People say that Jersey is a dive.
But, really, livin' ain't that hard if you know you're alive.
It's the day to day life for forgetting what it is to worry, right? Dad always said, in a given situation, it's always too early or too late to worry. But that doesn't stop either of us. The future is scary. Big and scary and dreadfully obscure. So I guess it's nice to come home from work too tired to do anything beyond collapsing into bed. It brings out the subtleties. Smooths the redundant and highlights the extraordinary. Makes every misplaced moment significant. There's a beauty in that akin to novelty. And probably as fleeting. But for now I'm okay operating on the small scale. For now I'm okay just living until my bones ache with restlessness.
But I'm as historically restless as I am historically ideological. But I sometimes wonder if I'm too busy watching falling stars to chase them. Or if I'm too busy chasing them to catch one.
I got my Manzar letters the other day. Letters written to me two years ago by myself and some of my friends. It's funny how at the same time things change and others stay exactly the same. I don't think anyone can write a letter to himself and not come across as dumb two year later. I think parts of us grow at different speeds. I don't know for sure though.
Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike
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