Radiance

I haven't heard this song in a long while. I'm glad to say listening to it again doesn't make me feel sad anymore. It only brings back happier days.



Those days when I would sit around with you 
 Oh, there's nothing like it 
And even when my heart was black and blue 
Oh, there's nothing like it 
And everything before and after you 
Oh, doesn't matter 

So do you remember the old times? 
Those were the only times, the only times 

I don't know how it ended 
I don't know where you ran to 
I'll always be right here 
I don't know how it ended 
I don't know where you ran to 
I'll always be right here 

You never have to say that you were wrong 
I know I'd do it all again even if it was wrong 
And I could write a thousand more songs about you 
Before this one's done, the next one's for you 

So do you remember the old times? 
Those were the only times, the only times 

I don't know how it ended 
I don't know where you ran to 
I'll always be right here 
I don't know how it ended 
I don't know where you ran to 
I'll always be right here 

And how will this sound? 
And when will my life 
begin again, 
again, again, again 

So do you remember the old times? 
Those were the only times, the only times 

I don't know how it ended 
I don't know where you ran to 
I'll always be right here 
I don't know how it ended 
I don't know where you ran to 
I'll always be right here

Changing Colors

"I thought of you and where you've gone, and the world spins madly on."
--The Weepies


Dear J.,

Yesterday, I had the chance to visit the places we used to go to. I remembered the photos we took, the conversations we had, and the songs we listened to. Our time together was a very brief year in my life, but we both knew it felt like an eternity in itself.

I recalled we had so many plans. I marvel at how wide-eyed and ambitious we were. Between us, you were the bolder one. And no matter how many times you fucked up, you still decided to keep going. You said you knew no other way to live. I didn't understand what you meant back then, but over the years, I found this to be true in my own life. In the same way we gravitate towards our dreams, we always go back to the things that reminded us of who we are. Our lives were always racked with change and instability. We hardly knew it, but we've always held on to something. I'm glad to know we did what we set out to do, even when we pursued different paths.

It may be sad to think our plans together never happened. Whatever they we're, I know you know we're better where we are now. Isn't it funny how the learning never ends, and yet we're only getting older?

A chapter in our lives is about to end, and I know I'll see you again. Until then, I'll be reading you.

Excerpts from A Moveable Feast

"I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before, and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

--

"Standing there I wondered how much of what we had felt on the bridge was just hunger, I asked my wife and she said, "I don't know, Tatie. There are so many sorts of hunger." In the spring there are more. But that's gone now. Memory is hunger."

--

"It was a very simple story called "Out of Season" and I had omitted the real end of it which was the old man hanged himself. This was omitted on my new theory that you could omit anything if you knew the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood. (..understand in the the same way that they always do in a painting. It only takes time... and confidence.)"

--

"Hunger is good discipline and you learn from it... cut down on food so you will not get too much hunger-thinking."

--

"What did I know best that I had not written about and lost? What did I know about truly and care for the most?  There was no choice at all. There was only the choice of streets to take you back fastest to where you worked."

--

"All I must do now was stay sound and good in my head until morning when I would start to work again."

My Narcotics

The way art operates promises an end to a sense of being randomly ignored and humiliated just on the basis of what money we have been able to make. Art is a mechanism for appreciation, which is particularly adept at the close study of the ways in which an individual might be deserving of tenderness, sympathy and admiration – and yet neglected by the prestigious world.

- Excerpt from the essay, "Why We Look Down On People Who Don't Earn Very Much," from The Book of Life

1)

Lately I've been reminded why I've taken to art, music, and literature for comfort and perspective on so many things that I cannot seem to accept or understand. Taking pleasure and solace in paintings, songs, and books isn't just about escaping reality. These are some of the things we do in order to stay in a world that's indifferent to our humanity.

2)
Surrounding ourselves with art and having a creative form of expression gives voice and meaning to our otherwise insignificant existence. It is my belief that if we can live beautifully, even for just a brief part of our lives, then maybe, just maybe, life isn't such a waste of time. Existence, as we all know, is too damn short. By reading, we hope to live many lives and try to reach a higher knowledge of what it means to be human. What art gives us is the space to think for ourselves. Here, we might even find purpose for what it is we ought to do with our limited lives. 

3)

With all the suffering on this planet, I cannot imagine a world without beauty, even amidst destruction and confusion. It isn't a wonder why one never gets tired of beauty. In fact, we seek it everywhere we go, no matter how old we get.

What makes art and literature beautiful goes beyond form, technique, or aesthetics. It is content and particularity that draws us to the beauty of creative work, telling us " Here I am with you. I am sharing this to you. I know you've known this too." Creative expression is the beauty of connection, of having made sense to someone an experience, emotion, and dream they thought nobody could ever have words, images, or music for.

3) The Elevator Song

This moving music is a masterpiece that captures what it means to be insignificant in a vast universe. The world spins on, with or without us. It tells us important things are made meaningful only because we make them meaningful. In less than four minutes, this instrumental piece demonstrates the struggle to make every note count to create complex harmony, tension, and rousing beauty. Personally, I believe this music captures what it’s like to live a brief yet remarkable existence.

Ash Ode

When I saw you ahead I ran two blocks
shouting your name then realizing it wasn’t
you but some alarmed pretender, I went on
running, shouting now into the sky,
continuing your fame and luster. Since I've
been incinerated, I've oft returned to this thought,
that all things loved are pursued and never caught,
even as you slept beside me you were flying off.
At least what's never had can’t be lost, the sieve
of self stuck with just some larger chunks, jawbone,
wedding ring, a single repeated dream,
a lullaby in every elegy, descriptions
of the sea written in the desert, your broken
umbrella, me claiming I could fix it.

--Dean Young

Homecoming

Two of my old friends came back after a long time of being away from the city. I really missed having conversations with genuine people, so it was such a wonderful blessing to spend time with them this weekend. When you find friends that you can truly connect with, don’t let their friendship fade away. You can never replace priceless gifts.

----

Dear Z and K,

For the first time in years, I’ve come to realize that struggles and sacrifices in life don’t just happen in vain. Wasn’t it just yesterday our lives were riddled with so much uncertainty and frustration? It surprises me how the years have piled up. Though it may have taken a while, I believe we’re right on track. We’ve started to become better people.

It feels like a homecoming, one that makes us grateful for all the light and dark places of our pasts. Strangely, even our unfortunate experiences are making sense. I only needed enough time to make out the good changes that were in store for us. It makes me wonder now why I was so afraid. But having fear made me see my weaknesses, too. Nothing has been perfect, yet I am still very thankful.

It astonishes me to see how much we’ve grown. Things truly did turn out for the best despite how lost we were. Unlike our broken pasts, I know we won’t break as easily now.  Today, we are stronger and wiser.

I've learned looking back doesn’t always have to be sad or painful. That allowing enough time to pass by helps you accept things as they are. Now I know what they mean when they say "time heals wounds." I've been wronged and I've hurt other people. Through time, I was able to forgive others, and more importantly, my self.

I am very happy you’re becoming the best individuals you can be. It’s rare to find good friends like you, so I am honored to be a part of your lives. Please know that though we may not see each other often, I will always be here for you.

Description

A bird with a cry like a cell phone says something
to a bird that sounds like a manual typewriter.

 Out of sight in the woods, the creek trickles
 its ongoing sentence; from treble to baritone,

 from dependent clause to interrogative.

The trees rustle over the house: they are excited
to be entering the poem

in the late afternoon, when the clouds are creamy and massive
as if to illustrate contentment.

And maybe a wind will pluck pff the last dead leaves;
and a cold rain will splash

dainty white petals from the crab apple tree
down to the ground,

the pink and the ground mingled there,
like two different messages scribbled over each other.

In all of this place must be
reserved for human suffering:

the sick and unloved, the chemically confused
the ones who believed desperately in insight;
the ones addicted to change.

How our thoughts clawed and pummeled the walls.
How we tried but could not find our way out.

In the wake of our effort, how we rested.
How description was the sign of our acceptance.


 -- Tony Hoagland