I have wept to silly things. Commercials on tv, stupid pop songs...sometimes there exists a glimmering iota of something real encapsulated in these fluffy things that takes aim, and cuts through it all to the soft fleshy of my tender heart . For instance, I get misty eyed whenever I hear Dolly Parton sing, "And i will always love you". Forgive me. Maybe it has to do with the timing, or the time of year.
I remember New Year's morning three years ago. Hauling ass in a borrowed car heading south from Chicago, everything gray, drab, and so cold it's dry outside. Out beyond the last spill of the suburbs, the plain opens wide. Your life beomes the horizon. It's flat and empty. Hard old gray snow.
The morning was stillborn. I felt rigor mortis setting in. I was driving quiet; no radio, just listening to the wind hiss, like years rushing by. I had this revelation that no matter how fast I tried to drive, it would never ever be fast enough.
*the silly part*
I turned on the radio...and Bob Seger's "Night Moves" was on. Now I never, ever have listened to Bob Seger except for when I watched that scene in "Risky Business", or saw a Chevy truck commercial (like a rock). But when the slow part of "Night Moves" came on, right before the acoustic guitar begins the last chorus into the ending, something about Mr. Seger hit me so incredibly hard. He frickin' cold-cocked me square on the nose, and a deluge of tears poured out of my eyes.
Sobbing, driving by myself, listening to Bob Seger. What a drama queen. It was too real...I felt so stupid that I cried harder, pulling into the slow lane, sobbing as other cars passed me by, like the wind and the years, whose leering passengers were no doubt captivated by the weirdo bawling while doing 50. I cried and cried until I started laughing.
Can anyone relate?
I remember New Year's morning three years ago. Hauling ass in a borrowed car heading south from Chicago, everything gray, drab, and so cold it's dry outside. Out beyond the last spill of the suburbs, the plain opens wide. Your life beomes the horizon. It's flat and empty. Hard old gray snow.
The morning was stillborn. I felt rigor mortis setting in. I was driving quiet; no radio, just listening to the wind hiss, like years rushing by. I had this revelation that no matter how fast I tried to drive, it would never ever be fast enough.
*the silly part*
I turned on the radio...and Bob Seger's "Night Moves" was on. Now I never, ever have listened to Bob Seger except for when I watched that scene in "Risky Business", or saw a Chevy truck commercial (like a rock). But when the slow part of "Night Moves" came on, right before the acoustic guitar begins the last chorus into the ending, something about Mr. Seger hit me so incredibly hard. He frickin' cold-cocked me square on the nose, and a deluge of tears poured out of my eyes.
Sobbing, driving by myself, listening to Bob Seger. What a drama queen. It was too real...I felt so stupid that I cried harder, pulling into the slow lane, sobbing as other cars passed me by, like the wind and the years, whose leering passengers were no doubt captivated by the weirdo bawling while doing 50. I cried and cried until I started laughing.
Can anyone relate?
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we gotta get together man. you haven't seen my bangs!