I haven’t written anything in a very long time. This makes me sad, so I am here to empty my brain backlog into this virtual bottomless bucket that is the interwebs. Please bear with me as I apply some WD-40 to my rusty writing.
Yesterday, I attended a concert at the Warfield for Porcupine Tree. It was easily one of the most epic concerts of my life. I use the word “epic” here literally, not, as some are apt to do, as some sort of analog to “awesome” or “wicked”. They played the first disc of their new album The Incident in its entirety. The circular flow of the music and the lyrical storytelling was simply fantastic, reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s Animals without a doubt. One song in particular, Time Flies, mesmerized me and immediately put me an introspective frame of mind. Mid-concert, I found myself contemplating the meaning of life. I guess this is indicative of the progressive style and intelligent song writing of Porcupine Tree.
There were a few lyrics that really jumped out at me from that song. Particularly, the chorus:
But after a while you realize time flies
And the best thing that you can do
Is take whatever comes to you
‘Cause time flies
These lyrics here are by no means an epiphany. What struck me is (and this is obviously better conveyed live through music) the optimistic tone with which this is said. The idea is that life is fleeting (see post title), so we should enjoy our thoroughly insignificant existences, not dwelling on that which is of no consequence. It seems most things fall in this category, mind you. Link to the video
I don’t have much more to say on this topic, really. I just wanted to get something down on virtu-paper. Hopefully this will continue. Lately, I have gotten into the habit of going to Dolores park, doing a little people watching, and playing a little writing game. Namely, I would look at a random person or group of people, and try to write down what I imagine is going through his/her/their head(s). Unfortunately, I do this in a notebook and I can’t bring myself to copy-edit my own work; I’m inclined to let my words sit where they were written, in peace.
Here’s a little bit from what I wrote. Keep in mind that I’m usually 2-3 tall-boys in at this point so much of it is flow-of-consciousness.
All I feel is sensations. Endless throngs march past and I don’t react. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think, how I’m supposed to size them up, whether or not I’m even supposed to size them up. Instead, I’m content experiencing sensations; the burning heat of the sun through my threadbare t-shirt, the feel of the lingering dew through my many-holed socks, the indifferent breeze blowing gently across my face. Sounds echo, but lose meaning.
Smiling, laughing, leering faces surround me, but I cannot, will not, care about them. They are there, like backdrops to some irreverent, irrelevant off-Broadway production – unimportant, only making me acutely aware of my own yearning for sightless bliss.
Summer dresses lightly flutter. Bronzed old men bare their lecherous coffee-stained teeth at young supple bodies. They know that this youth is fleeting. Even now I am aware of this cold reality. I can’t enjoy my existence – I know it will pass, as everything passes. It’s a cruel joke, this absence of permanence leering and cackling in the warm September sun.
Clearly this topic of fleeting time is one on which I’ve dwelled before, but this is simply a result of a particularly introversion in which I’ve found myself lately. Not a bad thing – remember, solitude is good.