Golden Smog – Gone

I won’t do it. I won’t use the word “supergroup.” I won’t select a genre in which to stow Golden Smog away. I won’t reflect upon the viscous history of the Jayhawks or compare Uncle Tupelo to Jeff Tweedy’s acoustically-oriented solo efforts.

This is not a day for dallying. I’m shuffling down streets littered with leaves, windswept parking tickets, and the dust of dead things. Fall finally hit in December. What can I say other than we Floridians are a smidge slow (ask anyone who’s taken a gander at our public school system)?

It’s half past seven in this college town. The streets are barren. The semester’s gone awry. The lawns are awash, saturated with spilled kind intentions. The puddles are plenty. The sprinklers are broken. It’s time for finals and spigots spurt Adderall. There’s dew on green blades peppering the sidewalk and last night’s coffee on my caked lips. Guilt nips at my calloused fingertips. I cut my forehead on pale branches. All the trees have clapped their hands, and I listen to this song as singer Gary Louris’s question burns my mind: are you happy where you are?

My breath catches in my throat. I close my eyes and step forward before a harmonica nearly runs me over. I jump at its shriek of worn brake pads. Its gossamer tone is the grinding of gears. My toes dangle over the edge of the sidewalk. I pant. Physically I’m standing upright, but somewhere I fell; I drifted. One morning I looked in the mirror, mussed my hair, and saw someone new.

From the corner of my eye there’s a drizzle. My smudged glasses glimpse grey skies and burgundy. I wax poetic, wane prophetic, and scold my own pretension. Again the siren, again the question: are you happy where you are?

Yes. No. Not here. Could be. If only and other simple answers.

Today is not another fine day. I’m16 and crying over a lost love to The Counting Crows’ “A Long December.” Remember them? Hah. Yeah, I know what you mean. I’ve only a few mp3s, though. Was never really a fan either…

I’m trying to focus. I’m trying to bring you a song, some words, and I’m failing abysmally, but I hope, at least, that you’re happy where you are.

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