walk a little slower, you drive with your high-beams on, and do anything and everything else just to be safe…
…even though you know where you are going, you know the name of the next street, you know you are right and you know the fog is merely a distraction.
The fog is a test, it’s a reminder, it is a wake-up call…
…that never get too comfortable, no matter how long you have been there, no matter how much you know that nothing has really changed, no matter much you trust your instinct.
Fog. It makes what is lucid, opaque, and what is comfortable, distressing.
Fog. It makes for an interesting dynamic.
In the quiet night, I closed my eyes tight and let the light breeze brush my shoulders and let my hands sit free on my knees.
I began to envision a place where I felt free and my mind was completely at peace. Suddenly, I am back in that room with the glass windows high up in the Swiss mountains. I see myself just sitting there in a quiet room, with my eyes wide open and completely amazed by nature’s beauty. I could hear nothing else but the wind brushing against the windows and the distant sound of cowbells. I told myself then to remember this moment forever, so that one day I can close my eyes and have an escape, even if it is for a split second.
That’s what I did. I took a mental picture of that space, captured that moment forever in the scrapbook in my mind. I just took it all in…
Now, when I close my eyes I’m there. In the Swiss mountains, just as I was six years ago. I’m there breathing the thin air, in brisk cold as the sun glazes ever so bright. I’m there to find my peace.
It might sound crazy or weird, but this is my sort of calibration.
This is scary, but it’s the good kind of scary.
Asked myself why,
and the reply was
‘Holy shit.’
4 a.m. and the world asleep,
lost in their childish dreams.
Dimmed lights and a feathered blanket,
might as well be a concrete brick.
For this will do me no good,
For this will do me no good.
As the mind races,
time becomes a drift,
a mere illusion and
panic of a lost hope.
In this cycle the night transitions,
into a day unrealized.
In this cycle I become
a prisoner of a dream,
longed to be dreamt again.
