Unknown Pleasures

Snow falling on Cedars.

Or something like that.

The snow is falling outside again. It looks like it'll last into the evening. Joy Division's She Lost Control is playing on the stereo, but everything else is quiet. Standing at the patio door I can feel the cold coming through. I lay my head against the glass and enjoy it for as along as I can stand. Then I pull my face away and touch it with my hand. I'm almost numb. I shiver.

The song changes, another track from Unknown Pleasures. I listen for a minute, getting lost in the reverb.

I still wonder about the magical right words to say. I think of all the people who say the right thing at the right time for the right person, and wonder what makes it possible. The song which touches a million souls and makes each one of them feel so special, makes them believe the song is speaking to their very soul.

What are the words? Are they different on Monday than Sunday? Is it as simple as choosing chocolate ice cream one day and vanilla another? Maybe it's about context, the moment, the feeling that happens at a particular time; and the only chance is to grab onto it and hold it as long as possible. Maybe that's what made Hunter S. Thompson who he was. He grabbed the moment, lived it, wrote it all out, and then lived off that high for the rest of his life. Is it better than others? Perhaps not. Is it written better, clearer, with greater insight? Perhaps not. But it was there, and too many times the louder the bark, the crazier the dog, the bigger the piece of glory, not matter how much of it is lived in the past.