It’s my 27th birthday today. Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison all died at the age I am now. I’ve already outlived Nick Drake. I find these thoughts sobering. I will never be considered genuinely rock and roll. There’s that sense of angst there too, not enough has been done.
Douglas Coupland wrote in Life after God that all your most vivid memories occur before the age of thirty "After that, memory becomes water overflowing from an already full cup. New experiences just don’t register in the same way or with the same impact. I could be shooting heroin with the Princess of Wales, naked in a crashing jet, and the experience still couldn’t compare to the time the cops chased us after we threw the Taylors’ patio furniture into their pool in the eleventh grade"
I’m not sure yet whether or not the above is true, but I do know that my guitar has been gathering dust in a corner for too long. There are glaciers to been seen and jungles to explore and mountains to climb and words to write.