Ross Dale Kelly (penname dragon) February 2008 tributes to “Barenaked Ladies”

     Okay, this is my life as I see it. Really, it is far more complicated, but to start somewhere, I’ll give you the present, as it is, much like one of those middle birthdays where the family pays you tribute, and you wish that you could show a bit more emotion in order to pay thanks, but you hardly feel older.
      Anyway, I am going to dig into a few of the scattered parts of my life which seem to compose the whole, which is still very much lacking. The story is probably the perfect length for me to describe at the moment, since it is full of loose ends and things which I can only hope to leave wide open for room to blossom later. It still seems to me like the petty hopes and fears of a young man, but then again, I guess I could have just as much to lose as anyone else.
      So I am sitting here, typing my story, at my desk; my whole life is accessible before my eyes. Right now, there is little more than a dusty bubble of light, swallowed by the darkness of the cool wooden room. The black lamp looks distinct in my periphery, shining light mostly on the left side of the fake wooden desk, with this laptop computer shining a little more easy light toward my face.
      My hair is above my eyes, glinting in the light, but mostly hiding my face from anything that may be after it. I also see my eyelashes and hands moving asynchronistically with the words that I type on the screen. This must be getting dull, but I assure that the colors are about to take a bit more shape, as my mind starts to grasp little pieces of memory and time from its own recess, flowing a little bit with music jumping from two small antiquated white speakers riddled with black holes. Both the music and my own mind have little left to do but to start the story and move into the past.

       As I danced, the time stood still as it can, little sparks of white glow filled my mind in the dark, drafty, yet warm room. In the words of the song, I am already thinking marriage. I wonder how you slept, and how you dressed and how I would see you on Monday like before.
      That is, if you happened to be her.
       It doesn’t matter anyway, that moment was less than I expected, but still the excitement carried on as I wrote down on scraps of paper what had happened, and left them out, and slept.
       I don’t suppose this could really be the same Monday, but I never had any idea as to the results of the winter night. I had to start over again, because this was always a new age. Although nobody knew my name, the time drags me forward to more bleak days as these glances move away from my day to day life, and into my own memory.

       However confused I became in the resulting moments away from emotion, I still grew as an individual, containing strength by holding my barrier at the low speed envisionment I felt I deserved. Much moved in and out, like phantoms which could not affect me, only leaving their residue of salty compound incapable of getting to my warm exterior life. I felt it was all so funny, that maybe I did not even need to use my own thought; I might as well use whatever seemed to affiliate itself with itself.
       This did not prove to be a mistake initially, or in the end, though in retrospect, I realized that I lost myself most thoroughly, enclosed in memory of color and rectitude.
       I did find result as the world clashed against itself in almost one moment. It took little more than one cold forward fist to move through and enjoy the humor in the situation.

      Passing through the cold disillusion of other’s antiquated, and, outdated, thoughts proves to be a task that I assume most have trouble passing through. Although, I do think that the even the meek pass right through with time. People return to their rhythm and color as they do.
      I, however, was more concerned with whether I had really moved through, and whether the lesson had been taught on either side. Was my color my own, or was I part of a failing soap opera, ready to implode?
      It seems that in retrospect it looks more like the latter, but I can reanalyze my thought and it all seemed to be full of color and joy at the moment, for the most part. I was always in control in my own mind, but I look back and think now, “Why should I let the world determine my placement?” It does not seem that passivity will work in all situations. So, here I go with the story, ready to move forward how I have been since my so called “enlightenment”.

      My mind is now like a temple or pyramid from ancient Egypt. I regulate that which I must keep in color, and that which I must blow away with black and white indifference, so that I do not even concern myself with its “negligated” effects. I am not one to preach religion to anyone, but I do see now, in my own mind, the difference between the wander and the lion.
      The wander may leave a man in trouble, but also may leave him strong, having learned how to play the court as the fool. The fool is always genuine, and has nothing to hide. Unfortunately, this is how I experienced my coming of age. I wandered, both against the flowing waves and with them, letting them crash on everything around me, leaving no one able to hold my path, just as no two atoms seem to bond forevermore.
      My only thought of comfort, before I attempt again to move forward, is that I know that humor comes from the memory of my own attack, as I clearly walked out of trouble unscathed, unreceptive of anything, even that which I accepted as truth.
      Now, I know the wander plays a dangerous game. Will he end upside-down, in a wave, laughing, but not truly understanding? I can only allow that which moves me forward in life now. If I can not even give something away, why would I sell it?
      I would like to move on, forces in their part. I trust my memory and my mind, but utmost of all, my emotions. My emotions always follow that which I trust. In a cloud of uncertainty, I now look back and say, I do not know why I feel how I feel.
       I can’t help but wonder if all of this is real. Anyway, here I am, looking through my eyes at the white and blue screen, filled with black tiles. It is something serene, but you, you are the last thing on my mind. You are the last thing on my mind.