first: re-posts

Just today I finally dismantled my original blog. That hurt.

But I started it last year as a rather selfish outlet for creative writing and random thinkpieces, and I remained unhappy with it because it was so damn disorganized. Its haphazard nature reflected how rushed I felt. But since I fancy myself a writer more than perhaps anything else, I felt it was about time to create a more formal and organized forum for my writings.

That being said, I want to re-post a few entries that, in the re-reading process, struck me as....important. I found that I could return to the moments within which I wrote them, could still sense the emotion behind what I had attempted to communicate. Even if I didn't do that so well in a literary sense.

I feel like, these days, my writing improves consistently. I feel like the ways through which I see the world around me improve everyday as well.

The first re-post is a little rendezvous with an REM song--and a moment caught up in a really effing hot (and even more confusing) summer. I posted it in late June 2009. The value here, although overall its language is languid and abstract, is the sense of place I (as well as so many others I've talked to about this) have found in Athens. And despite my general readiness to move on soon, I recognize how rarely a town maintains such a stinging charm and so many layers of nostalgia. And REM sort of proves, here in Athens, anyway, that nostalgia can be a whole lot more modern that some people would believe.

[I'm languishing in my third Athens summer.

I've finally decided that there is something eerily oppressive about Georgia sun; it makes me lazy, and it makes me think way too much.

But I feel better each day when the sun goes down. What could I describe? Here it is, perfectly: If you go to drink beer on the patio of Little Kings Shuffle Club (which is easily the dustiest, best bar in this town) with the afternoon sun still heavy on your back, then you'll melt into your seat. To anyone who would try to claim that there is nothing called the "southern sun": I say, sod off. It's distinct, it's yellow with lots of orange flecks, and it's hot. My friend Kelli and I were comparing sweat rings on our clothes the other day as we tried to hide under a straw umbrella. So why would you be there, then, in the heat, pressing a cold beer against your skin for some kind of relief?

It's for some sort of daily transition. If you listen, there's just enough rustling in the air as the sun sets as if to sound like hesitant chords of music. To see what the sweat has wrought on yourself, on your friends--all the makeup is melted, clothes are rumpled, and no one's hair looks very good. People look most beautiful when they're disheveled. Or, at least I think so.

What's the point of this ramble? I was just trying to figure out why only evenings in Athens really appeal to me anymore.

This past Friday a late afternoon and some Mexican food turned into an impromptu cooler full of cheap beer and stolen nightswimming with four very awesome (I don't throw that word around lightly, mind you) people. Now, I'm not sure if "nightswimming" is a real word everywhere or if it only holds its giddy meaning here in Athens because REM (supposedly) composed their song "Nightswimming" about some late nights at the Deville Apartments pool here in Athens. Who knows.

This song was in my head anyway because I caught it on the radio while driving back to Athens from Shreveport last month. When I heard the opening lines--the photograph on the dashboard taken years ago, streetlights, and such--I inexplicably felt hot tears threatening at the corner of my eyes. They caught me by surprise. It took the better part of the 11-hour drive to figure out why the song caused me such joy that the joy turned to pain rather quickly. I think it's because Athens has already become nostalgic to me. I can already imagine myself ten years from now, looking back on all these days and nights and smiling to myself because I'll know (even if it didn't always feel this way in the moment here) it was a time never to be recaptured. Fleeting, lovely, like snapshots in an album.

These things, they go away. Replaced by ANOTHER everyday. Sorry, Mr. Stipe, I had to rewrite you a bit there.

This song means so much to me it stings.

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still, it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water
They cannot see me naked
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday
Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming
You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night