First time hearing Can with my percussionist friend, Loren

How many memories do you keep in a jar on that shelf? Here’s one from my 20s, driving across a bridge at night with the stereo up loud. Were we out of our minds high on the energy of our time, with youth slathered across our chests, burning all night? Were we on our way to a party, or a bar with girls we wanted to chase? And when the drums came in, how they moved through us like a dark wind to carry our souls away. And how alive it felt, to leave our bodies behind. How I’ll play that song still, in our suburban house when it’s warm enough I can write with my shirt off, to draw out that dark wind. How gladly I’d give my soul away for it. I have a jar full of tokens for all the times I did.

Categories: identity, inspiration, prose, writing

Tags: , , , , ,

7 replies

  1. I don’t have any youthful memories like this that involve sobriety. Big regret.


  2. memories are made more potent with time

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Is that the song? Can? I’m ignorant. Please remember who you’re dealing with.

    Liked by 1 person

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