I went to see Thurston Moore tonight at the Music Hall Of Williamsburg. While I was watching him and his band play (Sidenote, they were amazing. There was a harp. A HARP. And a violin. Two guitarists, and drums. It was fantastic.) I kind of went off on a thought tangent. (Suffice to say that this happens often. I spend at least half of any given day within the vivid chambers of imagination and contemplation inside my head.)
As I watched him play, I realized something. He’s gotten older. He’s been strumming a guitar for longer than I’ve been alive. Time has moved along. I guess it takes standing in a room full of people, watching a mellow guitarist singing symbols of his past, for me to realize my own. Without me noticing, the lines of experience have formed on my hands and face. I’ve scarred my hands in new places. I’ve shed my aggressive, reckless teenage personality, for a new, softer, more calculating one. Being a teenager was a part of my life that I never thought would end. It never really occurred to me that one day, things would be vastly different. Change scares the ever-loving-fuck out of me. There’s a huge unpredictability margin, and it stresses me out. It always has.
The fact that the world is not full of ageless, immortal beings, ever adamantly maintaining their consistency is a bucket of mixed emotions. On the one, I wish that things would stay the same. I wish that I could keep going to the same diner, with my best friends, and bullshit around in limbo forever. I don’t think I mind it, as long as the diner kept making good Reubens. But, it can’t go that way. I don’t think anyone would cherish time if it did.
I promised myself when I was young that I would never let my expiration date hang over me. That no matter what, I would always keep looking forward, and up. I’ve failed in that regard, but I’m not upset. Watching the show, it all kind of flooded my head at once.
Somehow, without even noticing. I may have just grown up.
Just kidding, LOL HORSE COCKS.