At about the same times when I am in the grass rolling, on the foam mats doing furious bigfoot impressions, or on the streets running my heart out, or skulking around town in full parade order, the rest of my universe flies apart. It must have been the same feeling experienced by Álfgrímur Hansson leaving his childhood house, knowing full well it would be razed to the ground the next day.
The folks of old, where have they gone? At distant corners of space, lurking in the darkness between stars. They too must miss the folks of old, probably not as much as I do. Maybe they don't, but I've given up whining about the past... The present has its own set of friends. The present also features my guitar, which I have picked up and am learning to play (for the 3rd time). When I play I think of my older friends, but I play towards a muting emptiness. It doesn't matter; my fingerpicking is only about 35% proficient. The worse acoustics, the better.
We are heading into the wilderness again. I look forward to that sort of thing as a solace, where the stupid crowds are never present and lonely guys never get lonely alone. When else can one find such splendid distractions in his life? None after October. This is the last one.
Was at church this afternoon. I led the kyrie again, and they said I sang quite well =D
Fingerpickin' time--
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