Death is the Road to Awe

You would think that my lack of posting on here would be indicative of nothing happening in my life worth writing about or sharing about. Nothing could be further from the truth. I could have written about my job ratcheting up and my working 12 hour days. I could have written about lots of good concerts, and plenty of new music. I could have written about the little creature that now calls my home her home, and is staring at me as i type, apparently wishing i was paying attention to her instead of this screen.

I could have written about the passing of my friend, maybe the first death ive really known of a person that i have had long, in depth one on one conversations. Or the experience of grieving with his friends, and the hope intertwined in it all.

But for some reason none of it made me sit here and type. Fiction, for some reason, tends to inspire me more than my actual life, but oddly only when the fiction strikes a chord that resonates with my life experience. Im not sure how i got that way. Some sort of media overload as a child i suppose. Anyways here i sit after the 2nd viewing of the same movie in as many days, pondering what it all means. What it really means to accept death. What death really means to me.

If you have seen the same movie ive been watching, you no doubt know what it is based on the title of this post.

Right here would be the lyrics to Okkervil River's "Our Life is not a Movie or Maybe" could i find it...

(Found it....)

Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe
It's just a bad movie, where there's no crying - handing the keys to me in this Red Lion, where the lock that you locked in the suite says there's no prying. When the breath that you breathed in the street screams there's no science. When you look how you looked then to me, then I cease lying and fall into silence.
It's just a life story, so there's no climax. No more new territory, so pull away the IMAX. In the slot that you sliced through the scene there was no shyness. In the plot that you passed through your teeth there was no pity. No fade in: film begins on a kid in the big city. And no cut to a costly parade that's for him only. No dissolve to a sliver of grey - that's his new lady, where she glows just like grain on the flickering pane of some great movie. (Hey, I'd watch it.)
It's just a house burning, but it's not haunted. It was your heart hurting, but not for too long, kid. In the socket you spin from with ease there is no sticking. From the speakers your fake masterpiece comes serenely dribbling. When the air around your chair fills with heat, that's the flames licking beneath the clock on the clean mantlepiece. It's got a calm clicking, like a pro at his editing suite takes two weeks stitching up some bad movie.