Sitting up in the attic far later than I should be awake, I write these words directly into this blog post. It won’t go up for a few days, and in that detachment and removal from immediacy, I feel emboldened and brave enough to reveal just a little more of myself than I typically might. Lately, I’ve been writing these entries into a notebook, all by hand, then typing them in later along with any necessary editing. It feels more meaningful to write it out longhand, if anyone even knows what longhand is anymore. I’m not even sure I do. Sometimes I just say words because they sound right, and I’m usually good about placing them where they belong, even if I’m doubtful of what they may actually mean. There, a little reveal, a little strip-tease, one that will find you trying to catch me out soon, and I will deserve it.
Jesus saves, and Bubba scores
A childhood you’ll always mourn
You found your things out on the floor now
And you believed in every maybe
Shalala, it drove you crazy
Tough as nails and built for breaking
But you were just a kid when they told you
You’d been born to bleed, little soldier
With your garden heart and sentimental boulder
Oh, it pulled you down
Look at you, you made it out
Yes, I had a garden heart. Still do. The garden has always been the place of peace and healing and learning – and the most interesting thing in the world to me ever since I was a little boy. It’s been a haven and a space of hope, where I learned heartbreak and heaven, sometimes at the exact same time. It set me apart from other boys, as did so much else. That dark trip back won’t be made tonight – I’m skirting the deeper shit until we make it out of retrograde motion.
Now it’s time to go, it’s time to chase it
Break the locks out of the basement
Rearview mirror to the faithless
And you believed in every maybe
Shalala, I love you, baby
Told them all you were good at breaking
Going around the gardens every day is my favorite way to ground myself during the sunny season. It’s a good mental health break – and any time spent offline or away from a computer screen or television is time well-spent. The removal of such stimulation is more powerful than most people realize, it allows for a re-charge, and the chance to be thrilled again when heightened stimulation arrives. Lower your expectations. Shift your pleasure perspective. Refine your acceptance.
But you were just a kid when they told you
You’d been born to bleed, little soldier
With your magnet heart and sentimental boulder
Oh, it pulled you down
But look at you, you made it out
Born to bleed with a sentimental boulder? Were we all such terrorized children? Why do I remember being more resilient before I was aware of myself? A small part of me wants to explain what that means, but it’s late, and a larger part of me wants to sleep. These lyrics hit harder than the music.
Yeah, you’re just like the rain
Carrying everyone’s shame
But you move just like a river
No, you don’t wear an inch of it, babe
I’d follow you down, down, down, down, down to the water
Way down to any kind of chance
To a stone in a creek
‘Til you’re out of the blue
Honey, I can see it too
Rather than say more about that, or offer an explanation for the title of this post (which was originally supposed to be a look at my creative process, as I’ve started the first part of my next project) I’m going to wrap things up since we are winding the song down. This was going to be a break in the Solid Gold Summer run with a glasses-and-all look at what really goes on in the summer. A dramatic pause if you will, then the music speaks to the soul again… and our Solid Gold swing shall return shortly.
‘Cause I was just a kid when they showed me
This great big weight that would come and pull me
Like your magnet heart and sentimental boulder
I carry it with you, throw it on my shoulders
You’re the one way out and I’m your dark horse clown
Isimo, look at you, you made it out
