Even when I was a little boy. They said I was born with "old eyes;" a little man. Indians are weird like that, but they must be right.
And there's this moment of brilliant melancholy perfection when I find a new one that stops everything and leaves me hanging dead in the narrative and emotional push.
There's just something about a song that makes you want to stop everything and just lay on the floor. One that brings you down, yanks you on some essential level to a place so deep and well covered. Some kind of place so cold and lonely that it might as well be buried under the highway grading and the sidewalks. Gear adrift on the sea of consciousness.
It's a safe place. One of your own founding that you carry in an old shirt pocket or buried in the corner of an old wallet. Somewhere you can go and sift through the rubble and detritus of all those things and faces that you gripped onto and let swaddle you, yet slipped clean away somehow. How did it happen and where did it go?
If it's a sin to be sad, I'll give up sainthood to indulge now and again.
When you leave me, it breaks me like a bone
But it's never as bad as when you come home
Thought so much about suicide
Parts of me have already died
Lonely -- baby i'm not lonely
Baby i'm not -- i've got my imaginary friends
Happy -- baby i'm so happy
Baby i'm so -- i've got my imaginary friends
And if you don't love me, would you please pretend?
Old 97's - Lonely Holiday