Growing up, the nearest worthwhile park was a 40 minutes bus ride away. It had a zoo with iron bar cages, a century-old carousel that made your hands smell like metal, and pony rides. It was where I learned to ride a bike without training wheels and discovered my love for bears and cotton candy.
It’s also the place I had one of my very first dates. We had agreed to meet up in the rose gardens. He was wearing a too-big button-down shirt with camels on it, slobbered all over my face, and almost caused me to swear off kissing forever. Almost.
More than anything, the news of David Bowie’s passing fills me with tinges of sadness for my baby brother who didn’t get to experience our parents the way I did. Before the drugs, before the dischord, before the weight of their impending adulthood manifested itself, there were weekend mornings spent on the road to anywhere, cruising around for the sake of exploring, and getting out of our concrete tower prison. There were picnics on the side of country roads with stolen strawberries and ears of corns, and all those times my Ma lost us in the woods in a neverending search for Baby’s Breath. And always Stevie Nicks, Queen, Bowie or Dylan playing in the background as the soundtrack.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t understand what those songs meant then, it only mattered that as soon as Ma pushed the Space Oddity tape into the car’s radio, I got to spend time with the two people who, despite their (already) explosive fights, stopped long enough to get along and take me on adventures so I would want to make something of myself and explore the world they wanted me to experience but couldn’t afford to show me.
If I were to sum up 2015, it was definitely Moonlight Sonata (1st and 3rd movements) with a dash of Alone Again, Or, a soupçon of All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, and a big, heaping shovelful of Swim and Sleep (Like a Shark). Something like anxious melancholic nostalgia and a longing for something/one I didn’t know I needed until I had a taste of it.
First, here’s a new Auditory Whiplash playlist. It’s about all those times things didn’t quite work out, for whatever reason.
Welcome to my Dopamine Den, where I can revel in my love for minor chords and unnecessary key changes, all of it at the threshold of pain and away from the world.
Baby’s first set-list pickup.
Life would be so much easier if I could just print screen my brain.
As a warning, there are about a million photos in this post. Sorry.
Last week necessitated a trip to the thrift stores. Not only had it been a while, but I was also looking to maybe add a couple of skirts to my wardrobe without having to spend real dollars, and maybe a small shelf or somesuch for my office at home. Needless to say, I walked out with none of those things. Funny how that works.