Infinite Tenderness

by Banjo Jackson

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Infinite Tenderness.

Are you worried? You should be. You’re supposed to be. In a better world, where rivers run with water so clean you can drink it, yes, conceivably, you wouldn’t be worried. But this world is not that world. You woke up in this world this morning, and even though you’ve spent all afternoon trying to find the glitch, it hasn’t manifested. So you’re stuck. Shit. Who are you? Ask yourself? You’re older than you were yesterday. Hairier. The things that you believed yesterday are becoming less true by the day, but does that mean you are too? Perhaps. The message from the movie is: compromise. They’re only actors after all. Still, in this world, the one we woke up in, there’s less than there was when the camera started rolling. We’re starting to lose things. Hold out your hands. If you trace the river back far enough, maybe there's something worth sipping on upstream. We all had to come from somewhere. And while the movie is playing, who are you then? A non-being? When you are reading? Who then? When you are driving? Are you your car? Don’t injure yourself on the sharp edges. Be careful. But careful is a nothing word. Curiosity is a word worth exploring. You could make something of that. Are you starting to understand now? It’s just these goldfish never sleep, because no one bothers to turn off their goddamn light! Maybe we’re just being polite. We don't want to offend whoever turned it on in the first place. Everything is illuminated. All the time. You are tired. All the time. It’s an exhaustion that comes in waves. Takes you under it’s arm and marches you away from the calm you remember experiencing as a child. Before the responsibility. Before the death. What weight is it now? Noble Savagery. A way out? Take two of these. What can we agree upon? A view across the harbour in someone else’s city. Screen doors with holes where the mosquitos get in. The back porch where all the unseen tears were cried. She had been crying just before you told her, but you didn't want to let her own sorrow penetrate the present moment. Good news. A loss. The whole night searching for her in the shuffle of faces. Nothing. When you try to touch those years they slip through your fingers. Like a dream where you are falling, but the ground never gets any closer. There is a story to be told about the thud that never comes. About the branch that never breaks. About the wave that never crests. What now? When you stop there’s only laughter or forgetting. That’s your choice. That’s the history of nostalgia. There are no solutions, only more interesting puzzles. Only different ways of remembering. And forgiveness. There’s always forgiveness. And tenderness. Long after the pain has died away and the questions have dissolved there will always be tenderness. Infinite tenderness.



released December 17, 2016

Words by Banjo Jackson
Music by Banjo Jackson and Frank Giles



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Banjo Jackson Stirling, Australia

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