I get out of the elevator, having just made a situation awkward by stating its awkwardness. That's a regrettable move. Pushing both doors open royally, cigarette prepped, I breathe a sigh. It smells like christmas, and the evidence is, as a matter of distinguishment, pinched between thumb and forefinger of my apparent walking partner... but I'm too filled with latent emotions to give him much notice beyond nods and a few prepared comparisons to my schooling woes.
Cloves do that to me almost every time, remind me of this summer. Caleb and Jeremy with the cloves, mostly, but it brings back Colin too, who had already proven himself beyond replacement. Bonfires, almost zen reenactments replete with what could be seen as ritualistic artifacts, circles of twenty or more people - easily the majority being strangers - beneath the trampoline, and throughout it all some strange clicking accompanied by a momentary illumination and a lingering cherry-red glow. Nearly every day was filled with one substance or another, making pizzas whilst out of my mind to a rythm imagined in synapses.
It's actually been that way a lot lately, little more than the song of the day filling the empty spaces in conversation, preventing me from bringing anything new or interesting to light. Probably this is facilitated by the recent abrupt changes in my lifestyle, almost back to the year before now, in the potentially ignorant yet still hugely self-assured and comfortable sense. My company has subtly changed again, my habits unwillingly so, but I'm okay with it all. I miss Colin, Alex, Claire, the Joshes... I miss a lot of people, but it's not like at this point I'm shocked. I'm not numb. I'm just living life and trying to regain a handle on what that means, and as I belt out this last sentence at record speed I'll state with ease that it pleases me to see that it doesn't hurt anymore. Dylan was enough for me to learn that it's not worth it to regret someone else's leaving, just recognize their importance and never forget.
That was not the blog I intended to write. Good old Djarum Blacks.
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2 comments:
A comment not on the content of your blog, but on the blog in general.
I can't formulate a response to your content other than "yeah." which would seem trivial, and imply that I didn't really understand the writing. So i will refrain from leaving it.
I always hate it when no one comments my shit, thought i would let you know I at least read yours.
Always have liked your writing style, so much more artistic than my own.
fucking andy bolton.
Haha, thanks man... I dunno, I was sitting in front of the Moxie Java Lisa works at and just thinking about that so I decided to blog it. It doesn't have much imagery, I'm not very good at that, but the second to last sentence came out crazy poetic, so I was overall satisfied with it. I understand how it feels to not have any comments, but I promise you I'm reading your stuff as well, particularly the pictures of fields... that ended in a manner I didn't anticipate, and I dug it. Friggin'. I like that this isn't public but I almost get bummed out when nobody reads my jazz, or anyway not any strangers... there are a few on here I'm pretty proud of and would like strangers to see, but I don't want people I care about to leave stuff like "WOW THAT'S REALLY GREAT!" I totally, totally appreciate the sentiment obviously... but I'd rather have people not being surprised at the content, just reading it and making responses?
Anyway. Shwatev, haha, and thanks again man.
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