an email exerpt, "Idle Moments"

Wednesday, Feb. 18, 2004 3:58 am

[it's 4 am. I sent this out about 30 minutes ago. As of midnight, I'm now 24 years old]

I just got off the phone with you, and I'm listening to one of those jazz records. A tune called "Idle Moments" by Grant Green. It's slow and sweet. Sultry like a film noir misty street. Like a bar at 3 am. I can hear lazy cigarette smoke drifting into the air. A person alone at a bar, leaning over it as though to pin it down, and never let it get away from them, because everything else in their life got away. I hear dim yellow lights hanging over top the bar like bad memories left out on the clothes line, to air dry. I hear the clink of martini glasses being cleaned by the bartender. It's one of those songs, that sings softly about the way we sometimes wish life went, all the while, running its fingers through our hair, and whispering like a lover in our ears; "But this is the way it all went down, baby", and in the end, you know there's not a damn thing that can be done to change that. It's one of those tunes, those gentle tunes, that says; "I know you during those idle moments, because I'm there with you, and sweetheart, you're listening to yourself right now." And it's just long enough for it to slip into the background of your idle moment, and it's just long enough to drag you back to it near the end, to make sure you didn't forget that you were listening to yourself, watching yourself, idle and alone, listening to your idle moment. And it's one of those jazz tunes, one of those slow and tip-toeing tunes, that makes us think; "I kinda wish you were here with me during this idle moment, because this idle moment is all about how you're not here."

and it makes you think. and it makes you smile. and it makes you frown. and it makes you remember. and it makes you wish you did one small thing differently 3 years ago. and it whispers; "but this is the way it all went down, baby". and so you adhere to the lonely night mantra; "one more drink, one more smoke, one more memory". and then you think about someone who makes you smile, and then the song pulls you back in as it's ending, runs it's hands through your hair, kisses you on the forehead, and says good night.


.new .older .profile .email .guestbook .soundtrack :: defect

dland exuant omnes your voice drifts away into lost binary alleyways it echoes photography

last five:
A Winter Letter - Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2007
almost but not quite - Wednesday, Mar. 22, 2006
rural times, blue skies. it feels so warm over my hair - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005
smiles and gone - Monday, Feb. 07, 2005
I caught my love in North Carolina - Monday, Nov. 29, 2004

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