the last star

i found this on my phone last night. i had forgotten that i recorded it a couple months ago haphazardly while atop Mt. Hood at Timberline Lodge. i was there for a neuroscience retreat and, in my usual fashion, i snuck away from the social proceedings of the evening and stumbled upon a lonely piano, calling me with a muted, shy wink. i set my phone down and tinkered with some notes. this is the hazy result.

it's interesting how these unfinished, raw and unpolished recordings i've been posting here lately have essentially become a messy journal of auditory scribbles // with my ennui doodled in the margins_

[stream only]

of dust and sand

Youth is arrogance; aged is remorse. At thirty-five years of age, I feel stuck between both. Who am I to reject love when I've tried so many times and failed? Who am i to accept love when I know it's imperfect? But who am I to expect perfection? And who am I to settle for something that I know can be so much better? Rather than being arrogant or remorseful, I am both -- always compressed by the urgency of time, trying to hurry, knowing I'm slowly turning to dust; yet, trying to admire the neglected surface upon which I fall.

Alas, perhaps I have no surface to land. I'm but a speck of dust forever falling among the cavernous atmosphere of recycled space; I'm hurrying only to orbit the same space and time -- not too dissimilar from our hazy blue planet, forever falling among the void of wars, peace, famine, and feast. We are both arrogant and remorseful. If only we could choose one misery the others might seem like happiness. And I might see remorse as evidence of a conquered arrogance_

toronto, ontario

things are mostly the same; things are slightly different, just across the border, where i'm able to let go // just a little / more_