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prayer for the day - rants and rambles
prayer for the day

i hate being sick but here i am.  mostly i hate the lack of control over the process.  i hate that more then the discomfort.  if i could, i'd schedule being sick.  i'd pick a certain number of days each year during which i'd suffer the ailment of the season and be done with it.

but nooooooooooo. 

i remember childbirth and that moment when you realize you have no control.  that your body is going to do this thing no matter what. by then in. your. infinite. wisdom, you've changed. your. mind. 

but nooooooooooo the fucking contractions continue. 

it's absurd of course.  i'm one of those people who loves to live by random.  i won't schedule my life (one reason i hate work so much... i have to plan shit; work the plan blaaaah).  not if i can help it.  maybe i don't experience as much as others.  after all, if it requires actual planning, i'll avoid it.

like going to the post office.  i hate the fucking post office. i really do it's the last thing i want to do, the last place i want to be.  you stand in line and when they call NEXT, you feel their eyes bore into you.  are you a terrorist?  what's in that package.  is it a bomb?

but it's ONLY vcds of pearl jam concerts, god's rich blessing of music performed from the soul with tight rhythms and a flow of communication that bears the mark of sudden inspiration.  there's eddie on guitar during a jam; once, such an unexpected thing and now so necessary you wonder how the fuck they jammed without his pulling them along.  when he picks up an instrument, everything changes.  the song porch changes when he plays.  its...  utterly different and you realise that while they'd jammed before, it had never been like this.  not like pinkpop 2000's rearviewmirror and there's vedder jamming low on the fret for the high notes.  you wouldn't know it's him... thinking no, it's got to be mike but that sound, oh god, it's his telecaster and he's channeling pete townsend but transforming it into that other thing, that thing that's... himself.

as i've grown older, i've gained distance from their music.  in between new cd's and tours, i don't play them at all.  but now there's my daughter.  and to her, their music is beyond all others. this, she discovered without my influence.  god's word it's true.  and while she'll wax on about pink floyd... she can't escape ed's words.  she is a writer.  and vedder's metaphors...  so unique, original, she loves him

routine was the theme,
he'd wake up...wash, and pour himself into uniform
something he hadn't imagined being.
as the merging traffic passed, he found himself staring,
down, at his own hands.
not remembering the change, not recalling the plan, was it...?

he was okay, but wondering about wandering
was it age? by consequence? or was he moved by sleight of hand?

mondays were made to fall,
lost on a road he knew by heart
it was like a book he read in his sleep, endlessly.
sometimes he hid in his radio, watching others pull into their homes
while he was drifting...

on a line, of his own, off the line, on the side
by the by, as dirt turned to sand, as if moved by sleight of hand

when he reached the shore of his clip-on world
he resurfaced to the norm
organized his few things, his coat and keys...
any new realizations would have to wait
til he had more time, more time...

time to dream, to himself
he waves goodbye, to himself
i'll see you on the other side...
another man...moved by sleight of hand...

but now, she hears the other stuff too.  that miracle thing of creating music which no human can really understand, even those who create it. what's the how for it?  something deep in our brains, hard wired to respond, ancient...  so ancient maybe it's millions of years old. 

she SAW it in the pinkpop vid and turning to me she was just staring, now understanding that the shit she'd been all excited about, the STUDIO work, was really fucking nothing compared to hearing them create something utterly new, altered, and on the fly for a one time only hearing.  and watching that man smile.  oh god, so precious, you want to guard it.  FOREVER.  like you wish and wish lennon were still here, you pray and pray that this one stays. 

some things should never leave us.

that's my prayer for today


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