Paper Tigers

I put a CD in the stereo tonight over dinner.  I don't remember the last time I listened to a CD, as opposed to some playlist, a smattering of songs, my iTunes library on shuffle.  It was invigorating.  There was a time when an album was more than an afterthought, when an album was a plan and an intention.

When I was about a freshman in high school, I wore a pair of Chuck Taylor All-Star low tops, a shade of green between olive and forest.  The rubber soles provided a canvas of expression, not to be confused with the actual canvas from which the shoes were made.  Between the heel and the toe, there was white rubber with a black line, like wide-ruled notebook paper, providing eight evenly divided snippets to record, and to display, words that were important to me.

Like most teenagers I've ever met, music held overwhelming power over me.  Lyrics were my scripture, offering me guidance, solace, love.  I remember sitting in my childhood bedroom with a black Bic pen, toiling over which verses were moving enough to make the cut.  I owned a hundred albums if I owned one.  Assuming an average of 11 songs per album, there was at least a Bible's worth of poetry at my disposal.  This didn't include the songs I'd heard on the radio, nor did it include my father's collection of music on something called vinyl. 

8 verses.  There was R.E.M., Nirvana, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2... I don't remember all eight I chose, but one of them serenaded my dinner this evening. 

"My words are paper tigers, no match for the predator of pain inside her." - Indigo Girls

IG was my favorite band; they still are, and this piece of poetry spoke volumes to me.  First, what a powerful (and powerless) image: a paper tiger.  At once ferocious and tame.  This is what the poet does, though; she creates something both biting and insignificant, meaningful and powerless.  Ever since I heard that line, I've been hooked; I've been attempting the impossible.  I've been writing. 

This blog is just another attempt to capture some meaning.  Maybe these words will serve as a record of a moment in time.  Maybe they will impact my life or the life of those around me.  Maybe they will just be animals in a diorama zoo.  My words are paper tigers, no match for the enormity of life around us.

But for now, words are what I have.  I'm happy to share them.