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boy tasting wild cherries

March 3, 2008

Luna-Indian Summer (Beat Happening cover)

Just, forget about me, for a moment.

Sure–this is supposed to be my blog. My thoughts, my obsessions, my fears and worries, my ideas. Let’s pretend for a moment that this is not mine but yours. And yours, although you don’t know it yet.

Just like how some songs, books, films have that effect on you…they sneak up on you, before you even realize what they’ve done. Suddenly the characters are speaking to you, for you. And if you close your eyes for a just a moment, you’ll fall into their world so utterly and completely, and you’ll become one.

So let’s pretend. Here we are–as one.

And here is a song that you’ve heard, inadvertently, that wrapped its soft caresses around you and suffocated you in its beauty, a song that wrapped you back in time, to a moment, a snapshot difficult to forget. A song so simple, so tender, so sweet and unassuming that it almost passes you by–almost.

But when you pause for a breath, give it a hint more of attention, it swirls and fades into something altogether. And when it is the perfect moment (and those perfect moments are so surprisingly common, any daily thing turned into a precious memory…), this song, those few opening guitar strings, simple words that paint movies and stills onto otherwise blank walls or dreary skies…it becomes you. And all those darling little moments you longed for are suddenly so possible.

And it is so convincing, so easy to slip into it. Even when you’re not sure what exactly things mean, or how certain things are going to turn out. You’re not afraid…maybe just a little. But the fear only pushes you on, because, look to the sky, the dyed colors that the sun provides, look to the trees, these trembling leaves quivering with anticipation, look to the cracked pavement, the dirt underfoot, your computer screen, the curves of your keyboard…look anywhere.

Time capsules, each line is a time capsule that brings you so easily to a different life…

Breakfast in cemetery
boy tasting wild cherries
touch girl, apple blossom
just a boy playing possum

we’ll come back for Indian summer
and go our different ways…

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