it’s late. i’m up far past the point i planned to be, and i plan to be up far earlier than i will want to be. i’m in St. Louis, MO, staying with my kids and their mom, my ex; still legally married, though each currently involved in separate relationships. it’s complicated. it’s even more complicated than this, or, more simple. what’s the difference? we all exist in a moment between life and death. beyond this, what is/who is/where is the problem? easier to say, or write, than to live. strange. st. louis has been a strange city for me. it’s where my children were born. it is where they live and grow and where they are amassing the experiences and memories that will be known as their childhood. i had my first experience of “owning” a house in st. louis. being a neighbor. working in my yard. all the pride associated with it. i’ve played shows in st. louis, but that feels like some other me, perhaps one who does not belong here. i think this is changing as i meet more people: musicians, artists, etc., who have more in common with me.
i’m not so interested in this direction. i’ve bored myself. tired, but promised i’d write something…
sometimes it feels like the wheels are ready to turn, and all they is one push, an act of intent, of faith; a physical effort of energy to start the movement. the momentum. it’s hard staying motivated. inspired. organized. to work with people, to not work with people. then again, it’s easy. simple. life could and can be so much worse. perhaps the freedom is overwhelming to the point of being trapped by the possibilities. the responsibility. for isn’t one who has the freedom to do what one wants responsible to uphold that freedom? to prove oneself worthy of such a gift? what is it about human nature, my nature, that permits us to feel mired in the best of circumstances? i don’t get it. so i try to work through it. remind myself, or stimulate myself into activity. arouse from hibernation, dormancy. awaken and revive. the spark that makes one move into action. steady, rhythmic work. maybe it’s the distractions that bind us in our freedom. the phones, computers, cars, plans. how can one enjoy freedom with so much pulling at the consciousness?
i’m blabbering for the sake of blabbering. the ideal of blogging: blabbering to the ether. the lonely sitting at home, eyes tired from strain, the light emitting like too loud talking: at us, not with us. nor guiding us. blinding us. still, i’m addicted to the information. i wish it were my own. always accessible, ready for action. like the clothes hanging in my closet, instead of a store full of garments i can’t afford or have room to store. perhaps having too much knowledge or seeking it is unbecoming or detrimental to one’s being, like the desire for money and the pursuit.
i hope you’re happy, omnipresent being who wanted me to write tonight, keeping me awake with nonsense, eliciting a cough that creeps from the hollow of my lungs, rattling my ribs and esophagus. may this offering please the gods and bring rain to my fields; for the winter is long, and i have many mouths to feed.
Filed under: Uncategorized | 2 Comments
Tags: children, rhythm, st. louis, writing
Sorry to hear things aren’t on the “up and up”. When I feel uninspired or aimless I try to pick up a book. Books can be a nice distraction and can inject something new into a tired, indifferent brain. Hang in there.
That made me cry, Dan. Blessings.