I’m obsessed with the concept of time. What is time? Like I was just thinking about the concept of “10 years.” What is 10 years? (sure, its 3,650 days, but that’s just the measurement, not the understanding) I was thinking about it because it occurred to me I probably only have 10 years left at best. Considering my lifestyle, to make it to 67, to actually be pushing 70, would really be pushing the odds.
So I guess it’s like sports. Clock management. 10 years left in the game and the clock is ticking. How do you best utilize that time.
So I’m trying to understand the time frame I got left. 10 years. So to put it in perspective, I run the clock backwards, 10 years ago. 2003. What was the experience of this chunk of time? 2003 to 2013?
As always when I look back on my past it seems, 1.) just like yesterday, and 2.) just like ancient history. That strange dichotomy of time where its both at the same time (no pun intended).
2003. Duncan was still alive and we were still working on the Telegraph Street Calendar (what would be the last issue). Hate Man still had his Hate Camp scene going on Sproul Plaza. The Hate Man drum circle was still going on every night (the college students that are on the campus now were 9 years old at the time to put it in another perspective). Cody’s Books was still open. I was still living at the office building. And everything was still as it had been for many, many years. So I just assumed it would keep going on like that for many, many more years (wrong). But now that I look back on it 10 years later its pretty much all gone. What had once been. The whole scene, the whole world I had been living in, just seemed to dissolve as if it had never happened (I often get the feeling that my whole life has been a hallucination).
So now, here I am 10 years later. And, as always, it seems like the years flashed by in a blink of an eye. Even as it also seems like another lifetime ago (again that strange dichotomy).
There I was on a Saturday night in September in 2003. Or a hundred other nights like it. 47 years old. Still young and strong and invincible. Standing there on Sproul Plaza, probably, smoking a cigarette. Picking up all the drums after a Hate Man drum circle session. The sticks, the metal objects, the buckets that we used as drums, and stashing them in three big barrels. Then i was probably standing around, smoking another cigarette and making jokes with Hate Man, Crash, Jaguar or Comatoes, or whoever else was hanging out, making small talk, bantering, the gossip of the day. I probably had a beer stashed under my crate so I took a big hit off of that. Took another hit off my cigarette. Duncan was probably hanging out at his vending table by Cody’s Books. So I grabbed my backpack and walked down Telegraph Avenue in that direction. Then I blinked my eyes and it was 10 years later, 2013, and I was walking down another street in a far off city and everything that had once been was gone, gone, gone . . . ., gone, gone . . .