I’m not sure I know what I mean by that, but TA-DA!
now if I want to flounder on occasion, I’m going to. I’ve spent close to
a lifetime of feeling like I had to have all the right answers, to know
everything about everything, to berate myself when I was wrong or came up short
or missed my cues or dropped the ball, misjudged a distance, overshot a runway,
complicated a simplicity or stepped on a crack.
But, now comes a cancer, and it has a way of leveling
playing fields that I didn’t even know were hosting sporting events. We all
win, we all lose, and we damn sure all play. But, we also all buy season
tickets.
Uh oh … I see that I’m drifting into metaphor mixing and abuse (a favorite refuge), but it is my way of chasing wisdom, exercising my
new prerogative license and changing the water spots under a horse of a different color.
See? Sorry. I can't --- and now I won't --- stop.
A long, long time ago (last month) in a galaxy
far, far away (the tilted windmills of my mind) I thought I had to know
everything about everything. After all, I’m a man, I’ve passed middle age, and I DID
inhale.
Now, I'm determined to let go of any urge to repent, regret or fear, and neener-neener-neener to anyone who objects. Today, my mind and bodyscape comfort was more tolerable, more like a three on the scale, and the breakthrough pain
I did have was well-managed with my own better living through organic chemistry
formulae.
On to the terrible table for my daily kill n’ shrink
zapfest, and again the rockin’ Radionettes did not disappoint. Today, they set
up some memorable flashbacks (I’ll keep the shady particulars to myself, not
wanting to expose any extant cohorts in crime).
It was still nice to go there in my music memory as I was lit up,
courtesy of The Beatles. Maybe my pushy paraphrase is not what John and Paul
intended, but what's art for if not to reinvent ourselves, and it’s what I’m taking from it today in my dark transparency:
I'm looking through me, where did I go
I thought I knew me, what did I know
I don't look different, but I have changed
I'm looking through me, I’m not the same.
I don't look different, but I have changed
I'm looking through me, I’m not the same.
Oh, and a neat little postscript:
One of the Radionettes told me that I really should
try to not sing as I’m being irradiated. If I don’t breathe normally (impossible to do, once you’re asked to) it can throw things off.
Okay, then it’s silent karaoke from here on.
But, now I must work on my motionless lie-down dancing.
More as we go, El
