http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9krEYQld-o&feature=related
All My Friends by Counting Crows
Not really an autumn song, except for the mention of a falling leaf. It is a song about watching your friends lives change in ways your live hasn't and being happy for them but questioning your own live. I have friends who are married now and have children, a life much unlike my own. Of course I am happy for them and it makes wonder if I shouldn't have these things myself. Though I am not sure if they are things I want now or even ever. I guess there is the question itself and I guess until I meet someone with whom I might want these things, the question will remain unanswered. I think I might be too solitary of a person for a crowded life.
I haven't written an entry in over a week. A week which saw Canada reelect Stephen Harper with another minority government. A lot of taxpayer money to produce the same outcome of two years ago, I am not sure if it was money well spent.
Thanksgiving has came and gone. It was great weather last weekend for it. I took some great pictures along the Thames River here in London, which will be showing up throughout some of the future blog postings.
The Phillies are in the World Series, wouldn't have thought that at the beginning of the year. The Rays and Red Sox play tonight for their chance at the big dance. The Rays have blown a 3-1 lead and tonight's game could be a classic. The defending champions with all the momentum against the young and probably nervous Rays. I don't like either team because they play in the same division as the Jays but would like to see the Rays win. It is about hope and the improbable, as their season has been.
It is a melancholy Sunday and I am nursing a hangover after a Stag and Doe party last night. It was a good night and today is a a perfect day for listening to Counting Crows. Actually every day is especially when you are reading through old pieces of writing because you don't want to write anything new.
"I walk with loneliness, mercy will follow me I'm told, beneath this skin there lies a heart of stone, it's growing old, so very far from home but a heart of gold, I may someday own...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZQWUsV2YME
Mercy by Counting Crows (Original by Stevenson, Winningham and Boesel)
Below is one of those old pieces of writing. Everyone it seems is spoken for, in some way or another.
Spoken For
He can no longer hear the freight trains outside his window
The African wind chimes have also been silenced
His possessions are in cardboard boxes that are gathering dust
Soldiers are still dying because of the man in the oval office
His best friend is a stranger on the street
The woman he cares about will be leaving soon
She made him smile for months
Despite his inability to display his happiness
There is a strangeness about him, a sadness
Which he would like to explain but can not
The hurt has already broken him in half
So he offers the world his silence
In a feeble attempt to silence it
Opinions will be changed though
Reputations will be tainted though
He can not help these things
This has been a long time coming for him
Too long he lived in a world of dreams and denials
Loving the women but hating himself
Building up and then breaking down friendships
Actually thinking he could be a good friend
Realizing though that he is too selfish
Life has always been about him
His problems, his thoughts and his disappearances
If he thought you knew too much or got too close
He would punish you by isolating himself
A bastard of the worst kind
A coward of the worst kind
With feelings as fragile as a China doll
Who pretends to be kind but is only cruel
To those that could be his friends but mostly to himself
A loner who is sick of being alone
Knowing he can not go back
To the people that he has left behind
If that is even something he wants
He really does not know
There is too much damage
The wounds are freshly bandaged
He has always been a bleeder
More of his blood has stained his fingers than he would admit to
You can connect his scars much like the stars if you wanted to
Physical pain would be a relief to his internal torture
Still he knows that there is beauty
In so many things that one would not necessarily associate with beauty
The next time he sees a kite, he will smile
Wanting to run across a field to where it should land
Knowing it eventually has to come down
The way he knows that his silence
Will eventually have to be spoken for
He does not know the words to say
It is not like writing
It does not come natural
It is like loving or being a friend
He does not know
Where to begin or when to end.
06/28/07
"My friend assures me, it is all or nothing.............and this time when kindness falls like rain, it washes her away........."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nf2rApCO8A
Anna Begins by Counting Crows (September 5, 2008 in Dallas)
A few closing comments, the book I am currently reading is Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen, it is very good. I am also really enjoying Ray LaMontagne's new music from Gossip In The Grain.
All or nothing, doesn't have to be, all or nothing, it can be something.
jr.
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