Musical Prophecy

Recently I stumbled on a song I used to listen to all the time. Now clicking through a bit of the album as well. Combined with another song, from another band, before the next takeoff.

Almost 13 years later listening to the lyrics I wonder if it condensed it all, laid down the tracks. The same as the farwishing mystic books I used to read a 10 year prior. Where you can teach your subconscious depending on what you ingest.

It’s strange to listen having experienced the terminus of the lyrics, rather than wonder about it. I still remember saying goodbye, not realizing I was closing the door to the rest of the vague feeling of promise I had about whatever’s next.

A painting of faint sunset, and because you want to up the ante, you keep soaking blue notes until someone could ask whether you really wanted to make the night sky. Maybe if I find myself abandoned in St. Petersburg, stuck in Russian, I’ll metamorphose into the rest of the character already sung. Combined with the colder weather it feels ominous, to the part of one that still wants to press fast-forward. Is it really going to get better the next season?

Staring at the ceiling of the hotel I’m at least glad I don’t have to add dark notes to the rest of the room. Some parts I do, like going over bridges for water. But when you travel alone you don’t have to add the dotted silhouettes leaning out from the bathroom door. Asking where’s the next bar. And if they stumble by the rest of the Cheez-Its you don’t have to worry about them grabbing a few, stingy you may be: they already stole a few bags you defend arduously.

I can lounge in these jammy pants for a little longer, before heaving myself to the next place. The people bumping shoulders turn to wide brushstrokes, until impressionism holds the scene.

Between the blots I found, in its infusion, the same thought always haunting: is there a way I could weasel my way through your entire history? So stood the group at the other end of the counters. I will part your hair with my bloodstained hands.

With enough allusions, nifty references along the “remembers” I can try to thread parts of this evening onto the aspects of our identity. That we’ll seem to become one for a moment, this night, before ripping it out sure morning.

I always wondered at this possibility, but then I remember I attempted all my life. From Yu-Gi-Oh cards to GameCubes, SEGAs, NES, and the lights of my computer radiate depending on the needed mood, the long shots and banal rum & coke, to discussing perfumes as intermission, as necessary for the movie meet-up for a film I sleep through or some Counterstrike, some football or racecars, some long strolls by the boardwalk in the hissing of mosquitoes. Plugging in my speakers I’ll shuffle through each emotion. Until it synchronizes with yours.

I don’t know what home means. But I’ll make one for you. I’m your long forgotten friend, even if it’s all patchwork and rotten. We’ll rule this night, and the nights after, before the next flight.

Let’s take your memories and seal in some molted gold along the fractures.
If it breaks after this maybe you’ll see the new mirrors as portals.

We’re just following along the divine’s lullaby.
However a twisted nightmare between each gentle snore.