Tuesday, January 20, 2015

I get paid to share my life on the stage in front of strangers. And these people know me far too well, and that's the danger. ~318 Dreamville Lane

Today was a particular interesting day in Dreamwood. Snow is something I'm quite fond of actually, coming from the north you adopt the snow much like a musician adopts a microphone. I haven't decided if it was too much or too little, instead I decided I would put off saving my driveway from the snow for another day. Today, I would take a risk, the same risk I do every time I step outside of my flat. Does being this paranoid make me conceded? Today, I would let fate decide that, and as it turns out, it did.

When I left home, I didn't have much of a plan. I live just outside of Dreamwood..walking distance, so I just walked. Walking allows me time to think. That's all I do anymore: think. This time I was pondering why it was that I was so frightened of being discovered. I cannot be sure, but I think it has something to do with my music. Even though the legacy of Forrest Whitman will die, and I will surly die, my music won't. It can't. I've put so much of myself into my music: the infrastructure of my mind, the contours of my emotions, all within the lyrics of a song. Its scary. Any person who understands my music well enough essentially understands me, some will know me better than I know myself, and that scares me.

As I was thinking and walking, doing both together, I came across an apartment building. I pass this building everyday on my way into the city and the only thing that was interesting about it was that all the tenants were essentially the entire population of Dreamwood. That's a little less impressive when you consider how small and feeble the city appears. Today the building was radiating just the loudest smell I had ever smelt in this town. I wasn't aware these people were capable of that. I strolled on inside and tried to follow where exactly the smell was coming from. I figured if I could find the smell, I could find the person I could buy from, from time to time. The stairs seemed like the best way to do that. When I got to the second floor I noticed a puddle caused by leaking from the ceiling above it. I'm not proud to admit I paused to catch my breath, I'm not exactly the man I used to be. In my moment of recovery a man... maybe a boy came tip toeing out of the elevator and right into the puddle. It was obvious that we was the cause of the smell which worked out well because I didn't want to climb another set of stairs.

I could tell he was the one because he was so very confused, confused about how the puddle he was standing in got there in a first place. I offered that bit of information, in hopes it would strike up a conversation that would lead me to the herb I went so far out of my way to obtain. I told him it was probably a broken pipe. It takes him a second to recognize where the sound is coming from. Lightweight. He looks up at me with the widest, dumbest grin and asks if he knows me. He was way to faded to realize who I was, today I left my glasses on my night stand, and he was still unable to notice me. I made a mental note of his face and decided I would talk to him when he wasn't talking to himself. It had to have been a conversation between him and his other self because he asked a question, and I think I interrupted before he could answer. I'll apologize when I see him again.

My high could wait. No glasses was not a bright idea. I suppose fate had decided an answer, but she neglected to tell me what it was. Besides, my driveway needed saving, I was feeling heroic having saved that boy from a very confusing afternoon standing in a puddle. I cannot decide if that was a good day. I will put it in the maybe pile for now.

1 comment:

  1. Hey, I wrote about you. You never picked a spot to meet, so I just went ahead. See you tomorrow...