Never Is a Promise…

Never is a Promise…Fiona Apple
You’ll never see the courage I know
Its colors’ richness won’t appear within your view
I’ll never glow – the way that you glow
Your presence dominates the judgements made on you

But as the scenery grows, I see in different lights
The shades and shadows undulate in my perception
My feelings swell and stretch; I see from greater heights
I understand what I am still too proud to mention…to you

You’ll say you understand, but you don’t understand
You’ll say you’d never give up seeing eye to eye
But never is a promise, and you can’t afford to lie

You’ll never touch – these things that I hold
The skin of my emotions lies beneath my own
You’ll never feel the heat of this soul
My fever burns me deeper than I’ve ever shown…to you

You’ll say, Don’t fear your dreams, it’s easier than it seems
You’ll say you’d never let me fall from hopes so high
But never is a promise and you can’t afford to lie

You’ll never live this life that I live
I’ll never live the life that wakes me in the night
You’ll never hear the message I give
You’ll say it looks as though I might give up this fight

But as the scenery grows, I see in different lights
The shades and shadows undulate in my perception
My feelings swell and stretch, I see from greater heights
I realize what I am now too smart to mention…to you

You’ll say you understand, you’ll never understand
I’ll say I’ll never wake up knowing how or why
I don’t know what to believe in, you don’t know who I am
You’ll say I need appeasing when I start to cry

But never is a promise and I’ll never need a lie

fiona…such a wise, beautiful, tortured, old soul. brilliant lyrics, huge emotions and i remember well when i related to every last one of the words of this song. like a scent the music rushes me back to times when i was so completely ruled by my emotional momentum. but i feel like a different person now, almost unrecognizable from that girl who’s soul ached as deeply as fiona’s. have i aged and wisened? have i been cured? have i hardened? or have i just learned that life goes on and far better to be riding the tide than drowning in it, or sitting there berating myself for all those other swims i should have taken. i miss my emotional life sometimes…i miss the depths of despair sometimes. not in a real sense that i want it back of course, but there is something cozy and quiet and familiar and comfortable about that space. something so liberating about letting all responsibilities go with the wind and not caring whether or not anything gets done – like going to work? or graduating from college… who cares? it felt good to say, you know? none of that bullshit fucking matters…my soul hurts.though of course at some point it did begin to matter again. and it matters a hell of a lot now. and it is so much better that it does matter…but sometimes, when i am really tired. and there is a lot still to do, and miles and miles to go before i sleep…sometimes i wish it didn’t matter. and i could curl up in the arms of love and let it all go…

i suppose there is something yogic or zen about that space. non-attachment in it’s most pure form…but also there is something yogic in the healing that has gone on in my life. yoga gave me my life back. my soul no longer hurts. i am healed.


i keep calling myself a writer. but i don’t write, unless of course i’m given something to write…and i wondered…with my often times solitary existence…where do the thoughts, ideas go if i don’t write them down. which i haven’t for quite some time as you can see.

i was just reading the blog of a friend who was part of a discussion about his “place in history”. now mind you he is an extremely famous photographer, and he was the low man on the photography totem pole in the circle of friends having this discussion. photography greats discussing how best to leave their legacies once they’ve passed on to wherever it is we all go…wondering how to control the fate of their artistic pursuits. it’s interesting – as photographers, as artists you leave a mark. something tangible, a photograph…a distillation of a moment. but as a writer, and especially one who doesn’t write, you leave nothing – unless it is actually written down or printed out. neither of which happen much today.

and what of blogs, and digital images…all the tangible-ness is gone. bits of information in an electronica age, these ideas are no more real and lasting than the electric currents in the brain. fleeting…easily lost to a malfunction in a server somwhere half way across the world, or the distraction of a pretty sparkly thing over by the window. now of course. a digital image created by a magnum photographer has a far better chance of being ‘saved’ than the ramblings of a 30-something, neo-hippie, cliche. but nonetheless these are the ramblings of an entire generation, self-publish or perish. please, please see me in this world of disconnection. we are the beat poets – only now there are 30 million of us.