This is where I write my saddest songs. Where the constancy of time pretends to hum me towards direction, where I drift into the distraction of waking sleep, far from home. Where I heap up all the empty feelings, and hope tomorrow can place them in the compost, on the altar, and anticipate regenerative matter and fertility. Tomorrow seems a long way off.
Alone in a lonely world the phone rings. Thumbs instigate ignorance. Where is the ache, I say, Leave me be, can’t you see I’m aching? Let me ache. Sorry soul and what a pity, to think that there is such freedom at fingers length.
My Goliath is so tiny. He comes in 12oz bottles and little boxes of twenty. He flits through the spark of ill-conceived synapses. Makes a bed of my tongue, settles in the lung, so minute, like a virus infiltrating the finer fibers of being. I wail, bemoaning all good things, I drown in effervescence and smoke; this dream, this reality. This is my Goliath, too small for me to harness, too chemically immaterial to capture or comprehend. I alone, in a lonely world, cannot.
Here I am and dreaming. And within these dreams, beyond them even, I hear the wispy song of betterment softly purposing my heart; a soothe totally separate, and anything but wrought within myself. And this betterment creates the howl, makes me fondle my Goliath with confusion and awkward love. I’ve written my Goliath many letters on rice paper. Many modest proposals beseeching the relinquishment of my secret spirit. But these letters are burnt up, along with all the oxygen. So I’ll sleep till Sunday, I say, Forget the in between, it’s all over. Am I such a Magdalene, I wonder.
Here, no one can see my sad blood. No one can taste its truest meaning, its insatiable appetite for substance. Tonight I will sing so loudly all my sorrows to you. I will shut all the blinds, turn off all the lights. It will be so unrefined and beautiful. I almost wish they were here to see it. But beloved, you are. And they could never be. It is my dream that someone would, and love me for it. But this time is too raw.
Far off I hear the sounds of fireworks. Later I will wander these worldly streets. Watch the slow and stunning smolder of all earthly life, in great sadness and anticipation.
But for now, let me sing to you.