Christmas meltdown. It swept me away as good as any swollen river could. Scattered problems, snowballing into a fucking brick wall. But only in my head. Tis the season to be jolly, but I’m not playing that game. Ignorance can only be an excuse for so long… eventually you must blink and scan your horizons. Evaluate whether you like it or not. Make a decision. The high road, or the chasm at your feet.
Music has been the savior. It always is for me. Built to Spill and Secret Knives are on high rotate. Casual Flying Lotus, and a sprinkle of Death Cab. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of buds and the best bass within St Albans, or so it seems in my fortress. The earth lets out the occasional violent shudder, and everything returns to normal, minus the distant sirens, angrily announcing their presence. Its been exactly what I needed. Sam time. With sporadic appearances from other characters I allow on my stage.
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
Shakespeare knew how it was. I can relate. Just make sure you choose your parts wisely. As the new year approaches, that’s more and more on my mind, my internal parchment.
No comments:
Post a Comment