The Alluring Clumsiness
Lost in David Bowie tunes, on this warm evening in a supposed winter, I float in a reverie, as waves of confused emotion flow over me, taking my thoughts faraway into the mists for I cannot really understand where I am, but I’m surely not here, not on this bed, not holding a cup of black brew, not in my room, I am faraway and probably scattered all over the moor only trying to grapple with this feeling, the feeling of carrying a verse that doesn’t rhyme.
“Oh, but I’m always crashing in the same car”
We do tend to ride in the same theme of things, the same thought patterns, the same reactions to the mistakes we now regret, the same faces we make when the light is too bright or the words too bitter, and the same elated feeling of lightheaded-ness when you do not know where you drifting to.
The world seems to draw a distinction between a lot of things, and my friends seem to live a life full of colors and events and notebooks filled with journeys. The new people are marrying their old selves and sketching a life that’s not been discovered yet. It’s a wonderful thing to watch, there is love everywhere.
I sit here in an armchair feeling enveloped by a singular emotion and apparently a single purpose of doing whatever strikes my mind then, unable to fathom what it means to take a break from things. Probably a flower is discovered when you step out of your car on the road. Or perhaps you step out when a flower calls out to you. And what do you do once you have discovered it? I do not remember.
“Ah, what you gonna be to the real me?”
I adore the hesitancy, the casual clumsiness, the sharp wit, conversations which probe deep attempting to understand what drives the person, some merely glazing over the surface not wanting to ponder. I enjoy being generous with whatever I feel then, often stumbling over my feet in frank excitement, there is nothing to hide when you talk to people, there is nothing to hide when your mind dances with theirs, holding them close momentarily, just long enough to understand if it feels like home. You never know what might make your knees go weak.
“Blue, blue, electric blue”
I’m lost in David Bowie tunes but not in emotion, not in unknown places, but in places so familiar that I feel comfortable walking in a blur, attempting to understand it. There are no compartments anymore, but my life feels like a large palette — mixed colors and the freedom to choose an electric blue every time — or even flaming red, yellow ochre, cobalt blue, a subtle grey. Human interactions are fascinating — the smiles, the touch, the manner in which two humans engage in verbal & non verbal conversations day in and day out. The ease, the clumsiness, the comfort of some with their surroundings shows an alluring peek inside. Though it might be a cloudy evening, the presence is always blue — electric blue — and the verses play with possible rhymes.