I remember the pictures I posted (my blog was black back then and I found pictures with black backgrounds so that the image stood out), I remember the tune for the day, I remember where I was and what I was doing, what was supposed to be happening and what wasn't supposed to be happening. . .
last night I actually chose to watch the tv - unusual for me, I don't often - but I'd seen a trailer for something on a channel I didn't even know existed and ended up watching this fascinating programme about Joe Jackson, called The Soundtrack to My Life, it is one of a series and I must remember to watch the others
he was being interviewed by who - for him - must have been the most irritating woman, but he remained calm and delightful throughout; he used words like "dignity, mysterious, tasty, intangible, ethereal, neurotic": a man after my own heart if ever there was one
words are so important, yesterday last year I remember using the word "stuff" and adding "it's such a great word, stuff", and it is - it could cover a multitude of sins. . .
but a word can't cover up your sins, can it
sometimes, despite Elton's protestations, sorry is the easiest word and yet makes up for nothing
and what is the nature of "sin" anyhow? this time last year, I didn't think I was - sinning - I was trying so hard to keep up, whilst everyone around me danced as hard as they could. . . and I was dancing: fast, slow, whatever rhythm was required
and then a different beat came into the mix
that of a heart
hearts have a lot to answer for, in the big scheme of things - as do heads, as I have found to my cost again recently - and every now and again, once in a lifetime perhaps, hearing the beat of a heart in someone else's chest can elicit a response from your own or cause you to realise that your own was beating to the same tune all along only you didn't realise (that's the head bit, the not realising)
I was just about to write: "it is a shame that the beating of a heart can cause. . ."
and I realised that is nonsense: a heart beats, and that is the end of it; it is the head which has a lot to answer for, it if chooses to do something - or not - about the beat (even if it is only offer an interpretation)
and Joe Jackson was trying to describe how some artists live on the edge of their insecurities and their paranoia about whether they will ever be able to write that next line, that next set of lyrics, that next melody, that next song, which will either catapult them back up the charts or bring them artistic solace (well, I added the last two phrases, but I'm sure that's what the good man intended to say) and that struck a chord with me
I've been living on the edge of insecurity and paranoia - wondering if my heart will ever beat again
and yesterday, bizarrely - and I was going to tell you this anyway - I had a very strange feeling somewhere high up in my chest (not anxiety, which I feel in the pit of my stomach) and I realised after a moment or two wondering what it was, that it was happiness
it was only fleeting and it faded,
but I felt it
I wasn't blinded by the light at the end of the tunnel, I think that's a long way off (either that, or I'm not in a tunnel at all and there is a set of light switches somewhere that I know nothing about) but it was curious to have this little feeling inside me
one I haven't felt for a long time
one I certainly wasn't feeling this time last year
and right now it has nothing to do with anyone else's heart