7) Afternoons Around the Sun

Revolutions. And Footnotes.

Hi…you can start here, with this FOOTNOTE ¹ —check it out! Click the tiny 1.

Thanks—I wanted you to see what I wished to do in this Substack, how I wanted it to be. Instead, I’m sending out some anecdotes and thoughts and some lyrical progress on “Hurry.” I hope it’s enjoyable. There’s a lot more subscribers now than when I started (yay) …but that makes me a tiny bit more worried about getting something worthwhile on the page.

I’ve stared offering paid subscriptions, but not like most people do on Substack. I’m not making different content available for paying people. Everyone can access everything. For now anyway. I figured some people who can afford it will pay, others won’t. You can read more about my philosophy here on FOOTNOTE ²

And if you don’t want to be a paying subscriber but still want to support and salute my work, you can buy me a coffee. I will be thrilled! For real. All cool, all good.

I went out for my first neighborhood walk since I've been home. The one I used to do daily with Tux. There’s a lot of hills in my area, no sidewalks—it’s very country-like. A lot of basic wildlife; coyote, deer, bobcats, foxes, raccoons. When I walk, I don’t listen to podcasts or music. My thoughts wander. Once I wondered if a steep hill was as steep to Tux, and as hard to walk up, with him being closer to the ground than me.

I got a little kick from Google having no idea where to send my question or how to answer it. Moving on to twitter I asked my hivemind of followers. The replies weren’t from any physics brainiacs, but they were great speculations on centers of gravity, propulsion, mass, exertion, efficiency, even Camus’ Myth of Siphysus. I bet some of you may have chimed in. The thread is entertaining and is in this FOOTNOTE³

When I walked Tux daily, we always took the same route. He braced his little body and wouldn’t budge if I tried a variation. Usually when I walk solo I explore winding, steep and narrow roads for miles. But on this first walk since being away, since he died, I did our walk. It was sad, but interesting too, because I’ve been watching this beautiful expanse of grass and trees evolve into a lot for a big sprawling…dwelling?

For months, Tux and I watched the developers put orange ribbons around the trees and start staking out the foundation. I watched the old couple next to the land put their house up for sale, imagining how long they must have lived there and finally saying, nope, we’re out of here, not staying for this. We saw the foundation get poured, the PVC pipes placed. Then they put a big fence around it and covered the fence with green material, as if. I’d still peek through the cracks to see what was happening. Tux was happy when the PortaPotty™ appeared, because to him bad smells were good smells.

So I was on this, my first neighborhood walk after being away two months. Tux is gone. The old couple, gone. The house is framed, insulated—the shape it will take is clear. Same route, same steps, but now the walk has turned melancholy and my thoughts followed, a forlorn stream of consciousness. Like a slo-mo pinball bouncing from random inanities to memories to people, to future desires and dreams.

One train of thought involved being ghosted—I’ve had a few episodes of that recently. Sometimes I hate catch phrases and trendy lingo, but whoever invented “ghosted,” it’s perfect, they deserve a word award. It should be used for people who never make any effort to reach out or initiate contact too. The ghost friend. I have a couple, people who I would never see or talk to if I didn’t do the heavy lifting of the friend load. I’ve run tests, for like a year even. Then I break down and pretend everything is normal.

They will answer, engage, and if we’re in the same town, even make a plan and get together. But that’ll be the end of it until I do the whole deal again. Wtf is this kind of thing?! It wasn’t always this way with my ghost friends, or else we wouldn’t even have a history. And why do I let it be like this? Why do any of us let it? I can’t be the only person who knows people like this. No footnotes here, but please by all means:

Ok moving on.

This happened: I turned 64 and celebrated, the way I used to celebrate birthdays, before Covid. Turns out celebrating birthdays is like other skills, a “use it or lose it” deal. Once I stopped, it was hard to get motivated again to want to. My last great birthday celebration was turning 60, it was in New York, and it’s now a great memory. I don’t know if turning 64 is going to be a great memory yet. I’m glad I didn’t ignore it.

Also, the aging thing could be part of why I stopped, not just Covid. Because aging is the weirdest shit imaginable.

For long periods of time I live entirely in my head and my heart, hopeful and animated, breathing the same air of my youth. And then it happens: the light catches my skin in a certain place, in a singular way, and I see it and think: That is not my arm. That is a grandmother arm, an old woman arm. I linger on it for a bit, a little in awe, a lot in shock. And I wait until I’m damn sure that on the next glance, I will have moved, or at the very least, the light will have changed, and all is well again.

I know one day all the light all the time will hit all the skin on all my parts, and they’ll all be the packaging of an old woman—aka me. If I’m lucky. Because another aging bummer, way worse than watching yourself granny morph, is watching your peers and friends die. Right before sending this, I learned Jeff Beck has died. It’s devastating. I mean, he wasn’t my friend, or peer even, but someone I looked up to a long time.

On my birthday, a lot of people said to me, via cards, messages, social media, or in person: “Congratulations on another trip/spin/revolution around the sun.” I like the idea of measuring revolutions—(distance) more than measuring years—(time.)

But what I really like is Carl Jung on aging. As he became an old man, he turned his observations on the whole process. He saw life as following the path of the Sun itself, across the sky. Youth is the morning, and starting around age 56, people are in the afternoon of their life. Really old age corresponds to the sun sinking into the horizon, fading into night/death. His spiritual and sensible thoughts on the whole business resonates with me. I’d FOOTNOTE some stuff, but Google won’t let you down on Jung. If you’re also in the afternoon of your life, read his wisdom, highly recommend.

"A human being would certainly not grow to be 70 or 80 years old if this longevity had no meaning for the species to which he belongs. The afternoon of human life must also have a significance of its own and cannot be merely a pitiful appendage to life's morning." —Carl Jung

And to finish up this business, there’s some progress on “Hurry.” On Detour, my last Substack entry, I talked about this first song I’ll be working on for a new record. Here’s a little recording of some new progress—it’s mainly me talking though. Too much to write out, maybe not as good as a video, but for those who want to track how this song gets written, it will suffice.

Here are the new words, and here is another FOOTNOTE⁴ just for the heck of it

HURRY

A CALENDAR FOR EVERY YEAR

THOSE MONTHS ARE GONE

IT’S STILL HANGING THERE

OH I MADE SOME PLANS

AND DREAMT THAT I’D BE SOMEWHERE ELSE

UNWASTED AND LESS SPENT

CAN’T SAY WHERE IT ALL WENT

REMINDERS FACES DATES AND PLACES

WITH MY IMMORTELLE

THEY STILL RING A BELL

EVERY DAY I CAN SAY

I’M NOT UNWELL

-chorus-

BUT THE END IS CATCHING UP 

I GOTTA HURRY HURRY HURRY

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

IS JUST ENOUGH TO BE

DISRUPTED, INTERRUPTED

BETTER HURRY

THE HOURS SCROLL BY

HUNGER STRIKES

AND LIFE’S REDACTED, STAY DISTRACTED

NOTIFY AND UPDATE

PUT IT OFF IN GOOD FAITH

URGENCY IS A DOG

ONLY SEVEN DAYS FOR GOD

THERE’S STILL TOMORROW, HOURS TO BORROW

I’M ON RESERVE

WRONG SIDE OF THE CURVE

UNBURIED AND NOT

CHOKING ON DIRT

-beginning of different 3rd verse-

MAKE HASTE MAKE WASTE

THERE HANGS SOME FATE

SHELF-LIFE EXPIRATION DATE

ANYTIME OR WHERE

CAN’T SAY I DON’T CARE

ok that’s enough from me. I’m going to toss the song back to Peter for his input. He’s happy I resurrected it. Maybe I can even get him to video some processing for us!

1. The video feature on Substack is set up so it is the main, first thing the reader sees—I can’t post my video in the middle or at the end of the post. The only way to do that is to link to a You Tube player. The You Tube player doesn’t present just the one video I’d want to share. Besides the ongoing writing, I have creative ways I want to do this thing. I want control over it. If I could do this the way I wanted, I’d have a video embedded midway or at the end, with the ongoing progression of “Hurry” —a continuation from the last Substack. I don’t want to lead with that. I talked to a nice support person from Substack and that will come later, the embedding video anywhere thing, so looking forward to that.

2. I’m not trying to make a killing here, or even make a living. I’m a creator and artist and I spend considerable effort and time creating anything I do, whether it’s writing or music. I work hard to make something of value, and since I don’t have an employer it makes sense to ask people who are receiving something they like or value to offer a tip or payment.

3. The tweet and replies!

4. Hi! Bye! Thank you for reading, thank you for subscribing, thank you for commenting. xokv