Thursday, October 11, 2012

STRANGE DAYS, INDEED

Harv Jamison is one of the wise heads around the Paragraph Factory, a guy who knows where the figurative bodies are buried. At least I think they're figurative; Harv can be a quiet fellow, but it seems like there's always something happening inside his head. Such a fine fellow. I like thinkers.

"There's always something happening and nothing going on." So sang John Lennon, not long before Mark David Chapman decided the former Beatle had done enough singing.

There's something happening for sure right now, but this time there's a lot going on. My dreams are more vivid now than they ever have been — and they've been pretty fucking weird for months now.

I think I know why the nightscape is so beautiful. I've come to realize what is and what isn't important in life. Chasing after impossibilities? Not important. Grasping for a life that was too good for me? Not important. Living in this moment for the rest of the scant moments left in my life? Important. I can't waste 'em.

I understand my time is short. I don't need doctors to tell me this. I feel it all too well, and my only regret is not being able to articulate that essential truth to the people who matter most. They just hear me mumble. Or maybe they have heard, and they're quietly glad it's come down to dwindling days. Either way is fine, just fine.

No comments: