Wild Strawberries

You can search all you want for a new song.

But sometimes the song you were looking for finds you.  I’m not talking about practical searches for hip new releases or popular blogs or Spotify or the New Daft Punk.

Oddly enough those routes often fail, don’t they? You click your way through a whole album and get that look on your face, not a frown but unsound.

And then it comes. A week or two later, two months later.

I’m talking about that one song or two that drives you nuts. And then you play it again and it drives you nuts again.

You try it the next day, same thing happens.  Why does it still contain power…

Then comes a week of bliss, at the cost of nothing.

What’s does it cost you, when all that music rocks your days, driving around with heaping piles of bliss, or that little song hangs with you at work, that doesn’t let you drift to far into the cosmos.

K. So the two songs I’ll list may be the furthest from anything you like or want or makes you happy.

One: Rilo Kiley’s Wires and Waves

Two: Blind Pilot’s The Story I heard.

So listen, it doesn’t matter what my songs are but it matters to me what yours are.

Anyway, my fixation is on why these songs find us.  Why we can’t reach out and grab them.

And why has the music found me?

Its more than just a good mood.  If I had to describe myself right now I’d say I’m changing.  I feel it happening, its like whether I like it or not the world is pulling me out of the swamps.  It doesn’t want me there.

And maybe I can reach back and grab the best parts of who I was.  And maybe I just have to learn to have a mind like the light of the sun.

And I’m ok with that.  What shady thoughts have directed such cumbersome darkness into my head and clouded my heart.

And, what love has decided she wants me and wants me whole, and won’t settle for any one part without the absolute best I have to offer.

What love, (find love), has stopped me, kind of like my little cat when she’s walking away from me, down the hall, and I call her name.  And that’s love too. Metaphor aside, my animal and I share the same mental space.

And now a lover has decided to give me a piece of her pie, her arms wrapped tightly around me, and all my evil has pouty face, and Christ has a basket full of strawberries, and Mary’s banging on pots and pans making eyes at Blake in the garden.

When I met this girl, I asked her where her bad thoughts are.  She said when she has a negative thought, she stops and thinks about better things.

Since when do we let the heavy weights take our voice from the world.

So I take a strawberry and I’ll try to think about what I can become.

And I replay that song.

I picked a Wild Strawberry.

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