Call and answer
Write down the truest thing you know.
I see my ghost in the window. Namely my reflection, and to be wholly honest it’s only my eyes I recognize anymore, little else, just the signs of excess, and what became of a situation that wants for help.
When I look beyond myself- quite literally- the city imposes its own thoughts. The lights are blinking now over the empire state as I search the emasculated sky space to the south. What this vantage would’ve gleaned some years ago? I picture myself on that last night, perhaps just like this one, for me at least. Not so for many others, not so. To remember it now, certain ideas return quickly, though I don’t at all feel connected to whom I was in that life-time.
It strikes me how separate I feel; heartache is not a singular expression, and I was never a stranger to wrongs real or imagined, still such things were tactful then, transgressions of the heart seemed much more furtive when I was young. Perhaps it was because I was always right once upon a time, and foolish enough to think I could change this world, perhaps at least change my world. How long the thoughts of youth are.
And still the same loves call me, some of them at least. Something told me once that life was nothing but a sequence of call and answer[s].
I hadn’t fallen in love with you then, not yet at least, I was dangerously close. Two little worlds, I am both: I had no idea what I would be losing, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I was much more confident then, I take solace in knowing that you were a part of my old world. Even now I like to think I can see you, beneath those city lights. I know these streets and I know your room, I watch you sleeping…like I should be. Like I am not, like this city does not.
Tonight we played our game, proved our existence to this call and answer life, another turn for the two of us. I wish I had known what to say, I’m sure you were looking for something, something you’d lost once. I’m not sure what it was you left behind, I know it’s not me. We make plans for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, I have a grand scheme for them all, even as the time slips by hell-bent on it’s petty pace of days. I’m sure your date tonight left you wanting, I’d bet he made you nostalgic, I know the feeling all too well. I feel it too, every time I try- in vain- to recoup that first wonder, that first moment, the magic that eludes all as we realize we’ve crossed over some cursory line out of youth, never to return. I like to be that anchor for you, this rolling-stone soul with a heart full of moss. I like to think you could be that for me, too. If it wasn’t so I’d never admit it, not to you, not to the world, not to anybody else that broke my heart, or anybody that ever broke yours, least of all to myself. When man says man cannot live on bread alone, the same goes for hope, only something worse.
My needs in life are simpler than me, if only because they’re so far beyond my time and my comprehension. I can do little but throw up my hands and wonder most days. My eyes look back again, maybe it’s the past now, maybe it’s just me.
My old familiar friends, you’ve seen it all, seen things I could never look away from, every crash, every tear, you’ve never told a lie, at least not to me. No, you never blink when you want to remember most, and if God created sorrow, with joy for leaven, the devil left us the tears to see it all through. My two fatalists, we see it all, the forgetting part is for another organ, the forgetting part is left to time. That great yellowing of days to come, it’ll all be dust soon enough. You, me, all the things I have loved, all the tears I have cried, tears even! To dust!
The beginning begets the end, life leads unto death, love is ever the fore-bearer of hate and so forth. Humbly now, if you wish, a pause for a thought on the grand scheme of these great, simple things:
Life-time unto life-time, ceaselessly, is the one true course of everything that was and is and ever will be. Chance, perhaps, or some omnipotent father in his infinite boredom decreed long ago that there should be an alpha which would beget an omega then to follow. There would be no pause, no consideration for anything in the mean time, just two great compass points ever fixed upon a dial in hand, within it’s diameter we find everything that ever came into existence. No great coda for recollection, no appeasing sigh for great men or lovers, no retribution for the wronged, nor punishment for the wicked. Just one absolute call, and one resolute answer, one last aria before the void of nothing greets everything pertaining to the age of man, and all he has seen.
I’m calling you tonight, beneath your city lights. I should’ve told you how we’re just two broken people, and how every song that’s playing tonight speaks to the city, speaks to the dreams and fortunes made and lost here. And I think that says something about how we feel about each other, I think it says a lot more than I could really tell you about in one lifetime. I imagine there were love tales far greater than mine played out on her streets, tragedies far more harrowing, but there’s no sure way to know. Most days I can’t be sure of a thing at all in this world which my eyes can’t see. 8-F seems so far away tonight, just like all of the other magic I’ve ever known.
I guess I’m sort of empty. It’s times like these- when I’m most full of angst- that I am most painfully devoid of reason, or any sort of faculties to make sense of it all. I search the night skies, these same skies surely Fitzgerald and his Gatsby looked upon once upon a time, I’m searching for something now, just as they did some time ago…an answer. Faint, an interloper from the department of the idea of a grand design appears, eerily as if on cue.
A solitary, symbolic, representative of the cosmos grants me an audience, for all the silence we’re afforded I feel stoic almost, though we both know better, I know this ceremony well. It was determined one day long ago, these proceedings. Faithful petitioner’s questions could never be rejected, the pilgrim free to ask of the constellation-kingdoms of fallen kings and demi-gods whatever he wished. The great misgiving though, and one never seen until dawn itself was the sole revelation, was that an answer was most always lacking, at least a perceivable one. The circle tonight shall not be broken, here beneath this court which has long brooded over the tales of man, being forced to bear witness and ponder these same mysteries as I. It’s hopeless to divine after the meaning of any of this. I’m quite certain I’m far too corporeal a creature to attach any sort of significance to this quirk of events. I am too simple to understand any answer which might have been revealed far above and long before me. I don’t feel too particularly close to anything at all meaningful just now.
All things being equal, however, it’s not beyond the realm of a simple creature such as this one to attach to the esteem of this stellar emissary the title of answer designate, if appearances are believed to be significant of anything in this world. And if it’s not mine, perhaps another’s, anybody’s at least, out of politeness I’ll refrain from making a wish this night, I’m certain I’ve used up more than my fair share long ago. In any case I like to think my star will shine tomorrow by light of day. Were fate a thing to truly be believed in, there’ll be a call, and I’m sure I’ll answer. The destiny of the affairs of all things in the realm of the stars in the heavens was mandated long ago, even if it must forever remain undecided down here on earth below.
I see my ghost in the window. Namely my reflection, and to be wholly honest it’s only my eyes I recognize anymore, little else, just the signs of excess, and what became of a situation that wants for help.
When I look beyond myself- quite literally- the city imposes its own thoughts. The lights are blinking now over the empire state as I search the emasculated sky space to the south. What this vantage would’ve gleaned some years ago? I picture myself on that last night, perhaps just like this one, for me at least. Not so for many others, not so. To remember it now, certain ideas return quickly, though I don’t at all feel connected to whom I was in that life-time.
It strikes me how separate I feel; heartache is not a singular expression, and I was never a stranger to wrongs real or imagined, still such things were tactful then, transgressions of the heart seemed much more furtive when I was young. Perhaps it was because I was always right once upon a time, and foolish enough to think I could change this world, perhaps at least change my world. How long the thoughts of youth are.
And still the same loves call me, some of them at least. Something told me once that life was nothing but a sequence of call and answer[s].
I hadn’t fallen in love with you then, not yet at least, I was dangerously close. Two little worlds, I am both: I had no idea what I would be losing, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I was much more confident then, I take solace in knowing that you were a part of my old world. Even now I like to think I can see you, beneath those city lights. I know these streets and I know your room, I watch you sleeping…like I should be. Like I am not, like this city does not.
Tonight we played our game, proved our existence to this call and answer life, another turn for the two of us. I wish I had known what to say, I’m sure you were looking for something, something you’d lost once. I’m not sure what it was you left behind, I know it’s not me. We make plans for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, I have a grand scheme for them all, even as the time slips by hell-bent on it’s petty pace of days. I’m sure your date tonight left you wanting, I’d bet he made you nostalgic, I know the feeling all too well. I feel it too, every time I try- in vain- to recoup that first wonder, that first moment, the magic that eludes all as we realize we’ve crossed over some cursory line out of youth, never to return. I like to be that anchor for you, this rolling-stone soul with a heart full of moss. I like to think you could be that for me, too. If it wasn’t so I’d never admit it, not to you, not to the world, not to anybody else that broke my heart, or anybody that ever broke yours, least of all to myself. When man says man cannot live on bread alone, the same goes for hope, only something worse.
My needs in life are simpler than me, if only because they’re so far beyond my time and my comprehension. I can do little but throw up my hands and wonder most days. My eyes look back again, maybe it’s the past now, maybe it’s just me.
My old familiar friends, you’ve seen it all, seen things I could never look away from, every crash, every tear, you’ve never told a lie, at least not to me. No, you never blink when you want to remember most, and if God created sorrow, with joy for leaven, the devil left us the tears to see it all through. My two fatalists, we see it all, the forgetting part is for another organ, the forgetting part is left to time. That great yellowing of days to come, it’ll all be dust soon enough. You, me, all the things I have loved, all the tears I have cried, tears even! To dust!
The beginning begets the end, life leads unto death, love is ever the fore-bearer of hate and so forth. Humbly now, if you wish, a pause for a thought on the grand scheme of these great, simple things:
Life-time unto life-time, ceaselessly, is the one true course of everything that was and is and ever will be. Chance, perhaps, or some omnipotent father in his infinite boredom decreed long ago that there should be an alpha which would beget an omega then to follow. There would be no pause, no consideration for anything in the mean time, just two great compass points ever fixed upon a dial in hand, within it’s diameter we find everything that ever came into existence. No great coda for recollection, no appeasing sigh for great men or lovers, no retribution for the wronged, nor punishment for the wicked. Just one absolute call, and one resolute answer, one last aria before the void of nothing greets everything pertaining to the age of man, and all he has seen.
I’m calling you tonight, beneath your city lights. I should’ve told you how we’re just two broken people, and how every song that’s playing tonight speaks to the city, speaks to the dreams and fortunes made and lost here. And I think that says something about how we feel about each other, I think it says a lot more than I could really tell you about in one lifetime. I imagine there were love tales far greater than mine played out on her streets, tragedies far more harrowing, but there’s no sure way to know. Most days I can’t be sure of a thing at all in this world which my eyes can’t see. 8-F seems so far away tonight, just like all of the other magic I’ve ever known.
I guess I’m sort of empty. It’s times like these- when I’m most full of angst- that I am most painfully devoid of reason, or any sort of faculties to make sense of it all. I search the night skies, these same skies surely Fitzgerald and his Gatsby looked upon once upon a time, I’m searching for something now, just as they did some time ago…an answer. Faint, an interloper from the department of the idea of a grand design appears, eerily as if on cue.
A solitary, symbolic, representative of the cosmos grants me an audience, for all the silence we’re afforded I feel stoic almost, though we both know better, I know this ceremony well. It was determined one day long ago, these proceedings. Faithful petitioner’s questions could never be rejected, the pilgrim free to ask of the constellation-kingdoms of fallen kings and demi-gods whatever he wished. The great misgiving though, and one never seen until dawn itself was the sole revelation, was that an answer was most always lacking, at least a perceivable one. The circle tonight shall not be broken, here beneath this court which has long brooded over the tales of man, being forced to bear witness and ponder these same mysteries as I. It’s hopeless to divine after the meaning of any of this. I’m quite certain I’m far too corporeal a creature to attach any sort of significance to this quirk of events. I am too simple to understand any answer which might have been revealed far above and long before me. I don’t feel too particularly close to anything at all meaningful just now.
All things being equal, however, it’s not beyond the realm of a simple creature such as this one to attach to the esteem of this stellar emissary the title of answer designate, if appearances are believed to be significant of anything in this world. And if it’s not mine, perhaps another’s, anybody’s at least, out of politeness I’ll refrain from making a wish this night, I’m certain I’ve used up more than my fair share long ago. In any case I like to think my star will shine tomorrow by light of day. Were fate a thing to truly be believed in, there’ll be a call, and I’m sure I’ll answer. The destiny of the affairs of all things in the realm of the stars in the heavens was mandated long ago, even if it must forever remain undecided down here on earth below.
Comments
I once was lost and wondered into a dark room at Christmas time, thinking it was something else. I didn’t mean to invade his privacy but I didn’t expect to see him looking at the stars. There’s probably never a more intimate moment than when you are wishing for things that aren’t, even if not aloud, in your soul, you’re wishing. His sadness and loneliness, his vulnerability-- like for one second, they were completely visible to me. The room was dark which was almost why I never expected to see anyone in there and why he probably thought he was safe…..sitting and just looking. It overwhelmed me.
I actually cried when I left because it moved me. I know the pain of star-gazing. Your longing or rather your fear of longing for anything….as wide open as your eyes. Only temporary comfort did I offer…it wouldn’t have been possible to give him anything else. I hope he enjoyed the gifts I brought him though. They weren’t intended for him….but when the time came I couldn’t imagine anyone more needing of them. Suddenly they were meant for him.
That should show you the power of the stars…..as much as you’d like to believe that they have no power, isn’t it funny that I caught him at a time of such complete abandonment. Maybe a moment when he needed comfort the most. Just a sign that the universe hadn’t forgotten about him….even if he had denied it’s presence.
Which most surely…..underneath it all………….. he could never deny.
Why did that moment touch my heart so? Maybe because his embarrassment when I said his name confirmed that his emotions were transparent. Or maybe because I never knew the depth in which other people were so much like myself. Was it so I would recognize the significance of seeing nothing over the horizon? Preparing for nothing to come. Nothing but the same. That’s what I felt when I stumbled upon him for I only imagine that’s what he was feeling.
Or was it made significant so I’d be able to feel you right now.
Only I haven’t brought any gifts for you…..only this do I have to share.
Love is not fleeting. Only desire is. Hope is, but hope is just desire for something better. Love is not fleeting. Love is free of desire. Love is in itself just pure energy free of bodily desires and when it is true it’s absorbed and felt even if it’s not particularly expressed. Because it travels there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s felt even if the identity of the source is concealed in the emotion. Although that too is questionable because so much of the energy is part of the source I find it difficult to believe that the beloved is completely unaware of the flame thrower. Even if you cannot see it, one tends to naturally flock towards warmth. The same with light that calls your name…..do you hear it? I swear you can.
But what motivates a lover to feel such emotion when they’re not able to express it is even more of a mystery. Is that hope? Is that what’s fleeting? I believe that that does eventually fade. How long can you be hopeful? Rather, how long can I be? Isn’t it a survival skill and just basically neurotransmitters remembering the pain of a situation just like this one. And learning from it. I’ve definitely learned my lesson. It is unwise to hope. Foolish by my standards. It’s intoxicating but agony to lose all in one. But when you lose hope aren’t you then just learning to accept something and finally being able to see something clearly for the first time. You may feel as though you’ve lost a piece of your innocence and in a way you have and are entitled to a mourning period, the depressing melancholy that accompanies self discovery. What’s gonna keep you going now? What’s gonna get you through the monotony of your day? Without that hope….all that hope all that hope all that hope. What do you have now? Turns out you have nothing. You have nothing up your sleeve. You have no way out.
Self discovery can’t always be happy at first. How can it be? We have to shed light on darkness…darkness that’s inside. Whether it’s heartache, anger, guilt, embarrassment, remorse….rejection, loneliness, it’s an unfulfilled area that’s been taken over by pain. Staring pain in the eye. Seeing the truth for what it is…seeing it- this is how it is….this is how it is……seeing it and just now---knowing it, this is how it is.
How beautiful everything was in candle light.
How sickening things are in florescent….physically sickening. Fear not…your eyes will cloud once more.
I would never tell you not to feel your pain. I would only like to light for you what one day will become your new pair of foggy candlelight glasses. What will eventually become your hope once more. We are lost without it. At least I am.
What do you hope for though….you’ve learned your lesson. You don’t want to make that mistake again.
You hope for beauty. That you experience it once more. And if I hadn’t just gone through this awful cycle I wouldn’t be able to tell you that it does start to come back, a weird type of calmness. One that only comes through the agony of self discovery. Of losing part of your youth. Anything that causes you to see truth. It’s always so painful…..but after you adjust a weird type of security comes with your new ability to see through something. You almost are comforted by the fact that you do see what is real. You won’t be fooled again by things that aren’t. And how amazing it is when you see something real again.
It’s such a beautiful moment that you wonder how long you’ve been without it. And then you start to feel like you don’t want to live without it….any longer.
Thus breeds your hope….which motivates you, and recharges you and lights that dark spot.
And maybe that makes it okay to be foolish again. Or maybe being foolish isn’t such risky business anymore because you can handle the pain it may uncover. Even though it may show you once again, some demon you thought was long gone but clearly isn’t. You may be inviting that demon out to play. For after all, at least that is some form of stimulation and isn’t that what we search for when the melancholy becomes mind numbing.
Tonight…..Be foolish enough to pretend this was written by the love you long for even though you know it’s not and never could be. Or be content enough to see the beauty in a stranger bringing a gift. In many ways a call and answer….just not how and what you imagined it to be. Be grateful for even though you cannot feel the universe’s love you feel for one moment, someone else’s. I hope when you close your eyes tonight, you sleep soundly knowing that this love… could never turn to dust.