RageBoy and Chris Locke have converged this week for a spectacular solar display of the human soul. This cacophony of music and colors, not experienced since 1969, is intensely brilliant. Do not stare directly at it. Best to use one of these while viewing this or this.
There is so much--a lifetime really--within these two EGR sends. There are moments and hours, there are years and painful seconds, a tune out time, a soul out of rhythm, finding the cadence, hitting the groove, and then back again to that electric, archetypal (aaah!) place called loneliness.
The ideas----of rubber soul, bounceback, resonance, relativity, actions and reactions, and what voice has to do with it-----these are what make me tick as a blogger, and as a human. Echo? I'm not sure about echo, because an echo, after all, is you resonating unto yourself. Forced masturbation. And that's why the echo is the loneliest sound.
I will blog more about this. I haven't slept much in two nights trying to keep my household, child, life, and job in gear simultaneously, while alone, missing the person who keeps me steady, so far, so fucking far away.
I don't want to stop blogging tonight. I want to blog all night and into morning and all day tomorrow and tomorrow night. I want to blog in the tub and in bed; I want to blog outside, on the porch, with an American Spirit hanging from my lips; I want to start a 48-hour blogathon, fueled by the raw energy, the sparks, of these ideas.
What makes me even more tired, more depressed, is that I can't--not tonight. I'm tired, spent, exhausted, whipped, physically that is. My mind wants to write, but my hands aren't willing. Tomorrow. I'll be back tomorrow. Don't let these words, these sparks, die down. Someone--Golby? Keep fanning the flames til I get back. Good night.
