I like the damp streets in the morning and my feet trying to find a new way through the city grid. A plus: that tired eyes can still see so well; the cup of bittersweet coffee in my hand; a goodbye kiss for the day. Makes me think that to question how we spend our time beyond the sense of feeling alright, is just a waste of time. I've done that far too much.
I like this new record playing in my ears, playing every moment i have the time to unwind and rewind. To have music inside your ears (or head) that no one else can hear is a guiltless pleasure. It's rhythm and motion and perhaps that is everything. There's this song by The National...
We expected something, something better than before. We expected something more
Do you really think you can just put it in a safe behind a painting, lock it up and leave
Walk away now and you're gonna start a war
Whatever went away I'll get it over now. I'll get money, I'll get funny again
Whatever went away I'll get it over now. I'll get money, I'll get funny again
Walk away now and you're gonna start a war
I'm still working on one it means exactly. The feeling is there, and it seems to fit the feeling i have for this ragged job search, the monies run up chutes and down ladders, whether it's worth it. My balancing act always seems to involve songs and stories listened.
A dear friend's father is coming up on retirement and he ponders this coming time, its bountiful aptitude following a life of due diligence to vocation. He thinks of model airplanes and books to be read. I wonder about that aim and its nearing freedoms, and wonder if it ever really leaves us to begin with. I have those plans too and can only hope that a free spirit is lasting in a world of labor and dollars. I'd like to capture my freedom all along the way and never lose sight despite the early mornings that pull me from a warm bed, and inside a glowing caffeine office. Most of all i want to be good and no matter the blocks, i think that can be done.
*there's a link to that song up on the title...
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
You really got a hold on me
I decided to stay a while longer in the Bay... my current plans unraveling. The man was saying sign here, here and here... and oh so barely did i escape. Some love for Smokey Robinson and the Miracles.
I'd like to send this shoutout to improbability, because without it... life wouldn't impress me nearly as much. I want to take you back in time to the year 2005 and the microcosmo of my life at that pivotal moment. On Fridays we drove into town, either to McCall via the Lick Creek Summit Road which was a veritable nightmare and graveyard for vehicle undercarriages; or, to Cascade via a neverending serpentine road begging the driver or passenger at some point to not become an astronaut.
On this much anticipated Friday venture provisions would be bought in the denominations of half-racks and cases, often in can form. On return, refrigerators would be stocked, lawnchairs assembled and the evening commenced with a cylinder of Red Seal and maybe a rock-throwing contest down toward the South Fork(*link above on the title).
I'd like to send this shoutout to improbability, because without it... life wouldn't impress me nearly as much. I want to take you back in time to the year 2005 and the microcosmo of my life at that pivotal moment. On Fridays we drove into town, either to McCall via the Lick Creek Summit Road which was a veritable nightmare and graveyard for vehicle undercarriages; or, to Cascade via a neverending serpentine road begging the driver or passenger at some point to not become an astronaut.
On this much anticipated Friday venture provisions would be bought in the denominations of half-racks and cases, often in can form. On return, refrigerators would be stocked, lawnchairs assembled and the evening commenced with a cylinder of Red Seal and maybe a rock-throwing contest down toward the South Fork(*link above on the title).
Friday, May 18, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Today in my eyes.
I put my feet up on the furnace and watched the kids playing in the schoolyard. My lunchbreak looking out on a cool, gray day... the quick drift above Twin Peaks bringing a welcome hood upon Noe Valley. Still working on a ginormous cup of coffee from the early morning and awaiting some state of wakefulness that never comes. I'm taking notes on child behavior and thinking about my own. Studying the dark circles beneath my eyes and the tired smile i've been wearing all morning. I couldn't be happier... and with it some confidence resounding. And the kids don't fuck with me when i'm like this. I give them this look, like Hey, don't waste my fucking time okay? It seems to work really well, and then we can sit down and do our work. This peace as i find my own. There is some art in not trying too hard, wouldn't you say?
Down in the Mission the kids are trying too hard. I see them already cool at seven a.m. talking into cellphones at their chins, like walkie-talkies. They're leaning against the wall waiting for the Laidlaw to take em away. It's seven in the bloody morning, does anybody without a job or meth problem talk at this time? Me? Don't call me at seven and certainly don't put me on speaker phone at the corner of 24th and Capp. I'm not having it.
Further on a homeless mans been run down. Two enormous black women are looking down at his snow-angel form near the corner drain. His Safeway cart is a few feet away; he starts to lift his head. An LA Looks-gelled up Latino cop talks into his shoulder, spitting out codes instead of just saying poor bastard down. He's gonna be fine... his feet are moving. Maybe a concussion and a two-month looming hangover fought off but destined for him and his hospital bed. The smell of fresh conchas from the Mexican bakery and the fried tomatos on the corner, these things don't wait.
And as the hour grows later, little ones emerge in rows like ducklings on the sidewalk. The rabbit reproduction of the American immigrant, shocking... like the giant billboard of Savage Nation overlooking the Castro. Or the ad right next to it~ Want hot sex without crystal? Hell Yes!!! And a bunch of flaming pecs and abs in a row supporting the statement. Reminding me of the recent film 300, just gayer (if that's possible).
I like San Francisco most when i'm on my feet. I walk a lot and my gait follows me through, choosing the less traveled streets of my own memory toward the day's destinations. It feels good to walk by and watch the life living here; these close quarters allowing anonymity or palaver in the same breath.
Fabulous Castro sailor boys compliments of Julia
from the passenger seat at 15mph...
Down in the Mission the kids are trying too hard. I see them already cool at seven a.m. talking into cellphones at their chins, like walkie-talkies. They're leaning against the wall waiting for the Laidlaw to take em away. It's seven in the bloody morning, does anybody without a job or meth problem talk at this time? Me? Don't call me at seven and certainly don't put me on speaker phone at the corner of 24th and Capp. I'm not having it.
Further on a homeless mans been run down. Two enormous black women are looking down at his snow-angel form near the corner drain. His Safeway cart is a few feet away; he starts to lift his head. An LA Looks-gelled up Latino cop talks into his shoulder, spitting out codes instead of just saying poor bastard down. He's gonna be fine... his feet are moving. Maybe a concussion and a two-month looming hangover fought off but destined for him and his hospital bed. The smell of fresh conchas from the Mexican bakery and the fried tomatos on the corner, these things don't wait.
And as the hour grows later, little ones emerge in rows like ducklings on the sidewalk. The rabbit reproduction of the American immigrant, shocking... like the giant billboard of Savage Nation overlooking the Castro. Or the ad right next to it~ Want hot sex without crystal? Hell Yes!!! And a bunch of flaming pecs and abs in a row supporting the statement. Reminding me of the recent film 300, just gayer (if that's possible).
I like San Francisco most when i'm on my feet. I walk a lot and my gait follows me through, choosing the less traveled streets of my own memory toward the day's destinations. It feels good to walk by and watch the life living here; these close quarters allowing anonymity or palaver in the same breath.
Fabulous Castro sailor boys compliments of Julia
from the passenger seat at 15mph...
Friday, May 11, 2007
The moment that brought me here.
You were there seated in a field trampled with many feet. The red plastic cup in your hands, legs criss cross, eyes watching me. I was on a stage in those days and i performed quietly for you. There was forever a private joke playing between our eyes and it was this humor that i loved most. That was outside Helena, Montana... we were talking about how to spend your grandmother's money. The money she'd left for you in her exit. It was a piece of land we wished to buy, loose knit pine turning to field and the Dearborn River below.
A few weeks before, you'd said 'i love you' in a Santa Fe city park. Cicadas were rattling overhead in odd ornamentals and my fingers began to shake as i rolled a cigarette. I'd told you many times before never expecting you to answer me. It's difficult to put so much forward without the expectation of reciprocity. I wonder sometimes if i could ever attain that level again.
This first ballast of communcation haunted and delighted me. To feel myself and another simultaneous in thought and step, i never truly believed a possibility. And it sent me somewhere beyond the granted love of a good childhood. In some regards it was another beginning. There was my birth, and language; there was memory, and coming upright to stand on two feet. Beginnings like these... And then, there was this new thing forming inside me and further, moving beyond my body.
However one's belief could place me on this planet, whether a product of supernal hand, or fated otherwise... whatever the case. To be here and have an innate nature of doing and living, is a motherfucker in itself. And in the moments i realize the power of understanding certain things, carried by trembing hands or hairs raised above the skin... i can feel what it is, most important to me. And it seems to all stem from this first shudder of vulnerability.
A few weeks before, you'd said 'i love you' in a Santa Fe city park. Cicadas were rattling overhead in odd ornamentals and my fingers began to shake as i rolled a cigarette. I'd told you many times before never expecting you to answer me. It's difficult to put so much forward without the expectation of reciprocity. I wonder sometimes if i could ever attain that level again.
This first ballast of communcation haunted and delighted me. To feel myself and another simultaneous in thought and step, i never truly believed a possibility. And it sent me somewhere beyond the granted love of a good childhood. In some regards it was another beginning. There was my birth, and language; there was memory, and coming upright to stand on two feet. Beginnings like these... And then, there was this new thing forming inside me and further, moving beyond my body.
However one's belief could place me on this planet, whether a product of supernal hand, or fated otherwise... whatever the case. To be here and have an innate nature of doing and living, is a motherfucker in itself. And in the moments i realize the power of understanding certain things, carried by trembing hands or hairs raised above the skin... i can feel what it is, most important to me. And it seems to all stem from this first shudder of vulnerability.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
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