Tilting at windmills and three chord masterpieces.
Don Quixote by Picasso
Sometimes I feel like I am the last of some strange breed, though I’d like to think I am not. I’d like to think that there are others out there who see and feel as I do. That the important things like love, honour and loyalty are just as important to them as to me. These words you throw around to impress someone on a second date. That they mean something. They’re not just touchstones and seem to be escaping people at every turn. So many broken hearts, lost faiths and infidelities, not just to a partner but to self. Doesn’t anyone believe in God and love anymore? Believe in putting your heart against the stone and grinding from it no matter how hard it gets.
Me, I am Quixote. A book I have read and you don’t have to. It’s long and drawn out in parts, heavy and wordy in others. But wonderful and magical in more parts. I actually very much enjoyed the challenge of reading it. But anyway, see like ol’ Don I believe in love, God, faith, honor, chivalry and fidelity even though the world around me seems to lack the same belief. And like Don I wear a beaten up old suit of armor and a tin can hat. I look out-of-place and perhaps crazy. And like Don I want to charge dragons, save the fair damsel and draw my sword against dastardly foes. And so I chase these things, mostly in my mind and look strange and perhaps ridiculous. A hopeless case and scattered mind. But it is who I am. A hopeless romantic and a broken heart.
I like that about myself. No matter how much pain it may cause me. No matter what crazy feelings come with it and still crazier situations. I want to love like a wild pitch. Thrown and gone out on its own trajectory. And I want seek God in the dirt and crumbs that the world never sees, the corners and hidden places that most people never even know exist. Man! I want to fight for right and good. I want to tell the world, it’s not okay, it doesn’t just happen that way and that breaking hearts and homes, acting in selfish and immoral ways is not just how it is. There is still loyalty, there is still true faith and commitment. There is still ones who will fight to stay in the ring and on the horse. Bruised and battered, they will stand true. I want to be that warrior. I do, I want to be there through the night and into the light.
But I am not sure I will ever have that chance. Not anymore. I seem to have been born at the wrong time. Ah sadness…Sancho my steed!
By the way, I wrote this while listening to the Clash album London Calling. I figured it would save me from getting too sappy and sentimental. No one needs that.
Oh! And by the way part deux…If anyone sees a good print or poster of Picasso’s Don Quixote and it looks just like the picture above (cream or beige background, not white) and they want to get it for me, then I’d be your Huckleberry for sure!