Volume VIWild Nothing: Life of Pause
Let's go for a drive, you and I, like we used to but different, because the season is different and the air is different and your hair is different,And there's a new color on the horizon and a new sound around us,And there's a sign beside us that wasn't there before, And the sun doesn't flee like it fled before, And you don't need your sweater anymore,And maybe we don't know where we're going, but where know how to go there, And we're not who we used to be, but we know who we'll always be,And we'll always drive, you and I,Together.
Volume VII: Dear Tracks: Soft DreamsSometimes I lie awake in the middle of the night and I think about the day before, the things I said I'd do and didn't, the words I'd meant to say but hadn't, the thoughts I'd swore to remember but had forgotten. Sometimes I think about the day ahead, the clothes I'd like to wear but won't, the places I'd like to go but can't, the way I'd like to experience it but shouldn't. I recall the sights I can't unsee, the sentences that could have been better said, the dollars I'd meant to save but had spent. I envision the vistas I long to observe, the flavors I've often sought, the promises I'm seek to keep.
But mostly when I lie awake, I lie awake happier than I've ever been, holding you.
Volume VIII: Belly: Star
For as far back as I can remember while being of school age, I used to stay up as late as possible the night before the first day of a new school year watching movies I'd seen dozens of times before. I like to think I did this as an act of defiance, a rebuke of the pervasive wisdom warning that "big days" required lots of rest, but I was probably just nervous, frustrated, and, grudgingly, maybe a little excited about what was to come.
E.T. was always the headliner, but it was backed by a rotating selection of movies that, like it, had at different times in my adolescence made me feel better about being alive. Most of these were movies I would also return to with some regularlity at other times throughout the year, often with somewhat dishonest expectations. I would return to them because I craved the emotional resonance of the past, even though I knew each time that its potency could wane or fail.
But it seldom did. Instead, it seemed to evolve. Some once-captivating scenes would be unexpectedly eclipsed by others I'd not previously acknowledged. Others would retain traces of past importance and build upon them new layers of pertinence. Over time most of these movies stopped being especially meaningful to me and simply became a part of me.
In many ways, your past is to me like a cherished movie I've never seen. I have the VHS box on my shelf, recognize the spine and the cover images, know the back cover copy, but I've never owned the cassette. I've read essays by Roger Ebert and pinned screenshots to my wall, but always missed the midnight screening at the Tivoli.
But when you revisit the things *you* enjoy, the sound clips and poster images start to form a sequence.
But when you revisit the things *you* enjoy, the sound clips and poster images start to form a sequence. I can picture the opening credits a little better, recall the witty dialogue exchanges, feel ache at the end of the second act. I might even be able to sing along during the getting-shit-done montage.
These things mean something to me because they mean something to you. Let's stay up all night and experience them together.