We won't need legs to stand

Sometimes, late at night, when my body lingers between sleep and wakefulness, I go to a certain place that is all my own.  A bed dressed in white sits at the center of an otherwise empty room, sheets still ruffled from use.  Sunshine streams through the skylights and the windows.  As I walk toward the doorway, under my feet instead of carpet I feel soft sand working its way between my toes.   As I pass through the threshold to the kitchen, She’s there, warming me with a smile that communicates our love more effectively than a thousand words ever could.  The house is small—simple; the kitchen fades into the outside world without a door.  I step out into a forest, blanketed with sand rather than soil.  Tall oaks, redwoods, and firs envelop the land in a shadowy embrace, but end abruptly some twenty feet from a glistening sea, where small waves lap endlessly at the sand.  I walk towards the sea, and stand in the wet sand, watching the saltwater tease the small grains that soon begin to wrap around my feet.  In this moment, with the wind playing against my cheek and the smell of salt and sand and leaves and wood in the air, I am finally alone, relaxed, and myself, and then—just then—I am complete.

And words are futile devices (pt. 2)

As it turns out, my short story ends only a few lines after my last post left off.  Here's the remaining text:

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"And that's why you're lying here?"

"Yes."

"On a concrete wall."

"Yes."

"At eleven-thirty at night."

"Yes."

"Because you feel like your friendships are all disintegrating and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Yes.  Well---no.  Not exactly.  It's like, I just realized that they all have the capacity to disintegrate, with little to no warning.  And that's what freaks me out.  Not knowing.  Well, that and the lack of a real, meaningful relationship with another human being."

She paused for a moment, presumably attempting to compare this man's problems with her own, and arrived at a conclusion.  Haltingly, she scooted down the concrete wall another foot and a half or two, then lay down so that their bodies made a line, separated by six inches of space between the point where his head ended and hers began.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm having an existential crisis."

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...aaaand that's the end.  Comment if you like it.  Or if you don't, and if you don't please leave suggestions.

And words are futile devices

"Um...excuse me, but is something the matter?"

Her voice sounded intelligent enough.  She was probably a student, just leaving the library after a long night of studying.  Spring term often causes even those with relatively easy courses to spend until eleven o'clock at night in the library.  Doing a four month course in two months' time can do that to a person.

"Why do you ask?" he replied.

"You're lying on a concrete wall at eleven-thirty at night."

"I've seen people lying around here before."

"...in the daytime, maybe.  Never this late."

He paused for a second.  "Well, I suppose you're right."

She studied him before replying.  He was in his early or mid twenties, and fairly well dressed, so he probably wasn't homeless.  Then again, he wasn't really sleeping on the wall; he was just lying there with his eyes open in his shorts, a button-up shirt, and sandals, at eleven-thirty on Saturday night.  

"So you understand, then, why I'm asking if something is the matter."

"I suppose so."

"...and?"

"Have you ever had the feeling that you're different than everyone else?"

"Well, obviously" she replied.  "Everyone's different."

"No, I'm not talking about normal, 'you listen to Mariah Carey and I listen to Sufjan Stevens' kind of different, I'm talking about really, completely different than everyone around you."  He spoke as if he were having a sort of revelation on the spot--as if nothing that he was saying had ever occurred to him before that moment.  "Like, as if your brain works differently in the way that it comes to conclusions, and your priorities are completely different than everyone else's."

She paused before replying "Is that why you're lying on a concrete wall under a tree at eleven-thirty at night?  Because you're different?"

"I suppose that's one reason," he finally admitted, "and I think that's the root problem.  But probably not the biggest problem I'm facing right now."

"Why's that?"

"Well, I don't necessarily think there's anything wrong with being different.  I mean, Da Vinci was probably different.  Not that I think I'm him.  Sometimes it can create problems, though."

"I meant for you to tell me what this supposed 'biggest problem' you're facing right now is."

"At this exact moment?" he inquired.

"At this exact moment" she replied.

"At this exact moment, my biggest problem is the fact that I'm trying to have an existential crisis, and there's this random girl talking to me."

"I'm sorry, I can leave, if you want."

"No, no.  I think it's better to talk about it than to lay here, thinking about it."

"Okay, so then talk."  She sat down about a foot away from his head, there on the wall.

"Well, for starters, I came to the realization today that I've never had a deep, meaningful relationship with anyone.  Ever."  He spoke in a fairly monotone voice, but somehow it seemed as though he was just barely maintaining his grip on the present.  As if just thinking about the subject caused him inexpressible horror.  She saw the way he lay across the concrete, with as much of his body touching it as possible, and it seemed that he was rooted to the earth in such a way to compensate for his mind's desire to flee.

"What do you mean by 'deep, meaningful relationship'?"

"I mean...well, something that matters.  It's like I have all of these friends, right? And I talk with all of them, and I hang out with some of them, but at the end of the day, I can't really depend on any one of them.  They'd like me to think that I can, but I really can't, and when I need them they all seem to disappear.  It's like...I don't know, like everything is plastic.  Fake.  The world is a set of social rules that I have to follow in order to be normal, and because of this I can't have a real, deep, meaningful relationship with anyone.  Because it's not normal. At least, not on the level I'm thinking of, it isn't."

"Well, can't those relationships be a gateway to what you really want?"

"You'd think so.  I did.  But I must always end up bending or breaking one of those social rules.  Or maybe I'm completely and unforgivably disobeying one that I don't even know about.  And because of that, these fake friendships tend to disintegrate, quickly.  Maybe 'plastic' wasn't a good word to use to describe it.  Plastic takes too long to disintegrate.  It's like they're made of paper, and the first time it rains everything gets soggy and unreadable, then just breaks apart, because there's no real substance to it."

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Author's Note:  I got to this point, and ran out of ideas.  So we're going to call this a work in progress for now.  I just can't come up with a good reaction from the female character to drive the conversation forward.  There'll be a part 2 later.

Dispatch EP: A Review

I'm going to go right ahead and admit that when I first heard that Dispatch was getting together and recording new music, I became as giddy as the average twelve year old girl when presented with an opportunity to meet Justin Bieber--though, I might add, with more justifiable cause.

Dispatch haven't recorded new material in almost ten years, and as much as I like all of their old stuff, nothing compares to the excitement of hearing a brand new song for the very first time.

I must say that I was hesitant when I heard "Melon Blend" on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon.  Yes, it sounded like a Dispatch song, but I didn't feel like it had the brilliance of some of their other stuff.  Like "Root Down", on the collection "Four-Day Trials", it sounded inherently Dispatch, but at the same time forgettable.  A week or so later, when a preview of "Valentine" was released, I had a similar reaction to it.  Sure, the song was good, and it was great to hear Dispatch together again, but when it came right down to it, the song was dull at worst, and a good imitation of a Bob Dylan tune at best.

However, being a fan, I considered it my responsibility to buy the full EP and save my opinion until I hear the finished product.  Yes, "Melon Blend" is moderately forgettable, yes, "Valentine" sounds like a would-be Dylan song, and yes, "Turn This Ship Around" isn't terribly catchy, but "Con Man", "Beto", and "Broken American" are more than enough to make the EP worth buying.  Since last week, I have had one of those three stuck in my head at all times. 

I could spend another five or ten minutes explaining exactly why they are terrific songs, but you know what? I'd rather listen to them again.  I suggest you do the same.

And I am joining all my thoughts to you

I mislike the idea of using my first post as an introduction.  I also mislike the idea of explaining exactly why I'm creating a blog, so I will do neither of these things.  Rather, I'm just going to jump into things.

I'm a bit confused by the pace the life has begun to take.  As you grow up, it seems like all you do is prepare for the next big thing in life.  At home, your parents are preparing you to go to kindergarten and survive without them.  Kindergarten nurses you into life as a full-time student in elementary school.  As you near the end of your elementary school career, you are prepared to assimilate yourself into middle school society.  Middle school serves to prepare you for high school, which prepares you for college, which prepares you for your job, at which you work and work to get promoted again, and again, and again.  As you make money, you set goals for your lifestyle--you decide what possessions you want, and work towards being able to afford them.  You work, and work, and work, and save up money for retirement, and when that happens--well, actually, I think that's the main goal.  Retirement.  The freedom to finally do exactly what you want.  Isn't it kind of interesting that, for most people, retirement means spending more time with your family?

...anyhow, there's that.  Think about it, if you so desire.