The Shrieking of Innumerable Gibbons

I took a drive to the ocean today. Then I took a swim in the ocean. My first time since last summer. It was salty, breezy, not cold, exhilarating, sandy, and very enjoyable.

It's different swimming alone. A little weird. But nice. Like pistachio ice cream. Or the chorus of Prince's Pop Life.

I listened to the Mountain Goats' Tallahassee on the drive home down Pacific Coast Highway. The bitterness and desperation of some of the songs are perfectly balanced by the resolute hope and clear insight of the others. The album is especially satisfying to listen to while one is stuck in traffic in the town that Mel Gibson owns. And in the song Idylls of the King, there is this:

Huge crows loitering by the curb
Our shared paths unraveling behind us like ribbons
And I dreamed of vultures in the trees around our house
And cicadas and locusts
And the shrieking of innumerable gibbons

I listen to that verse over and over again. And I play it for others, raving about it with an auctioneer's zeal. Ultimately, it means more to me than them and that's okay.

It's like that scene in Clerks II with the lip balm and the boom box. It just stands on its own as a good thing, like cypress trees or holding hands.

Yes, it's a Saturday full of odd metaphors and blighted similes. And it's not even 5 yet.