Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years

You told me that it was a feeling, unprecedented. That I had to grin and bear it before I touched the grass beneath my feet and it would be electric, not muddy. I think I found that feeling in a gritty video of Matt Good playing Tripoli in his apartment to a bright-eyed audience of 20 people. Maybe I'm just a kid, but I could have cried.

The thing is, the young don't understand the young. The old don't understand the young, either - but the truth is that we're all the same; we're all just not what we're chocked up to be. There's an empty throne in the sand and ants have colonized it. If the world is a town, then what is the universe? A city? To me it's all rocks and rubble. It belongs to the ants. 

I gently rubbed a cat's belly, purrs seeping from her like warm chocolate. As her tiny paw rested on mind, claws carefully sheathed, I suddenly felt the utter vulnerability of this animal, completely submissive and trusting; the cat, a receiver of energy. It was beautiful. I didn't understand this cat, she didn't understand me - but she loved. In the present, she loved - and that was all that mattered, past and future disregarded. She could have decided in the next moment that she didn't love me and decided instead that biting my hand was worthwhile - but I would roll that dice. It's funny - I have always known it isn't possible but I like to believe that I can somehow influence the number that comes up on the dice by shaking and rolling it a certain way. 

You told me that life is more than vices and virtues. That it ain't all beauty but poetry. I told you that I knew that already, but really I just thought that you were trying to justify. Your hypocrisy slapped me in the face, leaving a stinging red mark on my cheek. But I forgave you. Time and time again, because time is honey and I'm a honeycomb. This is what the young are like.

I feel too much to think. I feel too much to be young. I thrive on my intellect but it's my emotion that makes me live. I can eat hummus at 10pm because this is the most individualistic time of my life. I'm not one for moral realism, but I never did read the Bible. 

Life has scaled down. It's a delicate Victorian miniature, painted with an ivory brush. I realize now that fulfillment isn't the peak of the mountain, it's carving a crevice in the side with your bare hands and sleeping there. That's what the young are like. 

You told me it was worth it, and I believed you. 

Where has my head gone?

Well I felt it slip away