Nothing to do, nowhere to be: John Mayer is either perfect or lonely, not both
Time was when a rare spare period spurred a poem or two. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. So how do I really feel?
Not perfectly lonely. Although the song by John Mayer is poetry—actually, the intersection of poetry and music. A good place to be. The loneliness is not perfection; the time to express it is perfect. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. The perfect time for expression.
Nothing to do
Nowhere to be
A simple little kind of free
Nothing to do
No one but me
And that’s all I need
For me, there’s no such thing as perfectly lonely. Even when I was John Mayer’s age with the whole world waiting at my feet.
The whole world waiting for what you might be able to do next. If you haven’t felt that, you haven’t had big dreams. And if you’ve felt it, you haven’t been lonely.
But reality shrinks big dreams. If you’re not careful. And/or successful. And saying you’re perfectly lonely, when you’re John Mayer’s age, is a great way to get laid. John Mayer has never been perfectly lonely. He’s been lonely, in some artistic portion of his mind. And he’s been perfect: in his poetry and his music.
But perfectly lonely is an artifice. Who really buys it? I’m not sure. It sounds like a line to me. Like a way to get laid.
Which doesn’t mean it’s not art. Or poetry. It’s just not perfectly lonely.