So, I have this thing I want to tell you. Because, you know, a trouble shared is a trouble halved. Problem is, I don’t quite know what this thing I want to tell you is. I can’t pin it down.
I am determined to make contact with you, across all this distance. You can’t hear me, from where you are, so I will use semaphore. You may not see me from afar, so I will plant flags like breadcrumbs. When you reach this place, at least you’ll know I’ve been here.
There is something I am lacking, something I want. I’m sure you feel the same. I don’t know what it is. But collectively, we can find out how to get it, maybe. We can take our placards and march for it. If we can work out just what it is we are fighting for.
When I am at least working towards finding it, making progress, the gulf is not as wide. It’s so hard to distinguish, though, the progress from the ruins. The history surrounds us, scars of the past etched into our minds, hallucinations overlaid on newer landscapes. No land marks remain to guide my path.
When I find you, I must tell you something. Maybe by the time I get there, I will know what it is. I must hear you reply, just so I know you are there. It’s lonely out here. It’s cold as hell.
–Jesse Couchman, October 2012