THE TAO OF AUTOMATIC
Automatic asked "where the fuck are you, man? What the fuck is going on and where the fuck are you?!" I've got to be honest with you, even though I haven't been with myself...I don't really know where the fuck I am. Now I'm not depressed or anything. Don't kid yourself. I'm too big for that emotion. Plus, we've been through that one already. It's just that I've been thinking a lot about 1997, and that has my perspective all screwed up.
Is it wrong to long for simpler times? Is it wrong to look at the past every now and then and want to lie there for a while? Sleeping. Blaring THE UNFORGETABLE FIRE ten years after the fact, and completely unaware of the present. I used to work in the laundromatt and it was hell. Going through everyone else's dirty clothes except my own. Longing for that one girl with the blue hair that would wash on Wednesdays. Every Wednesday. Without fail. And thinking how perfect life was with her in it. How more perfect it could be if she would just let me wash her clothes for her. How perfect it would be to just get a little closer. Of course, I never did get beyond a peek at her lacy things while she stepped out for a cup of coffee. They weren't very lacy. But that didnt matter at all. They were her private moments. Suspended in the tumble mode.
I had the wisdom of Automatic being pushed into my life on a regular basis. And that kept me sane. Partly because he had as much shit as me. Partly because I watched him learn to cry. And partly because he was the closest thing to home I had ever experienced. Blue girl or not.
So where did all that go? 1997. Like Mr. Corgan's 1979. Lost forever, I think. No tangible remnants remaining. Beyond my fractured memory. Pathetic at best. Now I have to make all these huge decisions. Like what is life all about? Or what do I do next so I don't end up on the streets eating out of garbage cans? Selling old baseball cards. I can't ride on Nicole forever. Who knows. We might not even make the long haul. You know how those Hollywood things work out. Or don't work out. And we are only half of that. I don't even really deserve her in my life. But I am not going to spend any time being self-deprecating. I just want to know what's in store for me, you know? I want to know where I am. Because that will determine everything. And if I can't figure that out, I might as well learn how to be content as a slack-ass. Sponging off people for the rest of my life. Writing whenever I get the chance, but really just existing to find out what happens tonight on 'must see tv'.
So, to answer your question...I don't know where the fuck I am. I'm working on that right now. But I applaud your insight. From the distance of 2000 miles, you are the only one who seems to be able to reach out and know that I am feeling lost. So very far from home. Since 1997 is only going to ever come around once, as far as I can tell, I want to thank you for being there. No one else will ever know who the fuck we were. Or where the fuck we were going. Or what the fuck we planned to do when we got there. Somehow, I still think things are like that. And I am, at least, happy with that.
Is it wrong to long for simpler times? Is it wrong to look at the past every now and then and want to lie there for a while? Sleeping. Blaring THE UNFORGETABLE FIRE ten years after the fact, and completely unaware of the present. I used to work in the laundromatt and it was hell. Going through everyone else's dirty clothes except my own. Longing for that one girl with the blue hair that would wash on Wednesdays. Every Wednesday. Without fail. And thinking how perfect life was with her in it. How more perfect it could be if she would just let me wash her clothes for her. How perfect it would be to just get a little closer. Of course, I never did get beyond a peek at her lacy things while she stepped out for a cup of coffee. They weren't very lacy. But that didnt matter at all. They were her private moments. Suspended in the tumble mode.
I had the wisdom of Automatic being pushed into my life on a regular basis. And that kept me sane. Partly because he had as much shit as me. Partly because I watched him learn to cry. And partly because he was the closest thing to home I had ever experienced. Blue girl or not.
So where did all that go? 1997. Like Mr. Corgan's 1979. Lost forever, I think. No tangible remnants remaining. Beyond my fractured memory. Pathetic at best. Now I have to make all these huge decisions. Like what is life all about? Or what do I do next so I don't end up on the streets eating out of garbage cans? Selling old baseball cards. I can't ride on Nicole forever. Who knows. We might not even make the long haul. You know how those Hollywood things work out. Or don't work out. And we are only half of that. I don't even really deserve her in my life. But I am not going to spend any time being self-deprecating. I just want to know what's in store for me, you know? I want to know where I am. Because that will determine everything. And if I can't figure that out, I might as well learn how to be content as a slack-ass. Sponging off people for the rest of my life. Writing whenever I get the chance, but really just existing to find out what happens tonight on 'must see tv'.
So, to answer your question...I don't know where the fuck I am. I'm working on that right now. But I applaud your insight. From the distance of 2000 miles, you are the only one who seems to be able to reach out and know that I am feeling lost. So very far from home. Since 1997 is only going to ever come around once, as far as I can tell, I want to thank you for being there. No one else will ever know who the fuck we were. Or where the fuck we were going. Or what the fuck we planned to do when we got there. Somehow, I still think things are like that. And I am, at least, happy with that.
posted by The Passenger at 12:24 PM
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