thirty forty. forty fifty.

I attempt to write today, but find myself distracted by so many things. The fly buzzing at the window, that I do not let out. The plants that beg to be turned, so that the other side of them may twist to the sunlight. The blank page on the computer screen, in another document, that asks for my attention. The green tea and cookies before me. The Unbelievable Truth song, coming from the speakers that asks my body to move. The flamenco guitar, leaned up against that plain wooden chair, with the light hitting it just so. I remember reading in an article years ago, a quote from thom yorke {of radiohead} who stated {to paraphrase} that sometimes it was best to just sit and stare at a guitar, rather than play it. Sometimes, that’s when it had the most strength and energy. The most beauty. So I stare.

And then Jacob golden comes on and I wonder about him. I drift back to those days watching him play [or playing the same bill myself] at luna’s café in sacramento. I wonder where people fly off to, where their lives take them. Hawaii. Greece. India. Hell, Canada even. So many amazing people, in so many different places.

I got an email recently from a friend I’ve had nearly seventeen years now, and my mind gasped at the time there. How quickly ten becomes twenty. Twenty thirty. Thirty Forty. Forty fifty, and so on. Time, the illustrious beast, that we so love and so despise. My wife sits on the porch reading, and the trees move. Though I cannot see her from where I sit, I like the knowledge of that fact. Sometimes, it is simply knowing some such thing, that gives us what we need. The mere existence of something or someone. A place. The simple fact that in some city in North Carolina, there is a great man, with a cup of coffee, writing a novel. Sometimes, I need nothing more than that.

Posted by jeff pitcher at September 26, 2004 04:37 PM

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