Perhaps I'm just getting older or maybe its the Spring that instills an instinctual "cleansing." Or maybe its guilt. Whatever form it may take its my worst enemy and my best friend, my lover and the one that beats me down, my advocate and my critic. I don't mourn it, I celebrate it. It tells me that its time to grow up a little more, not to put away the toys, but find a new way to play with them. It tells me that what's working now won't work tomorrow. It gives me an answer to which I must find the question. And like an angel with the face of a devil it hums a forgotten melody. Forgotten not my loss of memory, but as a service to those who would rather try to save it.
Listen to the Lemonmellow(s)
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Some things are never sweeter than the first time you try them. An oversized cookie. Sex. Inhaling helium so that you talk in the weird/creepy voice. You know, the things that make life worth living. Yeah, some things are still as fun as that first experience, but other things... they leave a bitter taste. Now this may sound like a negative post, but its not. Its a memorial to all those first times, those experience that shuffle in the mind. Hypnotic hustlers of memory.
Perhaps I'm just getting older or maybe its the Spring that instills an instinctual "cleansing." Or maybe its guilt. Whatever form it may take its my worst enemy and my best friend, my lover and the one that beats me down, my advocate and my critic. I don't mourn it, I celebrate it. It tells me that its time to grow up a little more, not to put away the toys, but find a new way to play with them. It tells me that what's working now won't work tomorrow. It gives me an answer to which I must find the question. And like an angel with the face of a devil it hums a forgotten melody. Forgotten not my loss of memory, but as a service to those who would rather try to save it.
Perhaps I'm just getting older or maybe its the Spring that instills an instinctual "cleansing." Or maybe its guilt. Whatever form it may take its my worst enemy and my best friend, my lover and the one that beats me down, my advocate and my critic. I don't mourn it, I celebrate it. It tells me that its time to grow up a little more, not to put away the toys, but find a new way to play with them. It tells me that what's working now won't work tomorrow. It gives me an answer to which I must find the question. And like an angel with the face of a devil it hums a forgotten melody. Forgotten not my loss of memory, but as a service to those who would rather try to save it.
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