2009-06-08 - 3:24 p.m.

Sometimes I get the feeling that there's some store of love inside of me that's maybe not being put to proper use. Love's too generic a word for what I'm talking about, though. It's more like some benevolent, wild energy. It's talkative and bright and probably a little silly, eager to laugh, eager for late nights and maybe even some poetry. And this misallocation could be, probably is, my fault. Time in front of the computer takes away from the stores. Reading or talking or laughing adds to it. Walks in the woods, good movies, all of that.

And so sometimes, with this potential energy inside of me, I get the urge to send out a love letter, some manifestation of warm urgency, a frantic but loving telegram, a series of beeps addressed to somebody. Or more than one somebody. This urge I'm talking about may have something to do with music. A friend just loaded maybe three hundred albums' worth of music onto my computer (such is the commonness, the cheap abundance of music now, which makes me think of the scene in The Shawshank Redemption in which the Tim Robbins character risks punishment to play the classical piece over the prison's PA), and as I've been working through (or pecking at) Joy Division, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Cornelius, Guided By Voices, Pulp, and many more, I've wondered if all this talk of lost love is getting to me a little bit. Dancing in the Dark by Bruce Springsteen, I Summon You by Spoon, pretty much everything from Death Cab for Cutie. Anyway, I've always been afraid of missed opportunities and so what I'm probably trying to say is that I'd really like to create a monument or at least a loud-enough shout, for the entire world to hear. Hey, you, I'm thinking about you and I think you're great. Hey, over there, don't you ever forget about that one time.

But I'd like to think I'd settle for small monuments, too. Small shouts shouted in the right ear.

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