it was about a year ago that i wrote the following lines at the end of a terribly long email to one of the listeners, to one of the few true friends that provided an open ear for me to throw my own mindfuck into:

rollercoaster going underground right now.

and that's what it was. it was a rollercoaster and the drops were far more spectacular than the slow pull-ups. and it was underground that night, far, far underground where the light of sensibility never shines.
and now, a year later, my hands, seemingly uncontrolled by my brain, switched to Pink Moon in my trusty mp3 player and i'm back.
the weather's the same. i remember walking around in the forests that surround this area with one other specific album playing again and again which i can't listen to now without thinking of this time. but Pink Moon is even deeper, a little better for meta-pondering and surveying the bigger picture.
a lot has changed since then. i just returned from a four day trip to paris which wouldn't have been possible a year ago. back then, i worked hard to stay upright every single day without breaking down, falling to pieces. there had been one slow yet continuous buildup of that over the years that preceded this time. i sometimes felt that ever since the hormones started dancing in my veins, i got more confused by the hour, turned out even less able to understand, predict or live with the world around myself.
this side of me has been silent for about a year now. actually, it's a couple of months less but let's ignore that right now, for the sake of the argument. there has just always been too much goodness (and perhaps too much business) to be thinking of such things.
but from time to time, mostly at night when there's just myself and music, just like it used to be, things come back. they creep out of the shadows and directly into my heart and the salty seawater makes my vision cloudy again. and that's where that autonomous movement came from that my hand just did. that's why it's nick drake right now and not someone anyone else. or perhaps it's the other way round, to a degree. who knows.
the fact is that the smile that you'll always see on my face (really, always. even when i'm angry. which possibly ruined my acting-career) now slides down occasionally. it did so before, but back then there wasn't anyone to see it. now there is.
and that sliding of faces is normal, i keep telling myself. in a world of highs, how would you be able to appreciate what you have? wouldn't you just be wanting more and more until there was nothing more to get?
i truly believe (or at least i now talk myself into believing) that moments like these ground you, anchor you to reality. it's the lingering depression that's still there (and probably will be for the rest of my life), that's still in me, a part of me (but apart from me) that lets me know who i am. it's just now that i've got someone to stop me from doing anything stupid. and that is probably the greatest comfort you could ever feel.
charon

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