My headphones are on repeat, over and over listening to my own memories. Its soft, but upbeat. It’s sarcastic and witty, and you know, I find myself there, against the backdrop of myself, listening to my own song. My own life.
-Winter reflections under the covers
The chorus of the song I’ve been listening to all morning is in my head.
And as it repeats over and over, it reminds me of my own mortality.
It makes me look back at the things I’ve done, and the things I still want to achieve.
You have time in this life, you hold your fingers over the pause, the stop and the repeat. Winter tingles, first in your feet, then in your hands. Its annoying at first, but it helps you feel, typing away the blood running through your veins.
-Effigy of a cold fingered typist
The words are hard today, convoluted and difficult to express.
I remember echoes of words I’ve written and not finished,
So much still to do.
There was a time. There was a time. There was a time. Immature and uncaring, but, it flowed then. A summer spent in ideas and new beginnings. In excitement and ignorance. Uneducated but blissful, a curse of the old and the untamed wildness of youth.
Meaning eludes us all I guess?
But seek we do, in achievements and plans, in the old and the new.
Give Yourself A Try -1975