The Matrix

It’s what keeps me up some nights and lulls me to sleep others. It’s the never-ending struggle to be number one and never come out on top. It’s the battles we fought and the blood we spilled, the limbs we lost and the hearts we kept. It’s giving a damn and not giving a fuck. The highs and the lows and wides and the narrows. It’s that stupid pop song we listen to all summer and the bottles of booze we drank all winter. It’s when Andrew died and Scott’s daughter was born. It’s looking for number 10 while you’re still on number 9. It’s loving the self that you love to hate. It’s that dirty red hat you’ve had for five years and never washed. It’s a bicycle ride into the sunset accented by synth-pop from way back then…yeah. It’s that first concert you got lost in the mosh-pit, and you finally figured out what that “funny” smell was. It’s remembering that smiling baby girl on the bus in Lima. It’s the time before visiting Grandma’s house was so damn depressing. It was baking cookies and growing like a flower. It’s when you wake up in May and the sun is shining and you drink your coffee outside. It was the first time you heard Brahms Tragic Overture driving in the dark down that long dusty road – you told Grant you were in love with Eleanor. It’s the first time you hiked the ridge…remember that perfect blue sky? It’s all those times we drank way too much and the times we didn’t drink nearly enough. It was listening to techno late at night in the car after dropping off Diana – she leaned over and whispered, “I love you,” speeding away watching the hospital lights grow so tall. It’s KGLT and public radio. At one time it was beer, but now it’s water. It was never death metal, but it still is Max. It’s Romeo and Juliet being knocked out by Othello. It’s B vitamin complex and urine like a yellow highlighter. It’s getting paid not to shower. It’s breaking the habit…and then starting again. It’s American Studies and how little you know. It’s the way Del just knows how to flow. It’s black and white photographs and words on a page. It’s a t-shirt stained with wine from all the dinner parties no one can remember – we talked all night but what did we say? It’s knowing a whole album by heart. It’s that weird satisfaction of not being like most. It’s that burning desire to kick in your own teeth for acting like an egotistical prick. It’s not having a hangover in class. It’s having a hangover at home. It was Paris – walking that boulevard where the women inspired Lautrec. It’s crying like a baby for no reason. It’s Lorazepam when you just can’t stop. It’s all the unread books on the shelves that keep calling your name. Never again will it be cocaine – no more numb teeth or bloody noses. It has to be the first kiss, right? But it’s not – maybe the second. It was that unmistakable feeling you had when you thought your life secreted good art. It was shaking up, waking up and knowing the truth – but never growing up. It’s the smell of your pee after eating asparagus. It’s Céline – that dirty old man! It’s leaving the country and pretending you’ll never come back – do you do that too? It’s that painting by Bouguereau that almost looks like my mother when she was a teen dream. It’s old man Bob and how I wish he was still alive raising hell – he had the best advice. It’s pretending to agree with people’s political espousals. It’s being a Republican – no a Democrat, or wait was it a Libertine? Oh forget it, they’re all the same – bunch of crooks! It’s an unhealthy addiction to collecting books and music. It’s running until you can’t stand up. It’s shaving you head or getting punched in the lip. It’s learning a new word and forgetting what it means. It’s all those silly romantic notions you know wont come true. It’s John Lennon singing, Happy Xmas (war is over) – all those dead children that make you cry. It’s still having terrible grammar. It’s learning to shrug the little stuff and laugh. It was the first time you read, The Education – oh those cynically delightful prose. It’s learning to appreciate all those things you can’t seem to let go, that help you grow, fall – that pick you up. It’s an environment of ever bending, flexing, collapsing conscious illusions and exploding synapses – the oscillation between the serotonin levels and learning to love every moment in-between – high or low. It is the ever-present swirling reality –stranding at the apex of the maelstrom – understanding everything that is your cause and effect – transforming you into your ever-present anamorphic self.