I’m standing (not now, of course, but the present tense seems most appropriate) in front of the alcohol. The booze section of the local grocery store. All sorts of beer behind and semi-fancy wine in front of me. My attempt at exuding an air of mercurial personality is failing. Deep down, I’m still me and am befuddled by alcohol. I can imagine myself picking up a bottle of MD 20/20 and popping the cap and drinking it there in the aisle, but what would that prove? The only warmth the alcohol could bring is that of confirmation: I’m seeing myself more and more as a failure, and thus I have accepted my status in life.
I attempted to fill this chasm in my heart with greed. I attempted to fill it with affection. I attempted to fill it up with whatever I can get a hold of. And all I can think of is her. And not the her I should be thinking of. Not the her whose indifference toward me of late has left me bruised and beaten. Not the her who would have me a whim. The her that I… My existence is just a that. I exist to her as foreground. Or background. Or a footnote. And while my dreams are still of her–the her I should be thinking of, the one who comes to me like a friend and lures me with affection only to drop me, knowing I’ll come running back for more–my waking thoughts of are this other her. This anonymous. This vagrant sleeping on the park bench of my mind. The her who causes me to pour out awkward metaphors and similes.
Last night, I compiled my first “mixed tape” CD in years. Angela’s to blame for that one, by the way. I forgot how much work goes into making one of these suckers. “Peripetia” (an accidental misspelling of Peripeteia, but after the third printing of the playlist, I gave up and left it) took me five or six hours of listening to music nonstop finding the right songs that fit in with both feeling and flowed into each other. And because I stamped the track list with a coffee stain (obviously, not a real one), the only person who gets a copy of this one was Angela (other than me, I mean, it was my hard work). I spent all day at work listening to this while shelving. I’m listening to it now as I’m typing this (playlist, not the CD, because homie, sadly, owns an iPod).
Whenever I made one of these CDs in the past–whenever I was serious, and not just making something to play while fucking on a half pipe–a story must be conveyed. With a title like “Peripetia” (in which peripeteia means the “sudden change,” the plot twist),I wanted to make the soundtrack to a fictional falling-out-of-and-back-in love story. And not necessarily with the same person. Of course not. what sort of twisted love story is that? Addiction was needed, because how else can love be described. The CD starts off with Blood Red Shoes‘ “It’s Getting Boring by the Sea” and ends with “As You Are” by Garfunkel and Oates. So faster, slightly upbeat songs and flowing into slower, sentimental lyrics.
Not all the songs I wanted made it, though. They either didn’t flow with music, or they didn’t fit lyrically. Music by Tim Minchin (too funny, or too Christmas-y), Dirt Bike Annie (none of the songs fit), and Innerpartysystem (too dance-y) didn’t make it. Perhaps a sequel is in the works?