Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Somewhere the synapses certainly got crossed and I'm not sure where amongst the grey matter, the potassium pumps, and the ionic charges were lost my most magical years. Somehow my brain would have me believe that this enchantig, beautiful and transcendent town I call home pales in comparison to what's left in m hypothalamus of a ridiculous fantasy world. All that remains is a jumbled mix early college experiences sprinkled with first real loves, adventurous leaps of faith and winding backwood roads. All thos was somehow sandwiched into the memories of a few short and emotionally charged years. I live under the truest of blues sky in the shade of towering mountains but it's the grey sky's and scraggly, deciduous trees, naked in the mid-winter's white that seek refuge under to in my dreams on the darkest and coldest of nights.

The sunny Santa Monica Beaches only remind me of solitude, of lost celebrities and of long nights alone, hiding from all the things in Los Angeles that wanted to change me. But the tall New York skyline, I-95 through the rainbow of Maine foliage, and that Stamford train track out of Central Station chugging through the dreary, gray afternoon towards Fairfield. Those are my secret places. I go there to hide when sometimes it all seems like too much.

Too much when the cell phone keeps vibrating in my right, front pocket. Too much with The chick next to me watching the faces of the Desperate Housewives on her tiny ipod video screen like moving splotches of dirt. too much when I come home to the red light of the TiVo always recording something that I'll never have time to watch. All the blogs trailing off into infinity. And only a few people listening.

Tonight I'm down in New Hampshire. A basement restaurant with carpeted floors and candle lamps. Tomorrow I'll sit rink-side at the cafe under Rockefeller center, a pretty girl wrapping her scarf around her neck between sips of latte. Next week I'll climb the rocky sides of that stupid little mountain to look out across that dilapidated mill town in southern Maine or ride a bike across the Charles towards the glowing golden dome of MIT.

My brains lives to play stupid tricks and hide in the strangest places.

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