In the quiet, so big, so loud
It’s fading. The voices of giants are thinning to a whisper. Their anthems, their words, provoking thoughts drifting into darkness.
Life has gotten gray–brown, black type and beige thoughts. Professionalism and politeness. Legal issues and lost wars. Because I stopped reading and stopped listening. I’ve been outside and I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve shunned the giants, left them sealed up and sitting in dust. I haven’t turned it up to 11 and haven’t closed my eyes in a long time.
I turned it on again. Had to turn it up until it filled the apartment with gold and silver. Because the sound is big and grand, and the words, even bigger–not hard words, but big thoughts, lines bloated with precisely articulated emotions, designed to fasten to each other at just the perfect synapse. I forgot how powerful the music can be. I forgot how it makes you think, makes you open up books, makes you fall in love with life all over again, its many spikes and spoils.
Except for Friday night’s riots and a long road bike ride yesterday in the rain on the Trek, spent most of the weekend inside the apartment that over looks The Sound. It’s raining on all three mountains–torture. And Billy is in Portland. Sat down to do some creative writing and realized that I forgot how. The black type articles for work don’t have much room color, save for something “tongue-in-cheek.”
So, the Christmas lights came on, the Cedar Pine candle is lit and the music is exploding: Snow Patrol (Eyes Open)–loud, 11, pressing against all four white walls of the apartment: Chasing Cars, Shut Your Eyes, each with a powerful crescendo, each with embracing ribbons of lyrics.
Here are snippets:
“For once I want to be the car crash
Not always just the traffic jam
Hit me hard enough to wake me
And lead me wild to your dark roads…”
“Shut your eyes and think of somewhere
Somewhere cold and caked in snow
By the fire we break the quiet
Learn to wear each other well…
Shut your eyes, I spin the big chair
And you’ll feel dizzy, light, and free
And falling gently on the cushion
You can come and sing to me.”
I feel renewed again in inspiration. It’s time to head back outside to let the lyrics seep into nature’s symphony, to ride and write. But Snow Patrol, where is the snow?…