My father and I talked about politics and the world and about our water pipes. We had genuinely interesting conversations that no one observed both taking part in the problem solving. Things are much easier to figure out when there are less people contributing to the think tank. I guess this is why I don’t trust any voting system, but I'm no terrorist, I like pork chops and baseball. We knew that we knew something, and to be sure, I can say that if anyone else were to try to drop in, they would never be able to make up for the years of dialogue between my father and I. That’s the way the world works sometimes, everyone wants to be elders but only about five people you’ve never heard of have the smarts to. I don’t mind being young and he doesn’t mind admitting I’m right sometimes, we’re neither of us elders.
We talk for a while and my brother wakes up around eleven with his hair in every direction like a rose bloom. They go into the living room to watch a movie and I go outside. The wind is blowing just right and the sun is shining as hard as one would wish it to, there are enough clouds to nab the right amount of sunlight before it hits the ground. I always appreciate how the clouds can look surreal against the sky when there are just a few floating around, how they turn pink during the day if you look at them right, and then you take in the whole picture and it grows dada legs.
And this is the morning in its melancholia and beauty. I’m living the way those two feelings exist together, so much so that they don’t seem right without each other’s compliment. I like the morning and its arc so much that I don’t even long for it after it’s gone.
Then morning is gone, and I do miss it. I miss the clarity and the newness, but alas, morning becomes noon, and then afternoon. I don’t like the afternoon because I get lazy, I might nap or I might play the guitar for a while. It’s frustrating because you can never do anything to its full potential in the afternoon, except napping. I don’t get much done in the afternoon, but today I’m replaying, in my head, different conversations I’ve had. I got stuck in that quest for smart banter and interesting wordplay, which makes quick friends but doesn’t help keep them. So at the risk of sounding pretentious I’ll say that I really do have those conversations. I don’t mimic scenes from movies like most people do when they start playing witty. This makes me inaccessible in ways that are close to people’s hearts. I don’t really lack emotion or passion, I just give off that air. So now I’m stuck in a different kind of illusion.
I accept that everyone is in some illusion or another and you just play along with theirs under the condition that they play along with yours. Life is what you think, before you realize that you’re thinking. After it has been thought, there’s time to rationalize and distill it so that it may be swallowed. Regardless you are who you think you are. Or if you’re a cynic you are who you fool yourself into being.
Or, if you’re a cynic and aware of it, and that awareness hurts, then maybe you are the lump in your throat and you can’t even rationalize swallowing in the first place. How did I get inside myself(?) you ask.
I get a second wind in the evening. I may drink coffee and write a song. The evening is the second best time for lucid thinking, more so than action. I guess that’s because you have the experiences off the day to add to whatever philosophy you’re constructing for yourself. I include myself.
This is important because we are alone when we’re young and that is when the mind is supposed to be the most agile. This is true, so is the fact that we’re alone when we’re older. But in youth you have a small ego still able to conceive. You haven’t slipped off to sleep yet and it doesn’t matter to anyone else what you believe dreams are. So you can just enjoy them.