At times I feel like I am rambling like some confused old fool with Alzheimer's, I have said nothing of any substance, and shared nothing of significance.
Actually there is a term in psychology "endophasia" which loosely describes "inside voice", the inaudible vocalization of thoughts in one's head.
I had always wondered if I was the only one, but if it's typed or written for others to read then it is not madness. Is it?.
Much has been said about “internal monologues” or “intrapersonal communication”.
What do I know, I never did a psychology degree I never knew what mental was or how it applied to me, maybe this is the conundrum that is ageing.
A continuous bounce between "aha" & "wtf" moments, each discovery feels like an epiphany because so much has been... misfiled, that all is indeed... a revelation.
I thought when I got some new glasses that there would be a Clark Kent charm about them, as well as some misconception of assumed intelligence. For me it's the combo deal I got, with the greying temples and wild sprouting nose and ear hairs.
The eyebrows have become the abandoned sections where the houses burnt down, sub-prime, weeds popping up everywhere.
It seems the airbrushed version of myself in my resplendent prime was a figment of an over confident imagination.
Its glory days long past, The mirror doesn’t lie and nor does the camera, with that action shot a friend snapped, loaded on to facebook/instagram and tagged for all to see, a cruel reminder that I have let myself go.
The imperfections, the cracks in the surface, the double chins, bloodshot eyes all in glorious 10 megapixel detail. Vanity is such a wasted sin.
The landscape changes, appearances mutate and time will gobble us all.
I cherish the thought, as cheerful as it is not.
I refer you to the japanese phrase “Mono No Aware “
Defined literally as "the pathos of things", and also translated as "an empathy toward things", or "a sensitivity to ephemera", is a Japanese idiom for the awareness of impermanence (無常, mujō), or transience of things, and both a transient gentle sadness (or wistfulness) at their passing as well as a longer, deeper gentle sadness about this state being the reality of life.
Musically, I refer you to the “Caretaker - Everywhere at the end of time”.
It’s a magnum opus exploring amnesia and the descent into dementia.
It’s a listening experience that requires quite a commitment.
Perhaps less so daunting, might be the classic track from Tall Dwarfs I've left memories behind from Hello Cruel World, or Becoming something other from the Chris Knox album Beat.
Jolly good then. So today's collection has an “Ageist” bent.
1. word on the street an old timer an old rhymer a chimer of thoughts he mutters and splutters looks back and reports who says what he thinks like you ought to know about this and that and this so and so and whatever it is that catches his eye, that you should consider and proceeds to say why because clearly there is angle he wants you to see that you may have missed and dismissed casually and like a grumpy old man shouting get off my land he stands on the corner waving his hand and pointing at you with such urgent intention and shouts “why the fuck aren't you all paying attention” 2. Post-it a small reminder it may have been important worth remembering 3. on the vine Lamentations on inevitable change though the passage of time, where is the blossom of hope upon the wilting vine? bemoan the rate of evolution and your relevance will fade and darkness is all that you will see if you’re busy throwing shade where are the seeds of new ideas to sprout within the dew where's the sunshine within your thoughts creating something new 4. Unfolding Object. removing the note he wrote for himself from the pocket of his jeans with no recollection of what it contained what the scribble he’d written means it may’ve been important an idea he had courted some such epiphany but for today what it was trying to say was an absolute mystery there was no thread in what he had read but he decided to keep because it may have been meant for another time so he folded it back as it was and transferred to the pocket of his shirt where it will remain until next laundry day checking pockets he will read it all again. 5. A lack of vision where the hell are my glasses can you help me look please? they are not with my wallet my phone or my keys they are not on my desk they are not in the car they are not on my head where they usually are they are not under the coach or on the sitting room chair have you seen my glasses? they can not disappear… have you seen them and moved them and put them somewhere? 6. A fall in the twilight... His logic was flawed and his curmudgeon views were unpopular, monocular his somewhat misogynistic narrative was inconsistent with those of the community and without impunity he was shunned, berated and cast asunder, and left to wonder What did I do wrong? Oblivious to the fact that decency had been refined, redefined, and the world had moved along In reflection of a lifetime of past achievement and accomplishments, generosity of heart and deed, his popularity diminished and sunk by media decreed All for the sake of poorly chosen words guilty of being transgressive and not revising outdated notions for not being more progressive As the media feeds on public opinion and making sure it’s spread the thing that lingers in the mind of most is the last thing that he said… 7. Smile and Nod. I picked up on a disturbing trend over this past weekend. Middle aged women calling me "Hun". Like, oh thanks Hun, what can I get you Hun?, I'm not sure when it begun exactly, but now, more so matter of fact see, it seems I’ve become a 5th century warlike Asiatic nomad. yes I know, it's not that bad being Hun is short for honey but that's nowhere near as funny nor nearly as endearing I think that you will find as being labelled as some sticky shit from out a bees behind Yes It could be worse I guess. more or less, I confess when ladies in the retail aisles, with almond icing made up smiles and heavily doused in lavender spray would say... love. There we go, love. Is that a regular or large one, love?. At least that had a maternal ring to it A smothery motherly thing to it still a little weird perhaps a little loonier if it happens to be said by a Miss who is my junior. Somewhat sillier All a little too familiar …. Don’t ya think, I do, oh my god What do I do, just smile and nod, just smile and nod…. And another thing that comes to mind and because the boundaries are undefined I did this once and regretted it so I’d like to know the etiquette for emoji decorated sentences for hearts and kisses in messages, What is that? It’s a little scary I feel like it is a trap, for the unwary. Is it? kind of taking the piss, is it ? Simply OH I LOVE THIS, like L O L or O M G I mean what’s this supposed to mean to me? have we shared enough personal information that we can complicate our communication and express ourselves in a more loving way Or is it just some exaggerated display of emotional excitement. With nothing more to be read into it on what it might’ve meant? From those who deal with strangers Or from a known workplace associate Maybe I’m OVERTHINKING THIS And the endearment is appropriate No wonder I’m unsure on this & I’ve taken it to extremes How about we switch it up a bit & talk about... the use of fucken memes 8. the long goodbye we live such cluttered lives he muttered into the microphone in an empty room all alone there is no one listening no one there to hear no one there to lend an ear the echo reverberated throughout the room soon there would be there should be someone there to hear what he had to say but not today they were away uncluttering unpacking unravelling and grappling to put their things away. shoeboxes full of little notes they wrote of quotes they spoke jokes they heard from friendly folk prayers for where they still held hope filing systems of this and that the stuff that matters the chits of chatter so the memories remain retained in the brain should they ever need to be recalled again to be scrutinised and prioritised was it truth was it lies what should be kept from prying eyes a chapter book of the story thus far of things that make you who you are without realising… that each time we weep the moisture seeps into the pages and like paper mache it sets to dry like concrete or clay pages never to be turned again stuck together as they became blocks of trapped packed thoughts stacked to create a wall of no recall blocked with no access at all to the memories hidden within them behind them until an old photo you go to seems vaguely familiar a vignette and yet you forget what you remember, but then forgot what it was you were going to say Where was that? when? who was that friend it had all slipped away looking down with a frown it’s how we all age even now as you read this, you are losing a page in quiet resignation he switched off the mike walked off the stage and into the night 9. To the T. memories they tend to slowly dissolve into time like the fading black T shirt I left out on the line weathered old pegs became brittle and snapped the shirt dropped in the garden it no longer flapped in amongst the weeds in the greenery in a dark dank corner of my scenery there in the sod to break down and go rotten returning to the earth to become the forgotten until one day when looking out the backdoor I saw the state of my yard and could stand it no more I realized it was something I had to address with gusto and enthusiasm I cleaned up that mess trimming back vines from where they were growing clearing away the rubbish from lawns that need mowing but the blades stopped spinning the mower came to a halt flipping it over to untangle and find what's at fault all ripped up in pieces lying there in the dirt the threadbare remains of my old faded shirt A merchandise purchase from a gig back in time a festival in my youth at my peak and my prime so I put on the record and turned up the sound I was taken right back to that memory I found I guess in the end what I'm really trying to say I can mow lawns any old day.