Sweltering sun and shimmering blades of grass dancing in the wind would suggests a typical exquisite summer evening. That’s just it, though– typical. Even in the midst of dusk’s magic,can the feeling of indifference imbue your state of mind. Where’s that jolt? Where’s that bang? Slipping into a spiral of tawdriness, you’d think to recuperate your buoyancy with a bit of glint and vitality.
I can’t be bothered.
I chose to linger in indifference.
Marc Bolan knows this feeling. Marc Bolan said it all.
Just for another 2 minute and 24 seconds. I want to linger. I want to sulk in the vacancy. I want to lay wilted. I want to dawdle in the realization how nothing really matters at all. I want stare into the exhausted sky. He says he can place my love there. I want to ponder priesthood. I want the strings of the songs to take it’s best shot at breaching the abyss that is my mood. I want to take a crack at breathing unwavered even for the duration of the last 20 luminous seconds of the song.
But I can’t.
Through the jingle of his gripe and the grief of his recollections, I can only snigger. Albeit, I concede the “what if’s”, the “maybe’s”, the “almost’s” induce the most tragic, heartrending, sorrowful tales there are, (they don’t count, you know). Bolan is right. Life’s a gas. [Purchase.]