Sense and order may dictate that Con 2+ by CONRAD SCHNITZLER would be released at some point before Con 3 in 1981, but the discography suggests otherwise and put this one at 2006. Perhaps it’s a reissue of some kind? Or maybe it just doesn’t matter. I don’t know enough about him to speak of any kind of musical progression or evolution as an artist. He is just as he is and the records are also. If art can’t stand on its own without a lengthy explanation, then what’s the point?

So what’s the emotional weather report this morning? We’re back at Monday and maybe all that needs to be said is that we’re still on krautrock. That’s not to say that it was a bad weekend because it was quite the opposite. It is, after all though, Monday morning and the factory is open and the great, grinding wheels have begun to turn. The music seems suitable. Get ready to grind out another work day.

I’ve a peculiar craving for a cigarette this morning and that’s odd because it’s been a good while now. It’s the mechanical comfort of pulling one from the pack and lighting it. It’s the bitter smoke in the mouth and the slow cooling in the lungs, and mostly it’s the sensation of frayed nerves melting and disappearing. It’s not a crazy jones. It’s not even what you could call a strong urge. It’s just a low-key urge. There are other things to satisfy it, or at least other things to distract myself until it goes away. It’s not a big deal. It’s just curious that the draw is there at all. Not that there isn’t plenty to feel some anxiety about. It’s just not where my mind usually goes when I’m anxious.

Or it could just be the music. (insert big fat, yellow smiley face here)

The weekend was good though. The trip home felt good, at least as it manifested in the present. I tried while I was in Cold Spring to identify specific feelings, perhaps old fears or resentments that may have been lurking all this long while in dark corners. There were none there though. Much of the town looks very much like it did years ago, but maybe more clean. It was strange though. It was like looking at old photos but it almost didn’t feel like my own photos. It was like looking at someone’s photos so many times that you no longer remember if they are your own or someone else’s. You take for granted that they are all your own memories but maybe the stories don’t belong to you and you’ve just heard them so many times that you believe them to be your own.

It felt like being a tourist in someone’s past but not really knowing whose.

Strange.

It’s not an unsettling sort of strange. Maybe it just means that there has been healing. Or maybe I’ve just simply forgotten and it no longer matters. And maybe those are both the exact same thing. What is healing anyway? It’s forgetting the pain. I haven’t quite forgotten. It’s all just so distant that it’s no longer certain that it’s even mine.

The prevailing feelings though were all those in the present. The lightness so evident in the photos taken describes it all. It all just felt like family. My brother and his daughter. My stepfather. My partner. The five of us positioned against this bucolic backdrop with a stunning blue sky. Sky blue sky. Tree greens. Black granite and shale mountains. And it was all so easy. It just happened and I let it happen and it was right.

All in the present.

So different though than the dread of this Monday morning with the factory wheels turning and the frayed ends of the nerves grown back. The soundtrack is appropriate though and the odd claustrophobia of the music makes me smile. People paint portraits and tell stories with sounds. They’re not always the happiest of stories but that people can construct them with sound makes me happy. I’m at least smiling, and that despite any misgivings I have about the end of the weekend.

Selah.