A piece with 15 links for bold, hooked-up reading.
Only the young believe they’re immortal. They don’t stop believing until the wheel in the sky descends upon them, casting shadows over their dreams. Faithfully they hold on as long as they can, screaming at the top of their voices, ‘I’ll be alright without you… I’ll find my way through…’ unsure whether they’re addressing their youth or their faith. ‘Any way you want it…’ they scream, pointing to fantastical enemies. ‘Ask the lonely… the faithful… hell is for heroes.’ They know what it feels like to find oneself on a long highway, cars whizzing by on their way somewhere, somewhere near but far away, wondering who’s crying now, where everyone’s going, what promises are dangling in front of them — scores of people flowing out of the busy lanes, drifting, drifting, going their separate ways — stacked next to each other, worlds apart, in the torturous presence of company that’s close but never available, in a sea of lights that trick and obscure, amidst embraces that are lovin’, touchin’, squeezin,’ but never sharing. Never giving. Open arms laid out, waiting to grasp, not offer, the distance between them growing with every sundown. The girl next door awaits, sitting on the porch, grasping at hope with her outstretched hands, praying. Laughing out loud. Girl can’t help it, she thrives on hope, whether torrent or cinder, it matters not, it feeds her soul. I respect that. Send her my love. Wish her well. Smiling back, she waves me closer. ‘Be good to yourself.’ she whispers. ‘Love works best when one loves oneself. That’s how the journey begins.’
Who said corny was all that bad? It rhymes with thorny and sounds an awful lot like journey, and a journey is what we took, straight into the sad, wounded loneliness of modern-day urban life.
We also made our way through corporate rock vanilla-land, sampling the songs that killed off rock music in the 70′s, which, by sleight of irony, gave it new purpose by bringing it in the mainstream’s attention, an opportunity on which Van Halen and Mötley Crüe capitalized by injecting it with a little glam and sex appeal that truly made the girls wet and the guys frisky.
Here’s to vanilla-cum-spice-rum.
Play loud, party hard!
PS – In case the links above were a little too meh and the article too melancholy, here’s an antidote to perk you right up.
PS 2 – The ape in me hopes the aliens aren’t watching.