This one goes out to all the summer misfits, dorks, losers, and different among us.
To all those who never quite fit in…
And especially to those who never wanted to…
Come, sit down next to me.
I SING MYSELF TO SLEEP A SONG FROM THE DARKEST HOUR
SECRETS I CAN’T KEEP IN SIGHT OF THE DAY
SWING FROM HIGH TO DEEP, EXTREMES OF SWEET AND SOUR
HOPE THAT GOD EXISTS, I HOPE, I PRAY
Is there a greater joy than discovering an old album by your new favorite band and sifting through to find the gems that came before? Such were the happy musical hunting expeditions on which I’d find myself in the late 90’s after having happened upon the brilliant ‘Laid’ album by James. They quickly became my favorite band and I was searching through their back catalog when I found this song.
At the time, I was a little bit lost between Boston and Amsterdam, as it was the summer. My summers then, in the almost-post-graduate point of life, were divided between the steamy streets and sullied T-stops of Boston and the stultifying, if comfortably air-conditioned, poolside doldrums of my parents’ home in upstate New York. There were Structure stores in both locations, so I would schedule my shifts according to which location I’d be at, spending a few weeks at each before going back to the other. Somehow I also found time to travel and tour, and since Chris had just moved to San Francisco, there was a reason and excuse to visit that alternately sunny and foggy city.
DRAWN BY THE UNDERTOW, MY LIFE IS OUT OF CONTROL
I BELIEVE THIS WAVE WILL BEAR MY WEIGHT, SO LET IT FLOW
OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
SIT DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN
IN SYMPATHY
Along with Erasure’s ‘Don’t Say Your Love Is Killing Me’, this song by James became part of my summer lexicon. Chris and I would sit on a hill near Berkeley, smoke silly bidi cigarettes after downing a bottle of Boones, and lament our privileged existence. We were both, admittedly or not, searching for love, and it never seemed to come quite quickly enough. Had we known then what we know now it would have been so much easier to bear, but that’s the conundrum of youth. Too much time, not enough appreciation. Too much beauty, not enough worth.
NOW I’M RELIEVED TO HEAR
THAT YOU’VE BEEN TO SOME FAR-OUT PLACES
IT’S HARD TO CARRY ON
WHEN YOU FEEL ALL ALONE
NOW I’VE SWUNG BACK DOWN AGAIN
IT’S WORSE THAN IT WAS BEFORE
IF I HADN’T SEEN SUCH RICHES
I COULD LIVE WITH BEING POOR
OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
SIT DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN
IN SYMPATHY
On a windy, sunny day we walked past the colorful line of homes immortalized by the opening credits of ‘Full House’ – how badly we all want to be part of the sitcom of life, safely and warmly ensconced on a cozy couch in a living room where nothing but studio laughs and lukewarm drama percolated – nothing too dangerous, nothing too disruptive. We arrived at the beach, where the might of the Pacific Ocean merely whispered along the shore. I knew better than to trust a sunny stretch of sand. Deep in that water and far in the distance swum giants both lethal and innocuous – sharks and whales, and Humboldt squid that wouldn’t give up even when hauled aboard your harvester ships. Leviathans that roamed in the darkest depths… I sensed their presence a thousand miles away, and shuddered in the sun.
We backed away from the ocean, from its immensity and sprawling expanse, from the sudden sense of being so small and insignificant. It would be easier to make sense of the world on a smaller scale, to bring it down to a table and a pair of chairs in a restaurant, where we controlled completely what would arrive, how much butter went on a roll, how many sips of water to take. Among the billions, just two young men beginning their life journeys.
THOSE WHO FEEL THE BREATH OF SADNESS
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
THOSE WHO FIND THEY’RE TOUCHED BY MADNESS
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
THOSE WHO FIND THEMSELVES RIDICULOUS
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
We stepped into a bookstore that Jack Kerouac reportedly frequented. Or maybe they were just featuring his work. The memory grows hazy. A veil is lowered. The fog rose all the way to Nob Hill. Pairs of old men shrouded in cigarette smoke pushed chess pieces across tiny tables, sipping tiny cups of cappuccino. Would this be where we ended up?
Memory lapped upon memory, turning things over and over again, beating the brain into sandy submission. The shores of the past meet the shores of the future and present, but where? How far along will such a sea take us? How far will we need to go?
IN LOVE, IN FEAR, IN HATE, IN TEARS
IN LOVE, IN FEAR, IN HATE, IN TEARS
IN LOVE, IN FEAR, IN HATE, IN TEARS
IN LOVE,
IN FEAR,
IN HATE…
I used to think that by this point in my life I’d have it all figured out. Now I wonder if we’re never supposed to have it figured out. Maybe figuring it all out while we are here is the end of life. The end of seeking. The end of searching. The end of trying. The end of living.
Back then we would cry out in frustration and desperation. In confusion and delusion. Now we cry out in submission and reconciliation, and I’m not sure which is worse.
Our friends are our consolation.
You cannot be completely lost if you are lost together.
OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
SIT DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN
IN SYMPATHY.
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