Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Cat Stevens had a perspective that, while it can be argued, cannot be destroyed in a court of law unless you’re a lawyer. If you’re upstairs in a poolhouse and see a record with a tree and a smiling cat in it, you might be in my memories, and if that’s the case, I need you to get the hell out, cause those are mine, and they’re personal, and all mixed in with metaphors and similes and other grammatical excuses for emotions that allow me to separate myself from myself.

There’s a feeling of falling that only comes once you’ve taken the leap. You grab the defenseless child, look behind you at the thugs shooting guns, disregard the height, stare at the suddenly small gigantic pool hundreds of feet below, and take the plunge. The seconds pass like hours, the milliseconds like minutes, air rushing by, sound meaningless, onrushing aqueous surface arcane, tourists paddling to the side irregardless, and then you know, maybe you’ll live, maybe you’ll die, maybe it’s a dream, maybe it’s not, but either way, you did it, you ran that route, you leaped that faith, you saved that child, you braved the yonder, and no one can say you didn’t, life or death, sane or unsane, known or unknown, and when you forget to write it down or record it on some bullshit mp3 the next morning it won’t matter, because it happened, even though it didn’t.

6/1: just changed the pic - go listen to the album, er, mashup - werd to ossifer bird