Running. Always chasing white light.

Just watched the video for "Running"* for the fourth time in a row** and this time around within the first few notes I started crying.  I wasn't sure why at first.  It's a beautiful song, and the interplay between Andrew Carroll's gentle voice,  Jessi Williams's lovely aching voice, the driving rhythm, and the haunting "strings"*** are amazing, but that wasn't what made me cry.  And the song's lyrics are very potent and poignant, and the video itself is really cool and unique, but that wasn't it, either.

And then I realized that it was you.  "My" L.A. Woman.****  

Which I should have realized immediately, since I think about you every day.  Several times a day. Every fucking day. Every. Fucking. Day.  

I'm pretty sure that you would have let me fuck you.  Well, that's actually just an understatement that my shitty self-image prompts me to say.  I know you wanted me to fuck you.  And I have regretted not fucking you thousands of times. Literally. And I've berated myself for not doing so.  For being a coward.*****  But watching that video for The Lonely Wild's "Running" made something click for me. It wasn't cowardice at all.  I thought that we were just beginning our relationship.  I thought we had years ahead of us.  So I didn't want or see a need to rush things.  Ha ha. The myopia of the love struck male.   Which reminds me of a short song I wrote called "The End."  Which I am just going to lay down right here and now.

I've learned in relationships

Keep your runway clear

So you can always make your getaway

Ah, it don't make no sense to pile possessions on the tarmac

'cause you never know where you stand with a woman, so boy

Keep your runway clear.

You might think it's the beginning

But it's the end.

* From The Lonely Wild's new album, Chasing White Light.   Which is a great album.  You should buy it pretty soon.

** I can't remember why I thought I needed an asterisk here.

*** I don't know if they are actually strings.  But they sound like they could be strings.  Or like strings.  You know, the part that goes, "Nnnnnrh nnnnrh nnnnrh nrh nrrrrh  nrrrrrh  nrrrrh."  Yeah, that part.  Ain't them notes strings?

****  Which is, in a strange bit of circularity / serendipity, the name I gave to the piece I recorded and sent to The Lonely Wild when they sent out a message asking fans to record stories and send them to them.  And the story I sent was about going to Los Angeles to visit L.A. Woman for a few days because my wife had just left me a couple of months before and I was a steaming hot mess.  And the story was also about sleeping with that beautiful woman and being afraid ****** to fuck her even though I really wanted to and was sure that she wanted to fuck me back.


***** Probably unnecessary to point out at this juncture, but since a little while ago I no longer think of this as an act of cowardice, but as an act of respect and confidence in the idea that we had a future together.

****** See *****.