Shining Like a National Guitar

I've never figured out what the hell that line meant, but maybe I'm not meant to. I finally bought Paul Simon's 'Graceland' album a few weeks ago. In my mind it's always been one of those "Jeez, I should have that" records, but I've never acquired it. I don't know why. Shame on me.

That's all changed now. I've been listening to it with unhealty obsessiveness - as I tend to do with any song or record that grabs me. The ease of his voice and the imagery he lays out are beautiful and terrible and sad and wonderful; everything a good writer wants to convey. I also find it intriguing that I re-discovered the album after such a tumultuous winter. I'd never considered that after your friends grow up and get married and start having babies that they might part ways. That always seemed consistent with the behaviour of people who refused to grow up (like me). However, it's the sad, forgotten chapter of life that I've borne witness to recently. Two people I care about dearly have found themselves alone and out of a marriage. One of my closest friends spent two weeks in jail. And another of my dear friends has been in the hospital for three weeks. She'll probably be in for two more if all goes well.

Needless to say, I spent a month or two in a rather dark, personal place. Part of me is feeling guilty - survivor's guilt perhaps - at watching the people I love get hurt and my incredible inability to do a goddamned thing to help. The other part of me is watching the sky and waiting for it to fall on me as I carry on making music to comfort the people I'm currently incapable of helping. It's so convoluted. I mean, these aren't evil people. They're good people. They're all better, more generous, more thoughtful and more sensitive persons than me. It's really extraordinary how confusing life can be. I thought it was supposed to get simpler, but maybe I'm still naive after all these years. As Bono puts it, "The more you see, the less you know." Maybe I'm more attuned to it because I'm currently working on two plays discussing the fragility of life and joy. How happiness is a shooting star that you watch the skies forever for and after a moment of pure exhilaration it's snatched away as suddenly as it came.

Not everything is terrible. In fact, I think I'm good apart from the disasters I keep stumbling around. The record is coming along great. There's some clear favourites that are beginning to push themselves above the crowd and Rick said that we'll have some of those ready for 'shopping' soon. That sounds good to me. I'm standing on the brink of readiness to give this music to the people who need it now. I've never found comfort from faith. I've found comfort from music and maybe all this ugliness is just another way of keeping me on track. But I grow more fearful as I get older. I'm afraid of the terror of the world. I guess it's always scarier when it gets inside your front door and starts rooting through your drawers and closets. Well, I should get back to Paul and my writing. The ugliness has reared - what I hope are - some beautiful words. In fact, I think Len & I will have another 7 or 8 songs finished before we see the end of this record. More comfort for everyone; comfort and joy.

These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That's dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don't cry, baby, don't cry
Don't cry