The three posts that follow are my attempt to define a week in my life.....They can be read in any order. They were written in the reverse order that they appear...

I. Local Landmarks or Life Metaphor

II. The Tourist Beside Me

III. Last Night There Was a Crack in the Moon or On-line Editing

Colo

Quick frustration.....I cannot make the words and images fit right. "Sometimes I feel like a tourist in my own life (insert photo....all on one line)"

My fingers move across the keyboard and I forgive myself. On-line editing is a bitch. Just like I wonder reading the lyrics how the music really fits. We all hear different music with those words, until we hear the right music...then the song is changed and we hear it together. I am struck that these voices are all around me, yet I am lousy at dialogue.

I hear Simon and Garfunkle playing quietly ....I remember when I used to feel them. The former duo sang "Still Crazy After All These Years" before they reached the middle of their lives.

STILL CRAZY AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

I met my old lover on the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me, I just smiled
And we talked about some old times and we drank ourselves some beer
Still crazy after all these years, still crazy after all these years

I'm not the kind of man who tends to socialize
I seem to lean on old familiar ways
And I ain't no fool for love songs that whisper in my ears
Still crazy after all these years, still crazy after all these years

Four in the morning, I'm tapped up and yawning, longing my life away
I never worry, why should I, oh yeah, it's all gonna fade

Now I sit by my window and I watch the cars roll by
I fear I'll do some damage one fine day
But I would not be convicted by a jury of my peers
Still crazy after all these years
Still crazy, still crazy, still crazy after all these years


Middle child...middle class....middle school...mid life....My God so much of life is in the middle. I would rather analyze brilliant beginnings and envision eternal endings....I would be lost in the middle. My baby is lost in the middle.

Perhaps I am a tourist in my own life. It may be through a distance with a magnifying glass I choose to view things...Maybe the stalker is really a stalker. Maybe revenge is still sweet to the taste and warm to the touch. I would rather be at a carnival before closing time. Instead I sit in Perez Park waiting for answers that will not be forthcoming today.....Did they see the Titanic in Atlantis, or was that view backwards and forwards obstructed by the volcano? Was the volcano an iceberg transformed by the ages? Hot and cold running lives.

Better luck next time or do I try to get it right? "Now boarding for the Alamo!" Dazey says the Spiral Path does not include that stop. I think instead I will travel to the desert and let the sun warm the darkness in the corners of my soul. Approaching Spring fever, I guess. John will be here soon. No questions to trouble me. Boundaries and transparent views to other fun filled vacations. Linda took that roadtrip.
Sometimes I feel like a tourist in my own life.

I went down to Perez Park and sat upon the ancient bench
The sun beat through the chill and I was touched by a moment's peace.

Spring is born early this year. And just as hope touched my life darkness enveloped it. Haphazard needs no definition. Fear born in local landmarks of my childhood........I am defiant....This is not my Alamo.....This is only a metaphor....like Shakespeare said..."All the world's a stage"

Distracting myself with memories as noises penetrate my solitude.
Selective listening is a life skill. Otherwise the emotions in such a place would pull us through the tunnel. I remember the walls at the Alamo....first cold to the touch then warmed by the voices that never die. All those souls still move somewhere.....maybe the tourist beside me owns one.



Colo

I have rarely posted lyrics, but I really like these....Colo

We're coming to the edge
Running on the water
Coming through the fog
Your sons and daughters

Let the river run
Let all the dreamers
Wake the nation
Come, the New Jerusalem

Silver cities rise
The morning lights
The streets that lead them
And sirens call them on with a song

It's asking for the taking
Trembling, shaking
Oh, my heart is aching

We're coming to the edge
Running on the water
Coming through the fog
Your sons and daughters

We the great and small stand on a star
And blaze a trail of desire
Through the dark'ning dawn

It's asking for the taking
Come run with me now
The sky is the color of blue
You've never even seen
In the eyes of your lover

Oh, my heart is aching
We're coming to the edge
Running on the water
Coming through the fog
Your sons and daughters

It's asking for the taking
Trembling, shaking
Oh, my heart is aching
We're coming to the edge
Running on the water
Coming through the fog
Your sons and daughters

Let the river run
Let all the dreamers
Wake the nation
Come, the New Jerusalem