“If you can’t love this all goes away”
And that’s the song-title that came to my head when I, for the x’th time since the year I heard it first, tried to fathom this world in which I would have been 21 in 2015, it all seemed so melodramatic and neurotic sometimes and it all seemed so contented and at peace and unconfused sometimes, it was all a paradox-solute in which days were meaningful yet days were meaningless but whatever happened the blood kept pumping for the blood it was, so full of water, so full of words.
And if you can’t love this all goes away is the song I slowly plant upon imagined beds in which sad things sleep and don’t wake up. It’s the phrase I rehearse to my empty room when its light is my only clock clicking inside, like a chime – it doesn’t work, this society, this number, this 15/5/15, it doesn’t work, this other, this state, this system, if its love is lacking and trust is nothing: it all goes away and leaves in its place the apathy of a population of thoughts without homes to home in on, without futures to future on, but something nothing real nonetheless somewhat – it all goes away
It all goes away and yet it continues to frustrate and disturb the cobwebs of a many-legged memory and the multi-eyed imaginary – it all goes away yet it continues to linger like forgotten lights in my head, made by my forgotten pronouns and nicknames and manners of speaking – it’s not just, unjust, just like the humans who travel with music of emotions until the money runs out, until the clocks stop clicking, and find themselves like derelict letters on a futile page of a calendar, a website, a phone, a distraction that doesn’t distract, it’s unfair like the falling sweeping hair of a person without person without comparisons, without computers computing vibes, without a life, without a love to go on.
And so, it’s reassuring and slightly beside the point to confuse a prelude like this to an online entity of the here-and-now that makes it all make sense without failing a fast-paced quiver of a voice contradicting the blood that still pumps motions to these words called 2015.
Momentarily sublime moments of a human’s voice; protrusive and intimate; this artist has your attention before you read a single word to compromise the peace it leaves you with.
A peace of good and timeless.