Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Cover up, it's cold out...

I stumbled onto some covers on YouTube,
and I can't stop clicking on the next one, and the next one.
Prince does Radiohead's "Creep" at Coachella,
Eddie Vedder & Beyonce, "Redemption Song," WHAT,
Dave Grohl and Nora Jones sing "Baby, I'm Amazed" to honor Paul McCartney at the Kennedy Center,
Dave Grohl sings "Tiny Dancer"...

I think I've been holding my breath for a long time,
trying not to actually feel things.
Because I feel too much and and if you don't know what that means, I'll tell you -
I see Dave Grohl sitting on a stool with his guitar,
and he talks about not knowing Tiny Dancer until he saw the movie Almost Famous,
and a pit of sadness opens just behind my sternum,
maybe it's not very deep, this particular pit,
but it swirls a little,
because I'm picturing how I felt about Almost Famous,
how I loved it and wanted to live inside it,
and maybe felt like I'd almost had it in my grasp--
but mostly, thinking of the movie connected me like a telegraph line to the person I'd been then...
It was startling to feel that set of emotions,
to have my perspective tilted to the orientation it once had.
So that's what made me blink a little
and wonder if I've been holding myself away from the well of deep feelings I once swam in.
Because it is very different now.
Finding my soul mate flipped all the switches,
and settled me into joyful contentment.
I've grown lazy and the only thing I feel with any sense of depth is fear--
fear of loss, fear of going back to the life where I was looking for this,
for exactly this.
The life where (most of the time) I had faith that this future existed for me,
that this love was somewhere waiting for me;
but not always.
Sometimes I was certain that everyone else was as upside down and inside out as I was,
other times I was certain that no one else ever had been or could be.
I needed to believe it was possible that I would find the man who would love me the way that all the story books and love songs insinuated, illustrated, hinted at, promised.
I never considered that I was a fool for taking art literally...
I didn't stop looking.
I looked everywhere for this love, this life.
I looked in bars, in beds, in boys, in men.
I looked across deserts, and the giant red rocks sprawled across them;
I climbed mountains, combing through underbrush and dipping into springs - seeking;
I sailed through oceans, and drove back and forth across the expanse of this country;
I reached out into the web of the wide world, hunting for love on other continents--
these forays filled me with bursts of glittering hope
(Chaz, you British biker poet, stole my heart and stood me up in Paris, you fucker)
and quiet devotion (you know who you are, ya kiwi ninja, the best matrix-bound friend and lover a girl could ask for);
without these moments, I maybe would have given up my search,
and lived the rest of my life unloved;
stuck in the wrong marriage, always searching for more.

Instead, here I am.

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