I’ve somehow returned from a remote lake-space with Family which I wish might have had a longer last, and while my shin-skins are red and swollen, much was understood and illuminated and these things. More is to be said, but this post is not the place for the more. I mind this a placeholder, the bent-up yellowed bookmark just before a final chapter of a book preceding the next book and the next book and the next.
If anything, I can affirm now that Ryan Adams’ Demolition is a dangerous listen, and to add within a related framework if any a time to feel human this is that. Until writing fully about this next, I’ll rise with the Dawn, hand off a guitar amplifier through which six years of music has passed — the meaning of this transaction something gargantuan, and my time with dear friends at the lake only serve to reinforce this very transition has been inaugurated but of course has not fully come to pass.
Another year, and I am the child my mother is nursing, and I am the sixth-grade child whose baseball games my dad never missed once, and I am the high school child who wishes to be anywhere close as cool as his older sister, and I am the college child (child, child, child!) with a girlfriend I’d obviously marry, and I am the intentionally single child living in the Upper East Side of New York City, and more fully of all I am the child who returned from a remote East Texan lake with sunkilled shins, laying in a bed at the city-center with the whole of each of these parts combined for seeing. And I am the man in forty-two years who will more truly be yet will not most truly be. This is the land of “yet” and “not fully,” and I know this isn’t my residence if in terms of permanency.
Lake-lays tend to do terrible things to a person, which is our hope. And of course I can’t agree more that we are being created by being destroyed. None of this is at all negative if above the narrative, which we really aren’t.
your hopefulness is contagious. i think 25 is going to be amazing and frustrating. clarifying and confusing…. but the one thing i always come back to is a rooted feeling of hope… something generally seen in most of your stories here
i appreciate that about you!
already, not yet.
yessir.
dear chicago.
oh.