Maybe my ultimate form is a mild headache in the shape of a boy. Maybe I am a quilt of lukewarm humming grey. Maybe I am a reasonably priced vintage guitar amp with the mids rusted into buzz and thrum. Maybe the lows and highs are somebody else’s fucking business. Maybe I am the intersection of antique and just common old. Maybe I sat on my potential until it hatched. Maybe every birth is not a miracle. Maybe what’s impressive is how perfectly unimpressive things can end up. Maybe that in itself is miraculous Maybe, the grey in the painting is what makes the obnoxiously screaming color tolerable in it’s obviousness. Maybe, we wouldn’t know the value of a diamond if 99 percent of coal didn’t stay coal. Maybe somebody has to buy the book at full price. Maybe somebody has to be the audience on a Tuesday. Maybe the best trick the moon ever pulled off was just being there. So we knew that the sun wasn’t dead, just somewhere else more important at the moment.
April 26, 2016