July 13, 2009

8 Weeks From Now...featuring forethought and Bright Eyes-The Arc of Time (Song with Lyrics)

In less than eight weeks I'll be back nestled in the small town of Sackville, New Brunswick. Away from the hustle and bustle of city streets and the wail of sirens of the Boston Police...and back to the hustle and bustle of campus life and the wail of sirens of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. (They usually aren't Mounted anymore...and the Royal title seems outdated...but it sounds much more...regal...and Canadian to refer to the RCMP..rather than the Canadian Police. I'll be writing about the rigorous RCMP Youth Academy I completed in March 2007 soon.)

Anyway...just about eight weeks from today I'll be back in Sackville...at Mount Allison...the surroundings will be the same but everything else will be different. We'll be one ones laughing at the immature, uncultured 'frosh'. We'll be laughing at their questions and try to guess how long it'll take for them to learn the ropes...oh...and everything else as well. The over the past eleven weeks I've had time to do a lot of thinking that I was too in the moment to do at Mount Allison. In September I think I'll be more...deliberate about how I spend my time. We'll see.

Mount Allison is about eight weeks away. From talking to friends...it seems we've made it past the sticking point. For so long it has been "oh man 19 weeks...it's so long to be away from Mount Allison"...to "13 weeks...so long"...to "9 long weeks"...but then suddenly it was "just a month and change". I think a lot of it is that we're past halfway...and now it seems that instead of "I have so much time and nothing to do" it's the opposite. I'm working 35+ hours a week and have plans every weekend...without enough time to just...do nothing. I tried finding time lapse photography of something taking 8 weeks...to show just how much can be done in so little time, but I came up with this video. It really is amazing...eight weeks and two cells become so much more.



The older you get the less you change it seems. I've been thinking of how I've changed over the past eight weeks and how I'll be different once I'm on a plane to Canada. It has been an interesting experience for sure. In fact I've already written much of what will be posted here automatically on September 5th, and trying to imagine how I might feel. For instance I've chosen two songs as the soundtrack for the day of travel and have written a short retrospective (trying to think of what my thoughts will be in the future) about Berklee and my summer in general. I think it'll all be true by then...but I wonder if it will be what I'll be thinking at the time. You don't know what I mean but you soon will.

I've been keeping a mental note as the time passes...the day I'm counting down to in my head is now 7 weeks from Friday...Friday September 4th when I'll be taking the last train home from the Back Bay and packing to leave in the morning a few hours later. It's closer to 8 weeks away...but there's 7 weekends left...which is important because my weeks are already filled by work and the gym. Over the next seven weekends I'm planning to:

Go to New York (paid in full)
Go to Springfield (possible)
Get re-certified in CPR
Tour the Institute of Contemporary Art (Shepard Fairey exhibit)
Travel to Montreal
Assist with Berklee's Fall Orientation
and then board a plane...with my Canadian passport in hand

Right now I'm pretty certain about most of the above...but "You can make a plan...






Carve it into stone
Like a feather falling
It is still unknown
As the clock speaks up
Says it's time to go
You can choose the high
Or the lower road
You might clench your fist
You might fork your tongue
As you curse or praise
All the things you've done
And the faders move
And the music dies
As we pass over
On the arc of time

So you nurse your love like a wounded dove
In the covered cage of night
Every star is crossed by frenetic thoughts
That separate and then collide
And they twist like sheets until you fall asleep
Then they finally unwind
It's a black balloon
It's a dream you'll soon deny

I hear if you make friends
With Jesus Christ
You will get right up
From that chalk outline
And you'll get dolled up
And you'll dress in white
All to take your place
In his chorus line

And then in you'll come with those marching drums
In a saintly compromise
No more whisky slurs, no more blond haired girls
For your whole eternal life
And you'll do the dance that was choreographed
At the very dawn of time
See, I told you son
The day would come

You will die, you die, you die, you die
You will die, you die, you die, you die
You will die, you die, you die, you die
You will die, you die, you die

To the deepest part of the human heart
The fear of death expands
Until we crack the code we have always known
But could never understand
On a circuit board we will soon be born

Again and again and again and again
And again and again and again and again
And again and again and again and again
And again and again and again and again

No comments:

Post a Comment