"Like a calm before our storm, a tempting stillness, Ry Cooder on a slide guitar; a hundred meals I can’t cook, a thousand hours our ears aren’t within earshot of the ones we love, the needle drops on a different record every night.
I woke up abruptly today because the AV guy was here to hang my TV. I don’t trust myself as far as anyone can throw me when it comes to installations like these. Surely I would have come back from a trip to the grocery, a quick sprint downstairs to grab the mail, and the television would have collapsed from my wall and high-definition shards across my floor. Quick pot of coffee and I realize, shit, I have to pack for my drive out this evening. I have to pack for three weeks. And while I’m at it, I ought to pack until 2013.
A month full of flight times and hotel confirmations. Six months of life reduced to a spreadsheet; affirmation that time, now, is only just a string of data to be read and fed by others. Our job isn’t anything special, a series of ones and zeros like that of any other, but a job, nonetheless, at a time when they seem to be tempting fate and are harder than ever to come by for those looking.
The tempo picks up in a flurry of fast fingers, nylon dancing along thin metal ropes. I hold my eyes open and take another shot of caffeine, and just like that, four boys are on the road once more."
I woke up abruptly today because the AV guy was here to hang my TV. I don’t trust myself as far as anyone can throw me when it comes to installations like these. Surely I would have come back from a trip to the grocery, a quick sprint downstairs to grab the mail, and the television would have collapsed from my wall and high-definition shards across my floor. Quick pot of coffee and I realize, shit, I have to pack for my drive out this evening. I have to pack for three weeks. And while I’m at it, I ought to pack until 2013.
A month full of flight times and hotel confirmations. Six months of life reduced to a spreadsheet; affirmation that time, now, is only just a string of data to be read and fed by others. Our job isn’t anything special, a series of ones and zeros like that of any other, but a job, nonetheless, at a time when they seem to be tempting fate and are harder than ever to come by for those looking.
The tempo picks up in a flurry of fast fingers, nylon dancing along thin metal ropes. I hold my eyes open and take another shot of caffeine, and just like that, four boys are on the road once more."
— David Welsh, for VH1’s Posted blog series (via ifyouonlyrememberitonce)
(Source: sparksfly-upward)
