Tumbleweed

You think you have to want more than you need
Until you have it all you won't be free

There's a loneliness I've a knack for ignoring, though lonely isn't quite the right description for this place, no. Emptiness, perhaps? No, that's still not right, though closer. An absence of gravity, I think, yes, perhaps that's it.

I'm untethered, though you'd never know were I not to say, so clearly have I improved my act, this routine. I've lines drawn in pencil to tie me to pages elsewhere, sure, but when every day of living erases the last, it'll not count for much. 'Don't you know,' this valley's eternal springtime wind reminds me, 'we're but dust?'

When you want more than you have, you think you need
And when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed

I've nothing that I both share and call my own, and this makes me free, but for the moments I remember the part about having nothing. A perfect convergence it was only a few days back, there in the divergence of present and past - little bits of this and little bits of that and all of it remembrances of befores. Befores unmarred by those other things like fuck-ups and most of the time I bother opening my mouth, the befores of curled up on couches where everything is okay, where everything is alright, hopeful even.

I think I need to find a bigger place
'cause when you have more than you think, you need more space

Remember that scene in Brothers Bloom where they talk about the con's final act, plotted for maximum psychological impact, planned for most masterful character trauma? If my days were a con being played out in front of me - and I'd not be convinced otherwise, were this cast more consistent - if my days were that con, then Thursday was that convergence of psychological traumas. An email, a conversation, a television show... all of it triggers to befores. But, details. I'm living as much in the past as the present, aren't I? We both do, I suspect.

No matter. Friday I found myself right in the running away (to the tune of thirty-five miles!), and if it's the weekend's tail now, I'm only just starting to look back. At befores, sure but also gravity, the eraser smudges that have left their print all over these weary calves.

society, have mercy on me
I hope you're not angry if I disagree
society, crazy indeed
I hope you're not lonely without me

In other words? That picture'd scare the shit out of me too, had I not all weekend worn it right out of myself, running and riding, even a sojourn into the desert (yes, really). Or: when we talk next, perhaps. I don't know what else to say, having nothing myself.