Yay, Goats

If you haven't seen-slash-heard this, you need to. It's pretty great. I like it a lot. And, if you're curious, the artist is pronounced Goat-yay. hehe. goats.



"Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know"

Good Dang

Veddy interesting. I disarm all the social media outlets in my life, and suddenly I'm thinking more clearly and sighing more often from contentment than from fedupness. (sometimes, you just gotta fill a bulletproof blank with what works best--whether Webster agrees with you or not.)

These past couple days felt like the moment last fall when I recognized I could look back on depression and not through it. Maybe it's that whole quarter-life crisis thing. Maybe I use words like "depression" and "anxiety" because I don't know any better. I suppose weak moments find us least likely to establish new terms; already dim motivation skims through existing definitions and accepts the ones that sound best. But I don't like them. They're clinical and worrisome and inadequate. Just like "happy" and "hopeful" and "peaceful" don't cover the opposite.

Dang. Every single post has this blog's founding concept at the root of it. That's a good dang.

Is that what separates "writers" from not? "Writers" in quotes because those who self-identify as such are not necessarily equals. I don't write because I need others to hear me. In fact, the idea that people might hear me is the most unsettling part. I write because I need to respond to what I've heard. And my responses lose themselves--or do I lose them? accidentally? or with purpose?--in a maelstrom of feared inadequacies, lukewarm metaphors, hackneyed adverbs, expired comparisons. Writing is my effort to forgo the lifejacket and dive in to find them.

what's that I was saying about lukewarm metaphors?

Not having to sort my thoughts into Facebook-appropriate blurbs has freed them. I embody my car as it zooms down suburban roads, windows down, bass overcoming the treble. People can hear me, but unless they follow me, my voice disappears. And that's how it should be. We should wonder where all the sounds go. We should follow those we miss when they're gone.

I think the weather has something to do with it. Spring makes my soul happy. It's not spring now, but it feels like it is. My soul must be easily tricked.

Thanks, everyone, for reading. Thanks for following my sound.

Some Pink Floyd Quote

Spring is coming. Today can feel it. I just realized it will be my second spring, but it takes doing something 10,000 times before you're an expert at it, which means I'll never live to master how to enter a spring without feeling in love. Some distant spring(s) may conveniently pair that association with reality, but that's not what I want for this year.

and I hear an echo of "what do you want for this year?" and then it echoes and echoes some more because the question is clearer than any answer I can find.

I want clocks to tick silently
I want to find my typewriter
I want to figure out what terrifies me about starting to really write again
I want to remember my poem as easily as I do Buddy Wakefield's
I want to travel alone
I want my friends to forgive me for not wanting to be one
I want not to feel like life is heavy when it isn't
I want to respect church communities
I want to stop feeling the need to justify everything
I want to find myself in some place, anyplace, at any time and realize that the happiness I'm experiencing in that place is not mold-breaking, but the mold itself.
I want to look forward not because it's my only choice, but because it's the choice I've made
I want to lie stomach-down on a grassy hill and feel the earth move
I want to learn how to ice skate
I want to make mix CDs without a sense of nostalgia
I want to be able to address the break-up as a shift in my life without feeling the need to clarify the shift as triumphant or not
I want to understand why I'm not happy, despite my best efforts
I want to figure out if I'm unhappy because it's not happiness I'm looking for
I want to figure out what I'm looking for