Saturday, April 30, 2005
ecuador comes to mind...
walking through a darkened hall
ecuador comes to mind
i see her there somehow before
another present time
when things were strange and different then
and we were feelin’ fine,
our time was spent on restless nights
when ecuador comes to mind.
losing myself in someone else
while she is spilling rhyme
looking around for something i found
inside that lady’s eyes
it slips my grasp, i lose control
graspin’ straws, i’m in a bind
all of this and more i see
when ecuador comes to mind
held so tight you can’t let go
of foolish thoughts of prime,
searching for some secret cave
wary of enemy spies
the shortest distance between two points
so often not in line,
scattered thoughts and scattered lands
when ecuador comes to mind
ecuador comes to mind
i see her there somehow before
another present time
when things were strange and different then
and we were feelin’ fine,
our time was spent on restless nights
when ecuador comes to mind.
losing myself in someone else
while she is spilling rhyme
looking around for something i found
inside that lady’s eyes
it slips my grasp, i lose control
graspin’ straws, i’m in a bind
all of this and more i see
when ecuador comes to mind
held so tight you can’t let go
of foolish thoughts of prime,
searching for some secret cave
wary of enemy spies
the shortest distance between two points
so often not in line,
scattered thoughts and scattered lands
when ecuador comes to mind
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
a friendly local mechanic...
I haven't written in a while, odd, because it has been so fucking busy lately. Now that I am officially not a student come May 10th or so, I am busily trying to figure out some new plan. I'm sure it will involve working somewhere, but the rest of the details are a bit fuzzy right now.
You know what? I thought I had a lot to say this morning, but the truth is I don't. I don't have a funny comment or even a rant. At this point, what would the difference be, and what could I say that would make things any easier? Nothing. So today, instead of random thoughts, I am going to be silent. Here are the answers to all of your possible questions regarding me: It doesn't matter, I don't know, or I don't care. You are free to pick any or all of these answers.
cf
You know what? I thought I had a lot to say this morning, but the truth is I don't. I don't have a funny comment or even a rant. At this point, what would the difference be, and what could I say that would make things any easier? Nothing. So today, instead of random thoughts, I am going to be silent. Here are the answers to all of your possible questions regarding me: It doesn't matter, I don't know, or I don't care. You are free to pick any or all of these answers.
cf
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
let me have it all...
"Now the trees all rage and come to life
The day gives out but he takes a wife
Who carries on behind his back
Lets the rabble through
Time has run away with us
And it laughs at our tears and fuss
Best go with god and let me trust
The ghost in here is you"
(joe henry)
Strange wanderings and demands I have only the faintest idea on how to satisfy. Amazing moments surrounded with the same brilliant light that reflects off of deep eyes that curl back after goodbyes, asleep underneath blankets in the nook. It is a vaguely confusing experience, rife with the trembling notions that the cool breeze passes between strands of my hair before rushing on, moving faster than I can catch. Mostly just the onrushing tide of extremism, in all of it's vainglorious asperations of grandeur, tirelessly convincing the congregation of each sin that falls like pine needles to the ground. There are many, and of varied stages of decomposition, each insisting that not all is lost, not even to the brown needles that crave water and a chance to be green again.
Each lyrical musing is passed as if on a wire to the newest variations on old themes, each one building towards it's own sweet conclusion where words are no longer necesary, and fall to the ground. The serenity in the first words of someone's siren song like the first plucke strings on an acoustic guitar. Leaving something hidden behind the veil is more fun, leaving me only the barest of guesses as to where you see these words flying towards, and you're right, I don't ask questions as often as you, but I still I wander around what I can see of your soul and admire the landscape. Your daydream symphony on a sunny afternoon, or maybe just wondering how far you'll take a daydream before abandoning it in favor of something in the night. Well, even the siren has to stop singing and think occasionally, it isn't a sign of weakness, but an admission of strength.
I will finish the story tomorrow, for now I am tired and ready to attmept sleep. While I do this, in beds all across the nation sleeps the vagaries of the past, tearful inclinations proving, once and for all, that everything we knew was made up, and everything we made up was beautiful. Close-eyed sensations of ambiguity, and the very real possibility that none of it was real, just a bad trip that slowly ebbed with the tides, leaving us with all we'd ever need to survive, but without the knowledge to use it.
"Cut out picture of a sugar tart
With olive skin and a purple heart
Concrete shoes, it's just the start
Of bigger things unseen
The heroes of our glory days
They ride upon the hit parades
Of hometown girls who've been displayed
In dirty magazines"
(joe henry)
Well, time and tide wait for no man, so let's go, "All Skate!"
cf
ps - that is for colonel cairo, wherever he is. may he never skewer me with a cutlass, but reward me for my deeds. let us pray:
Our Papi,
Who art in Fenway
Hallowed by thy team.
Thou kicketh ass,
On Yankee grass,
And at home, as you did in the Bronx.
Give us this year our shiny rings,
And forgive us our talk of curses,
As we forgive those who talk of curses against us.
And lead us not into extra innings,
But deliver us from choking.
For thou art the Schilling,
And the Arroyo,
And the Wakefield
For ever and ever.
Damon.
-------------------
That is all I got tonight, I am ready for Friday to come...
cf
cf
The day gives out but he takes a wife
Who carries on behind his back
Lets the rabble through
Time has run away with us
And it laughs at our tears and fuss
Best go with god and let me trust
The ghost in here is you"
(joe henry)
Strange wanderings and demands I have only the faintest idea on how to satisfy. Amazing moments surrounded with the same brilliant light that reflects off of deep eyes that curl back after goodbyes, asleep underneath blankets in the nook. It is a vaguely confusing experience, rife with the trembling notions that the cool breeze passes between strands of my hair before rushing on, moving faster than I can catch. Mostly just the onrushing tide of extremism, in all of it's vainglorious asperations of grandeur, tirelessly convincing the congregation of each sin that falls like pine needles to the ground. There are many, and of varied stages of decomposition, each insisting that not all is lost, not even to the brown needles that crave water and a chance to be green again.
Each lyrical musing is passed as if on a wire to the newest variations on old themes, each one building towards it's own sweet conclusion where words are no longer necesary, and fall to the ground. The serenity in the first words of someone's siren song like the first plucke strings on an acoustic guitar. Leaving something hidden behind the veil is more fun, leaving me only the barest of guesses as to where you see these words flying towards, and you're right, I don't ask questions as often as you, but I still I wander around what I can see of your soul and admire the landscape. Your daydream symphony on a sunny afternoon, or maybe just wondering how far you'll take a daydream before abandoning it in favor of something in the night. Well, even the siren has to stop singing and think occasionally, it isn't a sign of weakness, but an admission of strength.
I will finish the story tomorrow, for now I am tired and ready to attmept sleep. While I do this, in beds all across the nation sleeps the vagaries of the past, tearful inclinations proving, once and for all, that everything we knew was made up, and everything we made up was beautiful. Close-eyed sensations of ambiguity, and the very real possibility that none of it was real, just a bad trip that slowly ebbed with the tides, leaving us with all we'd ever need to survive, but without the knowledge to use it.
"Cut out picture of a sugar tart
With olive skin and a purple heart
Concrete shoes, it's just the start
Of bigger things unseen
The heroes of our glory days
They ride upon the hit parades
Of hometown girls who've been displayed
In dirty magazines"
(joe henry)
Well, time and tide wait for no man, so let's go, "All Skate!"
cf
ps - that is for colonel cairo, wherever he is. may he never skewer me with a cutlass, but reward me for my deeds. let us pray:
Our Papi,
Who art in Fenway
Hallowed by thy team.
Thou kicketh ass,
On Yankee grass,
And at home, as you did in the Bronx.
Give us this year our shiny rings,
And forgive us our talk of curses,
As we forgive those who talk of curses against us.
And lead us not into extra innings,
But deliver us from choking.
For thou art the Schilling,
And the Arroyo,
And the Wakefield
For ever and ever.
Damon.
-------------------
That is all I got tonight, I am ready for Friday to come...
cf
cf
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
while everyone is sleeping comfortably...
The best thing about the clock hitting six a.m. is that soon the rest of the world will wake up, the shows on TV improve, and another very long night comes to an end. You know it is a dull night when excitement builds to go out at 4:00 a.m. to Sleven and get cigarettes. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I wish there was something of substance I could say, but I am so tired all I can think about is how great it would be to sleep through one night without getting up or staring at the ceiling for hours. On the other hand, when you're up all night, there is time to listen to tons of music and reflect on life. Which is why I blog.
At any rate, there is the tint of sweetness to this tart night. Tuesdays and Thursdays there is a good reason for excitement, though you'll have to come up with "why" on your own as I can't say. It would ruin the mystery, and that's no good.
Anyway, this is the end result of fucking aorund with words on a late night. I give you....(hold for applause)..."Visage"
----------------------------------
"Visage"
A singularly powerful moment,
In an otherwise blasé affair
Reflections, impressions
Impersonal pretension
Illogic that’s all but unfair
Where is this going,
Where’s everyone at
What’s so amazing about this and that?
Where is the problem
Why can’t you see
That it’s a waste to keep being if you can’t just be
The last hours of freedom and highway
First moments of home from the road
Illustrious tension
Profound apprehension
Feel free to push but not goad
Where is this going,
Where’s everyone at
What’s so amazing about this and that?
Where is the problem
Why can’t you see
Put your toes in the water and drift out to sea
Repentance, numbness and tension
Repeated in so many ways
Distasteful mention
Of unlikely conventions
Fusion of leaving and staid
Where is this going,
Where’s everyone at
What’s so amazing about this and that?
Where is the problem
Why can’t you see
If you don't profit from my words then I'll take no fee
----------------------
As always, your late night servant,
cf
ps - see, no names. on the brown couch, there are no names, and nobody will see you sitting up here. (most of you don't even know to whom that is addressed to. HA!)
cf
I wish there was something of substance I could say, but I am so tired all I can think about is how great it would be to sleep through one night without getting up or staring at the ceiling for hours. On the other hand, when you're up all night, there is time to listen to tons of music and reflect on life. Which is why I blog.
At any rate, there is the tint of sweetness to this tart night. Tuesdays and Thursdays there is a good reason for excitement, though you'll have to come up with "why" on your own as I can't say. It would ruin the mystery, and that's no good.
Anyway, this is the end result of fucking aorund with words on a late night. I give you....(hold for applause)..."Visage"
----------------------------------
"Visage"
A singularly powerful moment,
In an otherwise blasé affair
Reflections, impressions
Impersonal pretension
Illogic that’s all but unfair
Where is this going,
Where’s everyone at
What’s so amazing about this and that?
Where is the problem
Why can’t you see
That it’s a waste to keep being if you can’t just be
The last hours of freedom and highway
First moments of home from the road
Illustrious tension
Profound apprehension
Feel free to push but not goad
Where is this going,
Where’s everyone at
What’s so amazing about this and that?
Where is the problem
Why can’t you see
Put your toes in the water and drift out to sea
Repentance, numbness and tension
Repeated in so many ways
Distasteful mention
Of unlikely conventions
Fusion of leaving and staid
Where is this going,
Where’s everyone at
What’s so amazing about this and that?
Where is the problem
Why can’t you see
If you don't profit from my words then I'll take no fee
----------------------
As always, your late night servant,
cf
ps - see, no names. on the brown couch, there are no names, and nobody will see you sitting up here. (most of you don't even know to whom that is addressed to. HA!)
cf
Friday, April 15, 2005
wordplay...
“Wordplay”
Exupéry on my mind,
dancers estimated cargo time,
girl with brunette hair
and a smile like twisted lime
amazement in cycles
trifles, thorough
sunset falling scuffle
shuffle-dancers
sandy-shored sway
where sea-birds flock
squawk words talk
without syllables,
representations petit fils
behind closed doors,
veil-dropped social mores
locks of brunette hair
swept aside on hardwood floors
cyclical amazement
sweet serenade
whispers of rumors
horses for trademusic stops
only to echo as once more
blind sugar sweet mini-smiles
glance off my eyes
laughter, sandy winded
upper echelon freeze-framed
time sensitive smiles, a
swing to your gait,
reflexive use of protocol
whip cracked spins
turns tail unambiguously
sunset brunette diaspora
-----------
(this was written because I missed something I wanted to see, and rather than wonder what it was like, I decided to imagine the scene. Oh, except, as always, that one kernel image that is constantly shifting in my mind, going from the very tips of almost invisible blonde (sometimes brunette, i'm an equal opportunity offender...just like richard marx...and if you get that reference, you are as much a fucking loser as I am...) hair to the wispy and self-serving smoke that fled from my cigarette and disappeared into the air around me. I can't deny it is mostly aesthetics, but I am coming to believe aesthetics are important, if only because they are the easiest to manipulate and the hardest to develop. At any rate, on Thursday, I learned how good it can feel to get the wind moving through my hair. I'll have to do that again.)
cf
ps - how i feel tonight...
"There's a bone in my ear
Keeps singing your name
Sometimes it's like pleasure
Sometimes it's like pain
It's a small voice and quiet
But I hear it plain
There's a bone in my ear
Keeps singing your name
In my heart there's a an image
Like looking through glass
Could be looking at me
Could be looking right past
I don't like it when
I can't tell which is true
But I wouldn't trade the world
For that picture of you
Moon in the water
Cold light in the streets
Warmth in your fingers
Sweat in your sheets
Laid out like an offering
Where two currents meet
The river is dark
But the water is sweet
Wailing on the mountain
Smoke on the wind
Can't drown out the whisper
Or the scent of your skin
Don't know where it came from
But I know where it came
There's a bone in my ear
Keeps singing your name"
("bone in my ear" by b. cockburn)
that's enough words for now, if you're that interested, there will be more later...
cf
Exupéry on my mind,
dancers estimated cargo time,
girl with brunette hair
and a smile like twisted lime
amazement in cycles
trifles, thorough
sunset falling scuffle
shuffle-dancers
sandy-shored sway
where sea-birds flock
squawk words talk
without syllables,
representations petit fils
behind closed doors,
veil-dropped social mores
locks of brunette hair
swept aside on hardwood floors
cyclical amazement
sweet serenade
whispers of rumors
horses for trademusic stops
only to echo as once more
blind sugar sweet mini-smiles
glance off my eyes
laughter, sandy winded
upper echelon freeze-framed
time sensitive smiles, a
swing to your gait,
reflexive use of protocol
whip cracked spins
turns tail unambiguously
sunset brunette diaspora
-----------
(this was written because I missed something I wanted to see, and rather than wonder what it was like, I decided to imagine the scene. Oh, except, as always, that one kernel image that is constantly shifting in my mind, going from the very tips of almost invisible blonde (sometimes brunette, i'm an equal opportunity offender...just like richard marx...and if you get that reference, you are as much a fucking loser as I am...) hair to the wispy and self-serving smoke that fled from my cigarette and disappeared into the air around me. I can't deny it is mostly aesthetics, but I am coming to believe aesthetics are important, if only because they are the easiest to manipulate and the hardest to develop. At any rate, on Thursday, I learned how good it can feel to get the wind moving through my hair. I'll have to do that again.)
cf
ps - how i feel tonight...
"There's a bone in my ear
Keeps singing your name
Sometimes it's like pleasure
Sometimes it's like pain
It's a small voice and quiet
But I hear it plain
There's a bone in my ear
Keeps singing your name
In my heart there's a an image
Like looking through glass
Could be looking at me
Could be looking right past
I don't like it when
I can't tell which is true
But I wouldn't trade the world
For that picture of you
Moon in the water
Cold light in the streets
Warmth in your fingers
Sweat in your sheets
Laid out like an offering
Where two currents meet
The river is dark
But the water is sweet
Wailing on the mountain
Smoke on the wind
Can't drown out the whisper
Or the scent of your skin
Don't know where it came from
But I know where it came
There's a bone in my ear
Keeps singing your name"
("bone in my ear" by b. cockburn)
that's enough words for now, if you're that interested, there will be more later...
cf
who put the bullet hole in peggy's kitchen wall?...
The Cockburn music is freshly painted around me, and the ecstasy of watching the good guys beat up on the MFY's has faded a bit by the time I woke up from a nap at 1:30 a.m. I was going to go back to bed, but I figured hanging out for a while wouldn't be a bad thing, especially since it seems everyone has pussed out and gone to bed. Fuckers, don't you know how much fun the world can be when 99% of it is asleep? I mean, that may seem like a dumb question, after all, from looking around, it would seem that 99% in the people are asleep all of the time anyway, but i digress, and the hour is late. Plus, I got that 'itis.
I walked out my front door, and my nipples immediately said "Go back inside, or we are going to fucking fall off, it is cold out here." And that was the end of going out tonight. Now, I am not a cold weather person. I don't mind it, but I'm all about summer and, and warm winds and such, and plus, I'm sick of cold nights. (Take that anyway you want, though you could be misinterpreting...) Anyway, it will be warm soon, and that is bonzer, if you catch my drift.
I feel like there is something I am dancing around saying, but I don't know what it is. After meditating on the state of the state of CF, I came to the conclusion that despite a few areas of stress, I am getting better at keeping my perspective and lately, I have been getting close to enjoying life again. Suffice it to say that maybe now isn't the time for big changes. Why fuck with a good thing?
My recent Cockburn fascination...ah, the perils of the atheist that can't resist powerful song writing. Now, rest assured your faithful atheist will not be changing his mind, but I do take a lot of comfort in how Cockburn expresses his own faith, while at the same time managing to develop such a powerful voice in his songs. Shit, most of you will never know of whom I speak, and while it is occasionally distressing to not be able to talk Cockburn or Jim Morris with anyone, I get a great deal of joy from the music of both guys, plus a few others that just seem to speak more clearly than other writers. It is very few that I have ever heard that can be politically AND spiritually motivated and continue to keep a good story going. Go check out the song "Indian Wars" to see waht I mean. It is haunting and beautiful, like the beach at night, while at the same time saying something very fucked up about how cultures interact. That is amazing.
So, we all play with the same language, and the same words, some are just better equipped to transmit meaning and style than others. We are all attuned to different characteristics of speech, so what I find to be brilliance, you may well characterize as drivel, but all the same, there is no better teacher than finding someone with a good voice and something to say. In my not so humble opinion, that seems to be sorely lacking in the world, or at least seems that way. Damn do I need to get to a beach soon...
"I believe it's a sin to try and make things last forever
Everything that exists in time runs out of time some day
Got to let go of the things that keep you tethered
Take your place with grace and then be on your way"
(from "mighty tracks of midnight" by b. cockburn)
------------------------------
"Putting forth from dusted harbor towns,
Where the waves don't hit the beaches hard
Just set out to wander free from extremes
The fifty third member in this worldly deck of cards"
(from "53" by cf)
------------------------------
Is that everything I want to say? Not even close. But I got diarrhea of the mouth, and I'd hate to destroy the huge readership and legions of adoring Brown Couch fans, so....(pause for dramatic tension...) that is good for tonight. Besides, tomorrow, I may get to see belly dancers, and, aside from that, I may get a few more words down here and on other projects. Something to think about before a cigarette and some other fun...( the type of song that makes me feel better about the world)
"Evening sun slants across the road
Painting everything with gold
I'm headed for home, got a woman there
I can barely wait to hold
Got wind in my hair, got the heat inside
Heart jumping up and down
An empty head and a messed-up bed
I'll be floating just above the ground
Never had a lot of faith in human beings
But sometimes we manage to shine
Like a light on a hill beaming out to space
From somewhere hard to find
I ride and I shoot and I play guitar
And I like my life just fine
If you try to take one of these things from me
Then you're no friend of mine
Got a woman I love and she loves me
And we live on a piece of land
I never know quite how to measure these things
But I guess I'm a happy man"
("great big love" by b. cockburn)
cf
ps - ok, a little explanation. Much like the oft mentioned (and oft played!) "Egrets, No Regrets" song, I just like the peace of this tune. I don't share much in common with the narrator, except that it makes me think that happiness is whatever you want it to be, and that is damn comforting. Though to be honest, it is way more peaceful NOT to have a girlfriend than it is to have one, so I'm sure Bruce and I aren't quite on the same page...hahahaha. That, and he loves jesus, and I love the Red Sox. And, since it hasn't been said in quite a while.... Joe Henry Loves You Madly....
cf
I walked out my front door, and my nipples immediately said "Go back inside, or we are going to fucking fall off, it is cold out here." And that was the end of going out tonight. Now, I am not a cold weather person. I don't mind it, but I'm all about summer and, and warm winds and such, and plus, I'm sick of cold nights. (Take that anyway you want, though you could be misinterpreting...) Anyway, it will be warm soon, and that is bonzer, if you catch my drift.
I feel like there is something I am dancing around saying, but I don't know what it is. After meditating on the state of the state of CF, I came to the conclusion that despite a few areas of stress, I am getting better at keeping my perspective and lately, I have been getting close to enjoying life again. Suffice it to say that maybe now isn't the time for big changes. Why fuck with a good thing?
My recent Cockburn fascination...ah, the perils of the atheist that can't resist powerful song writing. Now, rest assured your faithful atheist will not be changing his mind, but I do take a lot of comfort in how Cockburn expresses his own faith, while at the same time managing to develop such a powerful voice in his songs. Shit, most of you will never know of whom I speak, and while it is occasionally distressing to not be able to talk Cockburn or Jim Morris with anyone, I get a great deal of joy from the music of both guys, plus a few others that just seem to speak more clearly than other writers. It is very few that I have ever heard that can be politically AND spiritually motivated and continue to keep a good story going. Go check out the song "Indian Wars" to see waht I mean. It is haunting and beautiful, like the beach at night, while at the same time saying something very fucked up about how cultures interact. That is amazing.
So, we all play with the same language, and the same words, some are just better equipped to transmit meaning and style than others. We are all attuned to different characteristics of speech, so what I find to be brilliance, you may well characterize as drivel, but all the same, there is no better teacher than finding someone with a good voice and something to say. In my not so humble opinion, that seems to be sorely lacking in the world, or at least seems that way. Damn do I need to get to a beach soon...
"I believe it's a sin to try and make things last forever
Everything that exists in time runs out of time some day
Got to let go of the things that keep you tethered
Take your place with grace and then be on your way"
(from "mighty tracks of midnight" by b. cockburn)
------------------------------
"Putting forth from dusted harbor towns,
Where the waves don't hit the beaches hard
Just set out to wander free from extremes
The fifty third member in this worldly deck of cards"
(from "53" by cf)
------------------------------
Is that everything I want to say? Not even close. But I got diarrhea of the mouth, and I'd hate to destroy the huge readership and legions of adoring Brown Couch fans, so....(pause for dramatic tension...) that is good for tonight. Besides, tomorrow, I may get to see belly dancers, and, aside from that, I may get a few more words down here and on other projects. Something to think about before a cigarette and some other fun...( the type of song that makes me feel better about the world)
"Evening sun slants across the road
Painting everything with gold
I'm headed for home, got a woman there
I can barely wait to hold
Got wind in my hair, got the heat inside
Heart jumping up and down
An empty head and a messed-up bed
I'll be floating just above the ground
Never had a lot of faith in human beings
But sometimes we manage to shine
Like a light on a hill beaming out to space
From somewhere hard to find
I ride and I shoot and I play guitar
And I like my life just fine
If you try to take one of these things from me
Then you're no friend of mine
Got a woman I love and she loves me
And we live on a piece of land
I never know quite how to measure these things
But I guess I'm a happy man"
("great big love" by b. cockburn)
cf
ps - ok, a little explanation. Much like the oft mentioned (and oft played!) "Egrets, No Regrets" song, I just like the peace of this tune. I don't share much in common with the narrator, except that it makes me think that happiness is whatever you want it to be, and that is damn comforting. Though to be honest, it is way more peaceful NOT to have a girlfriend than it is to have one, so I'm sure Bruce and I aren't quite on the same page...hahahaha. That, and he loves jesus, and I love the Red Sox. And, since it hasn't been said in quite a while.... Joe Henry Loves You Madly....
cf
Thursday, April 14, 2005
loquita (a poem)
(aren't first drafts great? play with this....)
"loquita"
you can hide secret shy smiles
flashing madly,
light escaping hands covering your mouth,
eyes that see too far,
straining from between fingers,
palms that cover and hide
what useless words could never describe
where music plays
I make up the words,
leap from wooden palm trees
where lighthouse keepers
watch intently, ever
functioning in his tall house
looking after Jonah’s priceless possession
failures of transcription
brook transitory notions of empty cans,
moving hips, placed
somewhere between
hearts and minds, lodged firmly
against azure proclamations
salt-aired breezes carrying
future scenes, invisible to the naked eye
"loquita"
you can hide secret shy smiles
flashing madly,
light escaping hands covering your mouth,
eyes that see too far,
straining from between fingers,
palms that cover and hide
what useless words could never describe
where music plays
I make up the words,
leap from wooden palm trees
where lighthouse keepers
watch intently, ever
functioning in his tall house
looking after Jonah’s priceless possession
failures of transcription
brook transitory notions of empty cans,
moving hips, placed
somewhere between
hearts and minds, lodged firmly
against azure proclamations
salt-aired breezes carrying
future scenes, invisible to the naked eye
it's my beat...
The warbling call of morning, the first hesitant steps into a new day, and trying to remember the vaguest of conversations from the night before seems pointless right now. I love the morning. I love the idea that for a while, there is nothing constricting me from the great "perhaps." What else can you ask for but sunny skies and a cool breeze skirting the mountains, heading onward, wherever the wind blows? Not much.
Stuck somewhere between eyes flecked with emeralds and those remarkably obtuse statements that rip stitches off of lips and leave us blowing blood bubbles where words are supposed to be is that tangled image of beauty and fanaticism where everything is what it seems. (I'd just like to point out that for every person who bitches and moans about things not being as they look, the real problem would be if they did. Do you know how confusing it is to trust something that can lie as effortlessly as eyes?)
Wandering in a haze of Bruce Cockburn lyrics and leaky tiki poetry, I can't help but see that aside from a few small things that I cannot get into publicly, things are pretty good right now. (hey you worry about what you need, I'll find what mine somewhere else) It would seem I am well on my way towards the idyllic life of a beach bum, and what more can you ask for? It does seem hysterical to walk around a college campus and hear about everybody who wants to do BIG things with life. People seem to want money, power, responsibility, and the chance to be on top. (On top of what you may ask? On top of the human shit pile is the only answer I can arrive at.)
There are days this gets frustrating, since it would seem that there are few like me who desire only to let someone else run the world and be left alone long enough to make up my own mind about the world, and the small part I play. It is mornings like this that I feel like I was given a mental and spiritual reprieve from the big worries of life. Somehow, my weltanschauung happily does not jive with the idea of control or responsibility. I got enough trouble figuring out my life, I can't imagine being in charge and having to direct someone else's life. That is asinine. So, I will do my writing, go to work, and watch the sun set and rise with a cold can of Bud Light. I wasn't going to post this again, but why not, he is Jim Morris and he writes the songs, while I am CF, and I sing along...
Egrets, no regrets
A jug of wine and a cute brunette
And fifty things I haven't thought of yet
Surf's up, sun is high
Pretty sailboats passing by
Lovely women, my oh my
Egrets, no regrets
Taking a spin on life's roulette
Bought my chips and I've placed my bet
I've got the egrets and no regrets
I ain't worried bout anything passing me by
I ain't worried I got all I need
A pretty beach and a sunny sky
Palm trees, swimming pools
And wacky tourists dressed like fools
They don't like me cause I break the rules
I've got those egrets and no regrets
Wind speed is my concern
I'm happy, now, from bow to stern
So let me tell you just what I've learned
I've got egrets and no regrets
I've got no money but I've got no debts
And everyday I get a free sunset
I got egrets and no regrets
I ain't worried bout anything passing me by
I ain't worried I got all I need
A pretty beach and a sunny sky
(words & music Jim Morris)
--------
Well, that would be it for now. I'll find my beach, you be responsible, and make mommy and daddy proud. This is my life, and you'll get no dissent from me. I'll be under the setting sun, where the water turns red and orange, and I can already smell the shrimp cooking on the grill. See you by the water...
cf
Stuck somewhere between eyes flecked with emeralds and those remarkably obtuse statements that rip stitches off of lips and leave us blowing blood bubbles where words are supposed to be is that tangled image of beauty and fanaticism where everything is what it seems. (I'd just like to point out that for every person who bitches and moans about things not being as they look, the real problem would be if they did. Do you know how confusing it is to trust something that can lie as effortlessly as eyes?)
Wandering in a haze of Bruce Cockburn lyrics and leaky tiki poetry, I can't help but see that aside from a few small things that I cannot get into publicly, things are pretty good right now. (hey you worry about what you need, I'll find what mine somewhere else) It would seem I am well on my way towards the idyllic life of a beach bum, and what more can you ask for? It does seem hysterical to walk around a college campus and hear about everybody who wants to do BIG things with life. People seem to want money, power, responsibility, and the chance to be on top. (On top of what you may ask? On top of the human shit pile is the only answer I can arrive at.)
There are days this gets frustrating, since it would seem that there are few like me who desire only to let someone else run the world and be left alone long enough to make up my own mind about the world, and the small part I play. It is mornings like this that I feel like I was given a mental and spiritual reprieve from the big worries of life. Somehow, my weltanschauung happily does not jive with the idea of control or responsibility. I got enough trouble figuring out my life, I can't imagine being in charge and having to direct someone else's life. That is asinine. So, I will do my writing, go to work, and watch the sun set and rise with a cold can of Bud Light. I wasn't going to post this again, but why not, he is Jim Morris and he writes the songs, while I am CF, and I sing along...
Egrets, no regrets
A jug of wine and a cute brunette
And fifty things I haven't thought of yet
Surf's up, sun is high
Pretty sailboats passing by
Lovely women, my oh my
Egrets, no regrets
Taking a spin on life's roulette
Bought my chips and I've placed my bet
I've got the egrets and no regrets
I ain't worried bout anything passing me by
I ain't worried I got all I need
A pretty beach and a sunny sky
Palm trees, swimming pools
And wacky tourists dressed like fools
They don't like me cause I break the rules
I've got those egrets and no regrets
Wind speed is my concern
I'm happy, now, from bow to stern
So let me tell you just what I've learned
I've got egrets and no regrets
I've got no money but I've got no debts
And everyday I get a free sunset
I got egrets and no regrets
I ain't worried bout anything passing me by
I ain't worried I got all I need
A pretty beach and a sunny sky
(words & music Jim Morris)
--------
Well, that would be it for now. I'll find my beach, you be responsible, and make mommy and daddy proud. This is my life, and you'll get no dissent from me. I'll be under the setting sun, where the water turns red and orange, and I can already smell the shrimp cooking on the grill. See you by the water...
cf
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
the most perfect eyes...
One of those rare occasions where the angle of light is perfect, and the from across the room a smile breaks out that speaks in possibilities. Those endearing moments when there is a glimpse of everything that COULD be in a flash. Now, I am not saying that everyhitng that could be will happen, but it is beautiful nevertheless when secret doors open, even if it is only for a fraction of a second between bored glances at a watch and hopeful nods of ascension to a discussion I can't follow. (I can only hope these words won't be read and misinterpreted, but such is life. Besides, we already talked about this, and hopefully it is clear that words are no more inherently true or false than the user, and here, of all places, you cannot doubt my honesty, because no matter what words I choose, the basic provence of my writing is obfuscation and reference, nothing more or less.)
Afte the relative insecurity of the weekend's events, it was something perhaps necesary to note the gradual shifting in the fault lines of my life. I don't mind the earthquake, though the treason is hard to bear at times. But the most fundamental thing about the situation is the delight in the possible. Were this back before the Sox won the World Series, I would use this as a example of faith, and why faith is so important. Instead, I am relegated to noting that faith in and of itself, whether it be spiritual, or simply belief in the viability of a smile can be among the more beautiful things in life. Faith implies trust, desire, history, and the future, among other things. Faith in the inescapable conclusion of humanity is not in and of itself that impressive. For me, what makes makes moments like that a true beautiful occasion is not that shit WILL work out as you dream, but that it can. For the first time in a while, I remember clearly the difference between an indentured smile and the hidden smile I don;t think I was meant to see. And it was beautiful, and amazing, and something I will always remember.
What I most wonder about people in general is if they can see the world around them, and if so, how? Is the relation to the inane and powerful the same? Is it enough to see the possibility, or must it go farther? For me, all that needs to exist is the dark horse possibility that possiblity might be realized. It isn't vapid, but I think sometimes it is close to it. At any rate, I think that is enough crazy ranting for one night, and that is all I can say, excpet, to the owner of those perfect eyes..."Wow. You'll probobly never know what I saw there, and I will probobly never be able to explain it past the most rudimentary syllables and esoteric phrases. I can only hope this doesn't totally freak you out, but here on the Brown Couch, that's just the way it works.
cf
-----
oh, and a new poem...hey, we all fuck around sometimes...
"Water"
one night I sat home stoned,
jim was saying something about
texas radio, the big beat,
but then he didn’t say nothing about
texas heat burning holes on my tongue
draining water
rambunctious on my tongue, but
wishing I was in the rain
drenched, but warm,
summer rain in the afternoon
lastly something flashed in distant waves
vision roiled whitecaps
centered me on feathery licks of a lovers tongue
what it was,
what it couldn't be
passion fires mysteriously,
stand on a shore,
watching water roll on
-----
cf
Afte the relative insecurity of the weekend's events, it was something perhaps necesary to note the gradual shifting in the fault lines of my life. I don't mind the earthquake, though the treason is hard to bear at times. But the most fundamental thing about the situation is the delight in the possible. Were this back before the Sox won the World Series, I would use this as a example of faith, and why faith is so important. Instead, I am relegated to noting that faith in and of itself, whether it be spiritual, or simply belief in the viability of a smile can be among the more beautiful things in life. Faith implies trust, desire, history, and the future, among other things. Faith in the inescapable conclusion of humanity is not in and of itself that impressive. For me, what makes makes moments like that a true beautiful occasion is not that shit WILL work out as you dream, but that it can. For the first time in a while, I remember clearly the difference between an indentured smile and the hidden smile I don;t think I was meant to see. And it was beautiful, and amazing, and something I will always remember.
What I most wonder about people in general is if they can see the world around them, and if so, how? Is the relation to the inane and powerful the same? Is it enough to see the possibility, or must it go farther? For me, all that needs to exist is the dark horse possibility that possiblity might be realized. It isn't vapid, but I think sometimes it is close to it. At any rate, I think that is enough crazy ranting for one night, and that is all I can say, excpet, to the owner of those perfect eyes..."Wow. You'll probobly never know what I saw there, and I will probobly never be able to explain it past the most rudimentary syllables and esoteric phrases. I can only hope this doesn't totally freak you out, but here on the Brown Couch, that's just the way it works.
cf
-----
oh, and a new poem...hey, we all fuck around sometimes...
"Water"
one night I sat home stoned,
jim was saying something about
texas radio, the big beat,
but then he didn’t say nothing about
texas heat burning holes on my tongue
draining water
rambunctious on my tongue, but
wishing I was in the rain
drenched, but warm,
summer rain in the afternoon
lastly something flashed in distant waves
vision roiled whitecaps
centered me on feathery licks of a lovers tongue
what it was,
what it couldn't be
passion fires mysteriously,
stand on a shore,
watching water roll on
-----
cf
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
open up the window (let the bad air out)
"Judge says to the hooker
Can you come out and play?
I've been condemning people all day long
That's how I get paid
My dreams are full of criminals
Frolicking about
Open up the window
Let the bad air out"
(bruce cockburn)
Because I am a total dumbass, I slept in two three hour shifts today. It was strange. I napped from 5:30-8:30 and then from 11:30-3:30. So, now, it is 5 a.m., I have finished my homework and am sitting in the dark trying not to envision a visit from Officer Krupke. I can't really write too much on the whole episode, suffice it to say be careful whom you party with. An ugly incidnet all the way around, to be sure.
On more positive notes, I got a cool rejection letter from UNC Greensboro, and used said rejection letter to start a BBQ on Saturday. It seemed fitting. For one thing, who would want to live in Greensboro? Even people whol have to live in Greensboro don't want to live in Greensboro. I simply can't muster up the raw anger and hatred for UNCG as I can for VT. Ah well, no worries, methinks this will all blow over, and I can go to the beach and just be a writer and beach bum as I want to do.
Well, off to find something to do till class...probobly sleep. Eh, maybe not. Either way, I'm sure I'll be back later, I always am...
cf
Can you come out and play?
I've been condemning people all day long
That's how I get paid
My dreams are full of criminals
Frolicking about
Open up the window
Let the bad air out"
(bruce cockburn)
Because I am a total dumbass, I slept in two three hour shifts today. It was strange. I napped from 5:30-8:30 and then from 11:30-3:30. So, now, it is 5 a.m., I have finished my homework and am sitting in the dark trying not to envision a visit from Officer Krupke. I can't really write too much on the whole episode, suffice it to say be careful whom you party with. An ugly incidnet all the way around, to be sure.
On more positive notes, I got a cool rejection letter from UNC Greensboro, and used said rejection letter to start a BBQ on Saturday. It seemed fitting. For one thing, who would want to live in Greensboro? Even people whol have to live in Greensboro don't want to live in Greensboro. I simply can't muster up the raw anger and hatred for UNCG as I can for VT. Ah well, no worries, methinks this will all blow over, and I can go to the beach and just be a writer and beach bum as I want to do.
Well, off to find something to do till class...probobly sleep. Eh, maybe not. Either way, I'm sure I'll be back later, I always am...
cf
Saturday, April 09, 2005
what happens when i walk at night...
(this is why i walk when i can't sleep)
4:31 a.m. March 30th, 2005
adrenaline mixed
with lasting characterizations;
mundane scenery cloaked
in stillness and beautiful,
vibrant darkness
enveloping soil and stone
as if deep under the ground
temporary world of convenience,
coolness; a marble statue under the stars
where few footsteps fall,
echoes lost across grass and space
while ownership devolves
to renters and brokers
my terrain now; a mix of
every missing indifferent glance,
ghost shadows resurrected from
winds and branches and fragments of light.
interloping lights roll past, histories
knives through darkness,
strange looks still my terrain
ribbons, posters no one reads,
electioneering terminal statements,
proclamations unheard on the mall
hard cement floors and books,
Cockburn over chilled night-winds
ethereal wonderings whether the sun will rise,
briefly hoping
for disks of heat and light to wait,
let loose on someone else’s lands,
leaving all as is,
a permanence
this temporary town will
never find.
---
This poem was submitted to Brush Mountain Review, but since I am uncertain of my chances for acceptance (though some of the stuff they do publish makes one wonder about quality writing on this university in general) I wanted to post it here. Besides, they are my words, and I will do as I please with them. Oh, and the poem is how I feel about Blacksburg...for now. I'm feeling far to much caution to stick with one emotion towards this town for too long...
Oh, I have a short story re-edit to post, and with readership at an all time high (just like me) perhaps it will be worth it. Ill get to it...later. Till then, toodle-fucking-oo.
cf
4:31 a.m. March 30th, 2005
adrenaline mixed
with lasting characterizations;
mundane scenery cloaked
in stillness and beautiful,
vibrant darkness
enveloping soil and stone
as if deep under the ground
temporary world of convenience,
coolness; a marble statue under the stars
where few footsteps fall,
echoes lost across grass and space
while ownership devolves
to renters and brokers
my terrain now; a mix of
every missing indifferent glance,
ghost shadows resurrected from
winds and branches and fragments of light.
interloping lights roll past, histories
knives through darkness,
strange looks still my terrain
ribbons, posters no one reads,
electioneering terminal statements,
proclamations unheard on the mall
hard cement floors and books,
Cockburn over chilled night-winds
ethereal wonderings whether the sun will rise,
briefly hoping
for disks of heat and light to wait,
let loose on someone else’s lands,
leaving all as is,
a permanence
this temporary town will
never find.
---
This poem was submitted to Brush Mountain Review, but since I am uncertain of my chances for acceptance (though some of the stuff they do publish makes one wonder about quality writing on this university in general) I wanted to post it here. Besides, they are my words, and I will do as I please with them. Oh, and the poem is how I feel about Blacksburg...for now. I'm feeling far to much caution to stick with one emotion towards this town for too long...
Oh, I have a short story re-edit to post, and with readership at an all time high (just like me) perhaps it will be worth it. Ill get to it...later. Till then, toodle-fucking-oo.
cf
red headed woman and grenadine....
Imagine sitting somewhere, chaise lounge style, staring at a sun dropping random rays onto your fresh application of SPF 40. From a battered jukebox, classic rock, recognizable in the same welcome-home manner of summer winds, carrying the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. As you listen to waves crash against the shore and start thinking back to the time you were young and stupid enough to believe that time was a dear friend, healing wounds and teaching, always adjudicating fairly, and always in favor of moving on. The sun falls, replaced by silver and glowing strands of light, just empty reflections of old light. Still, you sit on the chair and stare, sometimes towards the horizon, and sometimes towards the night sky.
And here is the crux of the problem. The fucking crossroads if you will. You see, I can't communicate anymore clearly than I did in the former paragraph. I don't have the words, or if I do, the order gets jumbled up, and all I can do is stutter, and that is hard to do while writing. As much as this is obfuscation and denial, I can already hear people saying "You fucking liar. We all know what you are trying to say, and these words are the pathetic ranting of mistaken identity. We'll show you."
The funniest part is how back to the future this all is for me. In some ways, the spit-staggered development of social grace is like a bad case of blue balls. Maybe that is a bad example. There's already been enough mistakes made in that capacity, and don't it beat all hell that this subject is still the fucking Gordian knot it pretends to be. Now see, the obvious conclusion you should draw is that desire is fear. Not in the Newspeak sense, though kudos to any Orwell fans out there in the night. More in the sense that desire seems to represent an abasement of some type, the wherefore and why part of Juliet’s plea, if you will so indulge me. At any rate, as always, progress will be made, and while I do detest waiting, it may be unavoidable here. It would seem it is out of my hands at this point, though certainly, her problem is ideological, not emotional. Pity she hasn't figured that out yet. Shall we tell her? Nope. It wouldn't help, she'll get it sooner or later. I have faith.
To be more positive, downright anachronistically GORGEOUS, if I may, there are the wonderful tidings, glimmers really, that speckle the horizon, sparkling in color, beautiful portents of things to come. I am fairly confident (fairly because I have good cause, and confident because I enjoy the sensation of denial as much as the some, and more than others.) The sum total of this strange rant, discombobulated as it may seem, is to prove that there is a startling cohesion to the seemingly random mind. Each element, each carefully chosen word, each whisper of promise is guarded with barbed wire and the sentries of linear thought, but if you can get around all that, you will understand what I am writing here. This is the only clue I can offer, but I think it explains this whole blog nicely. (No notes telling me things "seem cliché." Do I look like a fucking momo? Cliché usage should be assumed to be on purpose, and I will do likewise.)
Well, there is more to say, but all this writing is sobering me up, and after watching "Sahara" tonight, I am in need of a cool cool beverage. By the by, the movie was excellent, the company fantastically radiant and demure, and the outcome heroic. Having a great time, wish you were here, sorry to keep going on..... At any rate, the cat is sleeping on my jeans; I'm going to go scare her, Stripes-style. No duct tape this time, just a good old-fashioned water gun.
cf
ps - (man, my brains must be scrambled. best news of the night? SOX WIN! kicking ass in toronto, I need that good mojo down here for a while....glad you guys are back, you've been missed! RSN is EVERYWHERE! see my car! hahahaha. ok, i'm done, time to go for some head time and then a brief dream about someone who for all I know is already asleep....with a cat. Lucky SOB.)
cf
And here is the crux of the problem. The fucking crossroads if you will. You see, I can't communicate anymore clearly than I did in the former paragraph. I don't have the words, or if I do, the order gets jumbled up, and all I can do is stutter, and that is hard to do while writing. As much as this is obfuscation and denial, I can already hear people saying "You fucking liar. We all know what you are trying to say, and these words are the pathetic ranting of mistaken identity. We'll show you."
The funniest part is how back to the future this all is for me. In some ways, the spit-staggered development of social grace is like a bad case of blue balls. Maybe that is a bad example. There's already been enough mistakes made in that capacity, and don't it beat all hell that this subject is still the fucking Gordian knot it pretends to be. Now see, the obvious conclusion you should draw is that desire is fear. Not in the Newspeak sense, though kudos to any Orwell fans out there in the night. More in the sense that desire seems to represent an abasement of some type, the wherefore and why part of Juliet’s plea, if you will so indulge me. At any rate, as always, progress will be made, and while I do detest waiting, it may be unavoidable here. It would seem it is out of my hands at this point, though certainly, her problem is ideological, not emotional. Pity she hasn't figured that out yet. Shall we tell her? Nope. It wouldn't help, she'll get it sooner or later. I have faith.
To be more positive, downright anachronistically GORGEOUS, if I may, there are the wonderful tidings, glimmers really, that speckle the horizon, sparkling in color, beautiful portents of things to come. I am fairly confident (fairly because I have good cause, and confident because I enjoy the sensation of denial as much as the some, and more than others.) The sum total of this strange rant, discombobulated as it may seem, is to prove that there is a startling cohesion to the seemingly random mind. Each element, each carefully chosen word, each whisper of promise is guarded with barbed wire and the sentries of linear thought, but if you can get around all that, you will understand what I am writing here. This is the only clue I can offer, but I think it explains this whole blog nicely. (No notes telling me things "seem cliché." Do I look like a fucking momo? Cliché usage should be assumed to be on purpose, and I will do likewise.)
Well, there is more to say, but all this writing is sobering me up, and after watching "Sahara" tonight, I am in need of a cool cool beverage. By the by, the movie was excellent, the company fantastically radiant and demure, and the outcome heroic. Having a great time, wish you were here, sorry to keep going on..... At any rate, the cat is sleeping on my jeans; I'm going to go scare her, Stripes-style. No duct tape this time, just a good old-fashioned water gun.
cf
ps - (man, my brains must be scrambled. best news of the night? SOX WIN! kicking ass in toronto, I need that good mojo down here for a while....glad you guys are back, you've been missed! RSN is EVERYWHERE! see my car! hahahaha. ok, i'm done, time to go for some head time and then a brief dream about someone who for all I know is already asleep....with a cat. Lucky SOB.)
cf
Monday, April 04, 2005
on the ground and wandering...
I was feeling transitory, so I am trying to reconcile my wanderlust with the desperate need to figure out what is going on in my life. That sounds so much less declarative than I thought it would, and fails to encapsulate the depth of how I am thinking right now. With events flying by, I am coming to realize the shortfalls of life without memory, and more importantly, life in this age of empires and romance.
I guess first off, I should put my hand up and swear that most of what I say is the truth, and the rest, well, is more unknown than lies. Besides, truth is still subjective, and, that being the case, leaves some of us with the distinct impression that there is something dark and clotted where life is supposed to be. Everyone I talk to seems unhappy in a strange way, and even the ones who testify to the happiness and justice of life lived in small towns seem to be wearing plastic faces. In short, I don't believe them. We are all spitting blood and words, as Bruce Cockburn would say, "We gotta kick at the darkness 'till it bleeds daylight." Does this even make sense to you? Can I get across what I am saying without whining or sounding like sour grapes?
It is amazing how much a change of perspective can invite a totally new understanding of even settled issues. Old friends reappear, and though I have forgotten why a certain gorgeous lady and I are dancing across white waters and cold beer, I can't help but make the connection to the man I always thought I would be and the man I am now. There isn't any time for commentary on the dearth of passion signified by chasing the ideal, so we'll skip the Freudian/Platonic bullshit for now because it would bore you, and most likely make me want to stop writing. Suffice it to say that the only thing that really seems to matter is the good music keeps playing and we all step back and realize we have 86 years to succeed, and more if needed.
I do so love falling in love. The unfortunate events vis a vis my former lives had obscured the rapid delight simply waiting to be claimed by those willing to stake a claim to the rewards of instantaneous affection. It so happens this is rarely returned, with a simple and honest explanation that would indicate an unfortunate tendency of women (an an astonishing number of men…Gentleman, romance was invented as an end in and of itself before being hijacked by shitty movies and poor writers. I am not what you would call elegant or classy in any real manner, perhaps more “rough around the edges,” but even I can see it. [CrbianFool Note: This does not mean I live up to any of this. In former lives, I have been known to be scurrilous and cruel, and these were on good days.]) to ignore the tenets of romance in favor of some Disney story. I am as guilty as anyone else, so don't think I am separating myself from the group, but is guilt tempered by awareness? For fucks sake, look around and tell me I am wrong. Somebody, somewhere, explain this to me, and please, provide evidence. Why do I fall in love with you? You fucking twat, don't you get it yet? There is no answer to that question. There never will be, and if there ever is, it means the end of things as we know it. Why do I love you? Why do you want to know? And would it make a difference if it were one reason rather than another? Of course not. I just felt another hair go gray, and I think I know why. No, the more important query revolves around the sensation of sleeping next to someone rather than with them. Strange worlds and complicated explications are no match for the sober knowledge that someone else is there, and if they really care for you, they are there all night. Suffice it to say that us insomniacs make lousy bed partners, but one of these days Alice, as the saying goes. I smile and nod, because I see you smiling, and it seems the polite thing to do.
I feel the need for refuge, but more tangentially, I want a place to watch the storm from without being out in it. If this seems hypocritical, I can’t apologize. With that in mind, I have been rapidly trying to plan out my escape from this hideous mountain town to a nice beach community. I have begun getting rid of all my fat clothes, trimming my possessions to the few items I need, and soon the car situation might be marginally improved. I say marginally because I can’t afford to drive even if my car wasn’t a total piece of shit. So, my car may be held together with Boston sports stickers and duct tape, but it moves slowly and has bad brakes. (Fucking Asshole CF, bad metaphor and transparent ploy. Hahahahahaha)
Well, the hour nears six and I have an ass-load of homework to catch up on. I have one of those prideful dollars to donuts bets going about sobriety and redheads, and perhaps, more importantly have a psychic sense that it will soon be time to roll, and preparation will be important. Picking a beach to move to is hard. I am torn between Carolina and Florida. Florida has better weather. Carolina is my choice in terms of proximity to friends and idealism. Doesn’t really matter in the end, I am still anxious to see who is waiting at the other end of the tracks. Truth be told, if the town has a half-decent sports bar with no college rock on the jukebox and a nice place to sit and watch the sunrise, I’ll be fine. Beautiful women a bonus, fellow Boston ex-pats a plus. Not greedy….all I really want is my rug back….are you smiling yet?
Time for to play. I’m going to take one to the head and go smoke a cigarette. After that, I think I’ll go laugh at all the fuckers so desperate to “make something of themselves.” After that, I’ll laugh at myself for being too idiosyncratic, then laugh at myself for being a fool who likes big words. Then, I’ll laugh at you, because that is really all that is left to do. With my good fortune, I found a Springsteen bootleg from a Hartford show. Listening to the Reunion Tour again, I would kill if the ESB was coming to Salem instead of Widespread Panic….when you want rock and roll, jam band music seems like Muzak….well, time to start laughing and smoking. I’m sure there will be more ranting later…
CF
I guess first off, I should put my hand up and swear that most of what I say is the truth, and the rest, well, is more unknown than lies. Besides, truth is still subjective, and, that being the case, leaves some of us with the distinct impression that there is something dark and clotted where life is supposed to be. Everyone I talk to seems unhappy in a strange way, and even the ones who testify to the happiness and justice of life lived in small towns seem to be wearing plastic faces. In short, I don't believe them. We are all spitting blood and words, as Bruce Cockburn would say, "We gotta kick at the darkness 'till it bleeds daylight." Does this even make sense to you? Can I get across what I am saying without whining or sounding like sour grapes?
It is amazing how much a change of perspective can invite a totally new understanding of even settled issues. Old friends reappear, and though I have forgotten why a certain gorgeous lady and I are dancing across white waters and cold beer, I can't help but make the connection to the man I always thought I would be and the man I am now. There isn't any time for commentary on the dearth of passion signified by chasing the ideal, so we'll skip the Freudian/Platonic bullshit for now because it would bore you, and most likely make me want to stop writing. Suffice it to say that the only thing that really seems to matter is the good music keeps playing and we all step back and realize we have 86 years to succeed, and more if needed.
I do so love falling in love. The unfortunate events vis a vis my former lives had obscured the rapid delight simply waiting to be claimed by those willing to stake a claim to the rewards of instantaneous affection. It so happens this is rarely returned, with a simple and honest explanation that would indicate an unfortunate tendency of women (an an astonishing number of men…Gentleman, romance was invented as an end in and of itself before being hijacked by shitty movies and poor writers. I am not what you would call elegant or classy in any real manner, perhaps more “rough around the edges,” but even I can see it. [CrbianFool Note: This does not mean I live up to any of this. In former lives, I have been known to be scurrilous and cruel, and these were on good days.]) to ignore the tenets of romance in favor of some Disney story. I am as guilty as anyone else, so don't think I am separating myself from the group, but is guilt tempered by awareness? For fucks sake, look around and tell me I am wrong. Somebody, somewhere, explain this to me, and please, provide evidence. Why do I fall in love with you? You fucking twat, don't you get it yet? There is no answer to that question. There never will be, and if there ever is, it means the end of things as we know it. Why do I love you? Why do you want to know? And would it make a difference if it were one reason rather than another? Of course not. I just felt another hair go gray, and I think I know why. No, the more important query revolves around the sensation of sleeping next to someone rather than with them. Strange worlds and complicated explications are no match for the sober knowledge that someone else is there, and if they really care for you, they are there all night. Suffice it to say that us insomniacs make lousy bed partners, but one of these days Alice, as the saying goes. I smile and nod, because I see you smiling, and it seems the polite thing to do.
I feel the need for refuge, but more tangentially, I want a place to watch the storm from without being out in it. If this seems hypocritical, I can’t apologize. With that in mind, I have been rapidly trying to plan out my escape from this hideous mountain town to a nice beach community. I have begun getting rid of all my fat clothes, trimming my possessions to the few items I need, and soon the car situation might be marginally improved. I say marginally because I can’t afford to drive even if my car wasn’t a total piece of shit. So, my car may be held together with Boston sports stickers and duct tape, but it moves slowly and has bad brakes. (Fucking Asshole CF, bad metaphor and transparent ploy. Hahahahahaha)
Well, the hour nears six and I have an ass-load of homework to catch up on. I have one of those prideful dollars to donuts bets going about sobriety and redheads, and perhaps, more importantly have a psychic sense that it will soon be time to roll, and preparation will be important. Picking a beach to move to is hard. I am torn between Carolina and Florida. Florida has better weather. Carolina is my choice in terms of proximity to friends and idealism. Doesn’t really matter in the end, I am still anxious to see who is waiting at the other end of the tracks. Truth be told, if the town has a half-decent sports bar with no college rock on the jukebox and a nice place to sit and watch the sunrise, I’ll be fine. Beautiful women a bonus, fellow Boston ex-pats a plus. Not greedy….all I really want is my rug back….are you smiling yet?
Time for to play. I’m going to take one to the head and go smoke a cigarette. After that, I think I’ll go laugh at all the fuckers so desperate to “make something of themselves.” After that, I’ll laugh at myself for being too idiosyncratic, then laugh at myself for being a fool who likes big words. Then, I’ll laugh at you, because that is really all that is left to do. With my good fortune, I found a Springsteen bootleg from a Hartford show. Listening to the Reunion Tour again, I would kill if the ESB was coming to Salem instead of Widespread Panic….when you want rock and roll, jam band music seems like Muzak….well, time to start laughing and smoking. I’m sure there will be more ranting later…
CF
