It’s a Pop Song

Up a gravelly trail on North Mountain, headed toward an elevation rise and a muscle challenge suited to me. My breath and footfall are a cadence, and just below it, the sound of the gritty sand.

It is like an instrument. A razz to a tambourine or a rainstick, alongside reliable percussion. The beat and brawn of my own song under my shoes.

I now know that I write in peculiar places. Moments in nature offer up melody or meaning that inspire me. A happy scaffolding to perch my words and practice a tune.

After a blissful first week at a new job, my imagination went wild on the possibilities ahead. In a land of ancient regenerative power, we would find our way again. This time, it was mine to lead a little.

Slide sets, yawn. Conference talk, not you. Story hour, quite a drag these days. I had been invited to an improv night, and to serve as a guest judge at a Western art show. Both met my creative criteria. I had dreams of being alive in the bureaucracy; of living my artful life even (especially!) in a largely administrative role.

Vistas opened in every direction as I slowly climbed. A simple set of lyrics arose.

It’s a pop song, and we all get along…

It went like that for the miles ahead, timing my heartbeat and breathing to the timbres in my limbs. Moving my arms and torso inside the emotion of words; building out gestures and lyrical phrases on the sandy path, suddenly a dance, too.

The invitation into the moment is unmistakable. Could I write a global jingle to save our sacred center right here on a desert path? The joy answered for me. Am doing, already.

You know how strategy tingles? I listen, look, linger, learn. I live with the insufferable ambiguities of not knowing. Eventually, I see a pattern. A story emerges, or a sensed opportunity. I call it catnip, a mild intoxicant that makes you purr, roll around, and count your lives left.

I wrote the lyric and lost the job. Two years later, still no replacement, and I can karaoke. Many more hills ahead. Music (not money) is the maker of memories. Mine are fine for me, and harmony is for us to embody. There is a root song and we can all sing our own.

[Lyrics just as they came out on the mountain]

A new way to read dance, walk it out, talk it out here. Angela is right, we all need to move more.

Yes the metaphor is meta-verse, but let’s still fight about form and first at the junction, the new menu for Senem, and then this, this is what we have in common.

It’s our bond, our problems. Give us this grace for grounding, give us some pace for founding a new nation every day in every way and in every matter make it be.

Infinite possibility charges uphill, picks her way down, ginger toed, knowing woes and occasional wonder like thunder out here, that smell.

Then fuck yeah, there’s a pop song, and we do get along. And we. And we sing as we-we mourn.

Yeah, then there’s a pop song. And we find a way home. And we all get along. Cause that’s a pop song it’s a pop song.

I took it to heart and I took it on a walk. I say Creative Aging like I’m not up, Ha, keep your heads kids, we gotta get lit, worry hurry cause you’ll have a bit. Cause is a pop song.

Walk ahead, wind in my face and over my shoulder, rolling the boulders like I swear and I told you. Table Mesa to my left, pin turn to the right. I can do this all night, and it ain’t even noon.

Kankō, salt lake sightseeing, you call me. Nick back on Highland, imma let you be. TicTac you in my life so far and so forward.

Someone called and I returned it, I took the book hell, yes, I burned, now I’m here and I def earned it, so maybe Valleys are for us to look up.

Yes friends, we all make the net ends that all-us live in, and at least one of us can can-can.

Remember us together through Heathers, and really fucking shitty weather. Whatever, I’m in to cause a pop song, so we all get along.