I listen to Neil Young. Bear with me now.
I listen to the familiarity of memory, the companionship of my father. He died when I was 18 years old. He didn't die from a freak accident. Anyway, what's negative is unimportant. What is important is that I loved him incredibly. I'm his son, why not. We had a camaraderie that I can't seem to replace. I look all over. I have multiple false father figures. I have surging deep level sadness come up to swallow me at inopportune moments.
I feel as if I am in a stasis, and all of this is shrouded in a like bullshit therapy session overlay, and that's just what it is. there is no conclusion.
Because even though I can come close to feeling him when I listen this particularly Neil young--music he wasn't even alive to hear, but which holds the very essence of how he acted--I can never get him back. Ever. I can't come to grips with that. I've never been able to come to grips with it. I just don't know how you do, you know, actually like replace the loss that is so fucking huge.
Anyway. I like to cry because it allows me the momentary release and the true real felt emotion that I so rarely actually feel. I cry rarely.
"What are you trying to prove. Trying to get closer but not too close. Trying to get through. You're invisible. Nobody can touch you now. I can touch you now."