As I was driving today, the song Tangerine by Led Zeppelin came on the radio. I hadn’t heard that song in forever.
 
You know, me being me, I’m not really into being defined by the what was, way back when. But, nonetheless, I was reminded what a great song it was/is.
 
Hearing that song, it set me to thinking… That was kind of, “Our,” song for one of my early girlfriends and me back in my days at Hollywood High School. We would climb up to the Hollywood Sign, back before that sort of thing was verboten. This is back when the sign was in shambles. We would go up there with our twelve sting guitars and play that song and others. Way back in the way back when…
 
Kind of like the lyric of that song, I was driven to remembering her, it, they, and then—something I haven’t done in years upon years.
 
You know, I was one of the only one of my close friends that even graduated high school. My then girlfriend, she dropped out early in the eleventh grade. Most of my friends did the same around that point in their education. My main bud of the time, Saturday Jim, he waited until the twelfth grade. But, realizing he wouldn’t have enough credits to graduate on time, he also bailed and went and got a job at a liquor store where Bukowski used to frequent.
 
It’s interesting I think how times change and the realities that are being lived today aren’t really all that much different, yet they are very different. For me, high school took place during a time when freedom was still promised. Living your dream was still a possibly. But, I guess that was and is what youth is, the promise of the promise, the promise of there’s still time… But, is there? Was there ever?
 
Saturday Jim, died a few years back. Other of my friends passed on before him. My one-time girlfriend, I have no idea. But, if she lived, she would be old.
 
Kind of like, tying into all of this, I went into the pharmacy today, on my way home, to pick up some meds. In front of me was this lady, who at first glance appeared to be very old. She had fully white hair, and age had taken a strong hold over her.
 
At my pharmacy, they ask your date of birth to confirm your identity and all of that kind of stuff. When she said she was born in 1959, I was almost floored. She was/is a year young than me. She was the same age, at least by year of birth, as my one-time girlfriend as she was a few months younger than me.  
 
That pharmacy thing happening, and hearing Tangerine this AM, was one of those weird things in life, you know how sometimes various elements in the chaos all seem to tie together.
 
But, I mean, fuck, she looked old. Again, it made me wonder about the aforementioned girl. Does she look like that? Is she still alive?
 
You know, not eating well, not working out, getting too much sun, not taking care of your skin, smoking, (of which she was smoker, like pretty much every teenager of that period of time was, except for me). I don’t know???
 
Me, for whatever reason, which I don’t understand, I still have not gone grey. And, I do not dye my hair or anything like that. That’s just not who I am. I have a few. But, in comparison to most/many of my age group, I guess, I should be very grey. But, for whatever reason I am not. I’m sure it will get me someday. Someday, if I live that long???
 
Anyway, before I get too far off track…
 
We all have things that drive us to the past. Things, that conjure up memories. Maybe it’s a song, like it was for me today. Maybe it is something else. But, we all live what we live until we live it no more. Then, all that is left is our memories. But, when we are gone, they are gone. So, what do memories really mean? What do they mean to anyone but ourselves? Think of all the billions and billions of memories that have been remembered throughout time. Gone are the people who lived them. Gone are the people who remembered them.
 
When you are gone, when I am gone, what will our memories mean to anyone?

“Measuring a summer's day
I only find it slips away to grey
The hours they bring me pain
Tangerine, tangerine
Living reflections from a dream
I was her love, she was my queen
And now a thousand years in-between
Thinking how it used to be
Does she still remember times like these?
To think of us again
And I do
Tangerine, tangerine
Living reflection from a dream
I was her love, she was my queen
But now a thousand years in-between”