Everything looks promising. Everything looks bright on the road to come. But it doesn’t mean anything to do it all alone. Success hasn’t got a meaning if you can’t share it with those you care about. My soul is right next to the blues section but no one shops there. Yeah it’s my birthday, and i’ve got birthday wishes up the arse, but my sole birthday wish isn’t coming true. I hear happy birthdays along with the plucked high notes of a guitar playing a little nostalgic tune. This is a day of joy, and celebration but it’s feeling more like a wake for my insides.
My birthday cake and candles are replaced by an ashtray with an equal number of cigarettes, and I’ve eaten a slice of it. Festive lights and laughs drowned out by Radiohead’s OK Computer, and I’m using fastfood napkins as Kleenex. I feel colder today than any day during the winter even with my vintage brown ski jacket. No warm hugs and bottomless bottles of wine, just that sore pain you get in the back of your neck from trying to muffle yourself from crying too loudly. It is Winter and Autumn rolled into a bat that beats me unconscious. I want the Summer and Spring, but Jagger says, I can’t always get what I want.
I’d be lying if I said I knew my happy birthday song was going to be sung by Thom Yorke, He’s great for virtually every other day of the week, excluding Christmas, but his words and voice seem to know me best right now.
Some people never get over ‘nam, and some people never forget the night Chicago died; this is one of those delights.