This is agonizing really. Listening to this music. Without a mirror I know myself much younger. I am free-spirited; sitting on the floor and sketching, while the melody holds me suspended and keeps me alive. To those few friends that remember, I'm relishing in the plush lime green carpet and Ikea-like furnishings around me. I have posters of Bjorn Borg, florescent panthers, Heart, Frampton and spontaneous imaginative drawings animating my walls. It is a teenage haven. It is a room I could escape to and find the comforts of individual expression exploding on all available surfaces. I've never grown apart from this moment.
What did I know of life? My mother told me nothing. She led by example and I merely followed the songs of sun and sunset. I was naive and undeserving, however, my units were there for me to feed, shelter and support my immediate needs. I wasn't hindered from exploring and I observed their ideals but never understood their expectations. I knew where the fork and the spoon went, but I was free to turn my head either way. I missed out on knowing my mother's rebellion because I was too busy working on my own. She never led on, so I had to figure it out for myself. I am 22 years, what feels like light years, away from the heaven I knew.
1984 a dream, death and insanity were just the beginning signs that would prepare me for the worst years of my life. It was the fuckin' music like Heart, Foghat, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zeppelin, Thin Lizzy, Benatar, and The Pretenders that sustained my confident and rhythmic stride. Many times this stride would stagger and on occassion I would crash and burn hard at the expense of a few observing friends who would smack or tuck me under their wing to safety. If not them, then the winds of angelic sympathizers would roll their eyes and guide me home. It had to be. I was saved for something or someone.
Never mind that. Right now I want to be lying flat on my stomache with my hands fanned out and my nostrils breathing in the fibers of cool lime green carpet. My soul aches for it and I ask why was it ripped away? I long to go back to my room to escape behind my closed door and listen for traces of familiar sounds that would remind me of the place I came from. From so many moves, I have lightened the load too often and now I am heartbroken again. I will never know what it's like to "come home." When will I be saved from this pillar of salt.
Music moves with me and I can only rely on its harmonic company to keep me sane. All doors are open...