life’s a beach
last nite, i acquired the challenging new task of transporting all of the salt and pepper shakers back to their homes in the dining room. as i carried the tray off the salt and pepper processing table, i heard the vicious clinking of glass and the reflective surface of the shaker tops threw blinding rays of light around my skull as they bobbled about like corn stalks in a summer breeze. i began to anticipate a most salt and peppery disaster, much to the entertainment of all, i’m sure. i quickly reminded myself that the moment i think of it, is the moment they will fall. (a parable i desire to utilize more freely, but lack the capacity to do so.) I recalled my spirit animal guide, who i met on a pyschadelic beach one sunny day with an old friend. a deranged gull of sorts, with missing feathers, a broken wing, and the most awful, raspy squawk. it appeared to have fallen from the sky, perhaps a victim of aerial gull to gull combat, or maybe it just passed through a cloud of thorns. after recovering from a shameful landing, it ordered us both to follow it across the swirly purple sands towards the sunset.
and this is what i thought about at work last nite, and before i knew it, i’d followed that bird right out the door. as i was deciding how i would contaminate my body for the evening, i wondered where i was being led to, and who i’d meet along the way.
sunday hitchhiking
<object width=”400″ height=”225″><param name=”allowfullscreen” value=”true” /><param name=”allowscriptaccess” value=”always” /><param name=”movie” value=”http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2509484&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1” /><embed src=”http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2509484&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1” type=”application/x-shockwave-flash” allowfullscreen=”true” allowscriptaccess=”always” width=”400″ height=”225″></embed></object><br /><a href=”http://vimeo.com/2509484″>Alternative Soundtrack #5</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/user1032790″>Krautboys</a> on <a href=”http://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a>.
neighborly hospitality
when i first moved to portland, i spent over a month living at the joyce hotel, p-town’s most notorious flophouse. i believe they may have filmed portions of drugstore cowboy there. in my first few days, i encountered jim. a rotund, balding man in his 50’s. he had one of those eerie smiles that would make you uncertain as to whether he wanted to fuck you or kill you. or perhaps both. jim often invited me over to his room for food, which apparently he had plenty of. once the notes started arriving under my door in the middle of the night, i became suspicious of his intentions:
well, at least it would be really easy to avoid jim, considering i’m in 417. oh me.
uh-oh
i should say something..
think george costanza with downes syndrome, seriously.
but i would like to thank jim for clarifying exactly where he’d like to administer this “rim job” he speaks of.
i’m just marking items into evidence at this point. hopefully, the judge will remember my vigilance at the time of jim’s sentencing. if there’s anything left of me, please scatter half of my cremated remains in big sur, the other half should be dumped into a drainpipe somewhere in downtown manhatten. i love you all.
i am a prisoner.
as if i’ve even jerked off to a porn catalogue since i was like 5 years old.
i often think about jim, and how often his note sliding approach is rewarded.
setting the bar for ‘09
-manage social outlets accordingly. empower my introversion, reserve any desire of human contact for those who inspire me. defend myself at all costs from sociopaths, schemers, and soul-suckers with a fiery sword and a dirty eye
-reject all systematic methods of amerikanized living. become the underlying force of revolution. develop better shoplifting skills and free my mind
-begin outline for 2012 celebrations, including personal invitations to yoko ono, patti smith, etc..
-live on the coast. possible destinations: big sur, russian river, guadalajara
-write a pocket book of dystopian psychedelic love poems
-instruct certain members of my family to eat shit and die
-curate a small collection of vintage sun dresses
-re-learn to fall in love with whomever i please
-write 5 songs that will knock yr socks off
-allow someone else to cut my hair
-find the man who stole my guitar
-learn transcendental meditation
-stimulate a pallet for seafood
-vandalize a church
-acquire a passport
-grow a beard
my annual christmas letter
christmas smells like cat piss and dog piss
and dried cum and eucalyptus
and balmy bacteria, the sort that breeds in sponges and beneath mounds of skin rolling off the morbidly obese
fastening them to their broken recliners positioned closest to the toilet.
christmas excavates everything sexy from silent winter, like tight pores and glossy eyes and tree death.
best records of ‘08
from vice blog:
LONDON – THE BEST ALBUMS EVER, 2008
As the 2008 slams the brakes on, editors the breadth of the land put their feet up on the desk and just serve you some reconstituted yesterdays: top-10-20-30-50-100 countdowns of stuff that happened over the past twelve months. But as you grind your way through one end of year music supplement banging on about Kings Of Leon & MGMT after another, your eyes go oblong and there’s a sense of intense, giddying deja vu. Haven’t we seen it all before? In every other magazine/paper/webzine/cereal box? Like, every year? Forever?
Slice through the crap: this is The Only Top 35 Albums Of The Year Countdown You’ll Ever Need.
Number 35: Bonkers novelty rap collective. Shows staff have sense of humour.
Number 34: Reserved for Britpop ’survivors’ who’ve made ‘their best album in years’.
Number 33: Wacky side-project of big-name band singer, which is a wacky electro-pop concept album about magic animals.
Number 32: Something from Iceland.
Number 31: The name that keeps turning up on every electro/house compilation CD released that year. eg. Simian Mobile Disco in 07.
Number 30: Real authentic alt.country dude who made the album in a cave in the Appalachians/once dated Joanna Newsom.
Number 29: Return of once-derided old-timer who used to symboise naffness, but has subverted expectations by making an album of honest, brooding ballads with a hip young producer.
Number 28: This space is reserved for Bruce Springsteen if he makes an album in the year of the list. If not, The Gaslight Anthem or Hold Steady should sub-in.
Number 27: Nick Cave.
Number 26: Disappointing third album from previously much-touted act, so bad editorial embarrassment means its been crowbarred in here as a Pravda-style exercise in shrinking them slowly rather than dropping them like a hot brick as would be most appropriate.
Number 25: The band that everyone was tipping as the year’s biggest act in January.
Number 24: You’ve never even heard of this one. You never will. Even as your read the blurb, you find your mind simultaneously erasing the entry.
Number 23: Glitchy & worthy & difficult record you’ve listened to once. Squarepusher, basically.
Number 21: British Sea Power.
Number 20: Token world muso.
Number 19: The band who’ve got a reputation for being ‘influential’, and have a geographically specific ’scene’ organised around them that they put on semi-mythical ‘parties’ for at a semi-mythical ‘venue’. eg: No Age & The Smell, Chairlift & Concert Hall Of Williamsburg.
Number 18: Band who wrote album of songs inspired by the tragic accidental/drug death of their bass player last year. Somewhere, the blurb says ‘courageous’.
Number 17: Laura Marling.
Number 16: Cheesy pop band masquerading as ‘wonky-pop’/'nu-pop’/'underground pop’, which only barely disguises the fact that they’re Roxette with alt. dress sense.
Number 16: Put in a ’stunning’ performance on Jools Holland.
Number 15: DJ who made “the year’s party-starting mash-up compilation” that you’ve never actually heard at a party that wasn’t put on by media-insiders. And never made any of those partygoers do more than pout extra aggressively.
Number 14: Elbow.
Number 13: Hyper-obscure album everyone was bamboozled into voting for cos Pitchfork gave it a 9.9, despite sounding like every other folk album ever.
Number 12: Rapper facing child sex charges.
Number 11: Dizzee/Bizzle (pop grime slot shared on a rotational basis)
Number 10: Album described as a ‘groundbreaking fusion of dance and rock’.
Number 9: Tape of Bob Dylan coughing up some phlegm in June 1972, found in someone’s attic, dusted off, reissued, and hagiographised in the Sunday papers as a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.
Numbers 8 – 2: Records that were OK: no one was mad about them, but no one disliked them much either, so they swum through the middle course, whereas intense records that some people were truly passionate about but others really hated all ultimately failed to make the cut.
Number 1: Coldplay (Q), Arctic Monkeys (NME), Sven Vath (Mixmag), Neil Young (Uncut), Neil Young (Mojo), Neil Young (Classic Rock), Neil Young (Home & Garden), people humming transcendentally over distorted tape loops of concrete being laid (The Wire).GAVIN HAYNES
FREE ICE CREAM!
Leatherby’s Family Creamery has every right to sponsor, fund, and endorse any voter proposition they wish, even upwards of $20,000, even one as hateful and discriminatory as Prop 8. Hopefully, that right will never be taken away from them.
Their patrons also have the right to know where their money is going, and the right to choose not to purchase ice cream sundaes topped in bigotry sauce and homophobia sprinkles.
Please join us this Sundae for a sticky good time outside Leatherby’s Arden location in Sacramento. Bring signs, bells, whistles, and your appetite. FREE RAINBOW SHERBET!
NO ON H8TE!
as if it weren’t embarrassing enough to be from the state represented by “the governator’, california is on the verge of making the biggest shit-stain mistake of all time.
for the record, i still clutch tightly to my psuedo-anarchist circus freakshow idealism, and i am still very much convinced we’re all gonna be on fire or on another planet in the next 4 years or so. but i like obama, and i like super fast trains leaving of los angeles, and i think porky pig should be able to lean over and scratch his ass one more time before he ends up in my breakfast burrito.
californians have a whole pile of bullshit to sift through today. but at some point, theyre going to scroll down their ballot, and have to make a very personal, heart-felt decision for themselves; do i believe in civil rights? do i believe in love? do i believe that we are a collective consciousness of energy that has every ability to think, and feel, and share with whomever we please? or, do i believe we were put here by a vengeful, homophobic god for the purpose of installing hate and discrimination into our local government and protecting our children from the morally terroristic images of two people loving each other.
it’s a real melon scratcher. and somehow, still has a significant amount of voters on the fence. both campaigns are treading lightly in swaying the undecided. the proposition advocates think homos are just swell, they just don’t want their children to know about them until after theyre old enough to get knocked up or addicted to meth. and rather than disregard the lies, and rhetoric, and call to semantics, the opposition acknowledges their concerns with promises to stay away from the children and keep their frutiy agenda out of the schools.
so here’s my plea: to all the undecided voters of california, who at some point between the civil rights movement and now, have had your heads shoved so far up your asses that you cannot recognize when an entire group of people, (your coworkers, your friends, your family) are being told that they are different than, less than, not as important as another group of people, it’s time to take a look around and reevaluate the society and country you live in. proposition 8 is an attack. it is written, funded, and fueled by notorious fundamentalist lunatics who prey on your children, your livelihood, and your most inner fears to gain status, power, and money.
i attended a very heated rally in citrus heights the other nite. desperately looking for a debate worth engaging in. but aside from having my life threatened, twice, all i heard was “faggot.. fuck you.. you’re going to hell.. read the bible..”, etc.
the ‘no on 8′ people, who have worked tirelessly, would prefer we wouldnt use words like “hate” to describe the antics of this proposition. it’s abrasiveness may scare off potential voters. but i refuse to call it anything else. and i refuse to stand by while people who sing songs to the sky attempt to indoctrinate it into the laws of my home.
if prop 8 fails today, you can put your head back up your ass, and be the moronic, hateful, homophobic piece of shit you were yesterday. nobody will ever take that away from you. but should it pass, you’ve taken away so much from so many people. shame on you.
NO ON H8TE!
ooohh, daddy, teach me how to be a man
i jotted this down back in november, but it would seem the tides of life’s schemes are slightly seasonal and feed off times of change:
sometimes, i wonder how exceptionally smoother life would be if i were more assertive. if i spoke out against all the injustices of the world. if i protested the constant stream of bullshit that spews from the mouths of the underenlightened for the mere sake of filling in the gaps. perhaps i would gain the respect of my peers with a tenacious raid upon everything that defeats what i know to be pure and true.
or maybe i need to deliver myself to the undead. fill my head with gigabytes of sitcom scenarios and socialite statistics so i’ll have something to contribute to the party. i could really go after that well-paying job where i could throw around numbers and rape people of their livelihood.
i reluctantly tack up all this confusion to my obvious lack of experience with life itself and my overwhelming desire to be just like you and everyone else. how will i ever know where i fit in? what should i pursue? who should i fall in love with? who shouldnt i? luckily for me, there will always be those who take pity on me and help me see the way. those whose lives are so filled with contentment and joy, who’ve experienced so much success in every waking moment of their life, that they cannot contain the amount of advice and direction for those like myself. and if i should resist, if this single path to happiness that is so clear to the masses seems foggy and demented, then set forth your traps. erect the challenging obstacles that will provide me with all the courage and strength and gusto to demand all the things from this world that i never even knew i wanted.
sometimes, i feel like shit. and the last thing i would want to do is project my ridiculous frustrations upon the people i surround myself with. sometimes, i’m afraid we’re far more cannibalistic then we’d ever care to admit.
i’m afraid i’m all too aware, and have been for some time, that i am somewhat of an exception to many, many rules. but there is little to no solace or rightousness in such matters. i find all the elements of what some might call “soul”, just as humanizing and endearing as you do. because it runs trough my veins as fast and hot and real as anyone. i’ve known fear and danger and sex and violence. i’ve felt the long tedious winds of death and the instant gasp of a fleeting life. some joy is debilitating, and anger is invigorating. and love, my friend, i have known love through every pore in my skin. i’ve known love from the middle of a battlefield, and i’ve held it more tightly than i ever should have. i’ve lost myself in every one of it’s hallucinations. i may very well be in love with love. i do not fear these elements, nor pursue them where they do not exist. such things can never be prioritized, nor am i pretentious enough to believe i hold such power. life is hard enough, man.
i would imagine i come across as quite the space-case. should you seek more from me at any given moment, do not take offense to my blank gaze. it’s not that i don’t want to give you anything, it’s that i have nothing to give. and not because you’re insignificant, it’s because you’re not real. just as the time and space and life we’ve created for ourselves.
one such “soul” element that seems to have departed over the years is trust. i take a considerable amount of responsibility for whatever walls i’ve erected, and i feel totally justified in blaming the rest on my childhood. but goddammit, there’s some real douchebags out there.
bla bla bla
happy easter!
“Oh, no. Miss Polk musta done shot herself!”
**for those of you unpatriotic types who continue to criticize our government for offering a helping hand to the corporations who are suffering from our reckless spending and housing needs, i hope this sets ya’ll straight.
fannie mae cares! god bless america, and god bless fannie mae!
Fannie Mae forgives loan for woman who shot herself
(CNN) — Fannie Mae said it will set aside the loan of a woman who shot herself as sheriff’s deputies tried to evict her from her foreclosed home.
Fannie Mae foreclosed on the Akron, Ohio, home of Addie Polk, 90, after acquiring the mortgage in 2007.Fannie Mae foreclosed on the Akron, Ohio, home of Addie Polk, 90, after acquiring the mortgage in 2007.
Addie Polk, 90, of Akron, Ohio, became a symbol of the nation’s home mortgage crisis when she was hospitalized after shooting herself at least twice in the upper body Wednesday afternoon.
On Friday, Fannie Mae spokesman Brian Faith said the mortgage association had decided to halt action against Polk and sign the property “outright” to her.
“We’re going to forgive whatever outstanding balance she had on the loan and give her the house,” Faith said. “Given the circumstances, we think it’s appropriate.”
Residents of Akron have rallied behind Polk, who is being treated at Akron General Medical Center. She was listed in critical condition Friday afternoon, according to Akron City Council President Marco Sommerville.
U.S. Rep. Dennis Kucinich, D-Ohio, mentioned Polk on the House floor Friday during debate over the latest economic rescue proposal.
“This bill does nothing for the Addie Polks of the world,” Kucinich said after telling her story. “This bill fails to address the fact that millions of homeowners are facing foreclosure, are facing the loss of their home. This bill will take care of Wall Street, and the market may go up for a few days, but democracy is going downhill.”
Neighbor Robert Dillon, 62, used a ladder to enter a second-story bathroom window of Polk’s home after he and the deputies heard loud noises inside, Dillon said.
“I was calling her name as I went in, and she wasn’t responding,” he said.
He found her lying on a bed, and he could see she was breathing. He also noticed a long-barreled handgun on the bed, but thought she just had it there for protection. He touched her on the shoulder.
“Then she kind of moved toward me a little and I saw that blood, and I said, ‘Oh, no. Miss Polk musta done shot herself,’ ” Dillon said.
He hurried downstairs and let the deputies in. He said they told him they found Polk’s car keys, pocketbook and life insurance policy laid out neatly where they could be found, suggesting that she intended to kill herself.
“There’s a lot of people like Miss Polk right now. That’s the sad thing about it,” said Sommerville, who had met Polk before and rushed to the scene when contacted by police. “They might not be as old as her, some could be as old as her. This is just a major problem.” Video Watch Polk’s neighbor describe what he saw »
In 2004, Polk took out a 30-year, 6.375 percent mortgage for $45,620 with a Countrywide Home Loan office in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. The same day, she also took out an $11,380 line of credit.
Over the next couple of years, Polk missed payments on the 101-year-old home that she and her late husband purchased in 1970. In 2007, Fannie Mae assumed the mortgage and later filed for foreclosure.
Deputies had tried to serve Polk’s eviction notice more than 30 times before Wednesday’s incident, Sommerville said. She never came to the door, but the notes the deputies left would always disappear, so they knew she was inside and ambulatory, he said.
The city is creating programs to help people keep their homes, Sommerville said. “But what do you do when there’s just so many people out there and the economy is in the shape that it’s in?”
Many businesses and individuals have called since Wednesday offering to help Polk, Sommerville said.
“We’re going to do an evaluation to see what’s best for her,” he said. “If she’s strong enough and can go home, I think we should work with her to where she goes back home. If not, we need to find another place for her to live where she won’t have to worry about this ever again.”
For his part, Dillon hopes his neighbor of 38 years can return to her home.
“She loves that house,” he said. “I hope they can get her back in. That would make me feel better because I don’t know what they’re going to put in there once she leaves.”
He said the neighborhood is declining because so many people have lost their homes.
“There’s a lot of vacant houses around here. … Now I’m going to have a house on my left and a house on my right, vacant,” he said. “That don’t make me feel good, because we were good neighbors, we trusted each other, and we looked out for each other.
“This neighborhood is shot, to me, from what it used to be,” he added.
“When I moved here, if it were like it is now, I would have never moved here. But it was a nice neighborhood. …
“I’ll just tough it out. I’m too old to start thinking about buying another house.”
advertisementSommerville said that by the time people call for help with an impending foreclosure, it’s usually too late.
“I’m glad it’s not too late for Miss Polk, because she could have taken her life,” Sommerville said. “Miss Polk will probably end up on her feet. But I’m not sure if anybody else will.”
CNN’s Jim Kavanagh, Brad Lendon and Mallory Simon contributed to this report.
nineteen eighty four
**** i fully support the extradition of the following list of smut from the fragile minds of our youth, with the single exception of aristophanes, who was in fact born nearly 500 years before christ.
-r
(Saw this on Joy Harjo’s Blog and decided to forward)
The following is a list of books that Alaska Governor Sarah Palin tried to get banned when she
was mayor of Wasilla.This information is taken from the official minutes of the Wasilla
Library Board. When the librarian refused, then-Mayor Palin tried to get her fired.As you will note, the list contains works by, among many others, Shakespeare, Mark Twain, and
Stephen King. It also includes the Harry Potter books and Webster’s dictionary.It speaks to
the underlying truths of Governor Palin’s political philosophy, which may or may not be that of
the Republican party.A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
Blubber by Judy Blume
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
Carrie by Stephen King
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
Christine by Stephen King
Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Cujo by Stephen King
Curses, Hexes, and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Peck
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Decameron by Boccaccio
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Fallen Angels by Walter Myers
Fanny Hill (Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland
Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Forever by Judy Blume
Grendel by John Champlin Gardner
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K.Rowling
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K.Rowling
Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban by J.K.Rowling
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K.Rowling
Have to Go by Robert Munsch
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya AngelouImpressions edited by Jack Booth
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
It’s Okay if You Don’t Love Me by Norma Klein
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H.Lawrence
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
Little Red Riding Hood by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Love is One of the Choices by Norma Klein
Lysistrata by Aristophanes
More Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
My Brother Sam Is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
My House by Nikki Giovanni
My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara
Night Chills by Dean Koontz
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
One Day in The Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
Our Bodies, Ourselves by Boston Women’s Health Collective
Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy
Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl
Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones by Alvin Schwartz
Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
Separate Peace by John Knowles
Silas Marner by George Eliot
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Bastard by John Jakes
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D.Salinger
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Devil’s Alternative by Frederick Forsyth
The Figure in the Shadows by John Bellairs
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Snyder
The Learning Tree by Gordon Parks
The Living Bible by William C.Bower
The Merchant of Venice by William ShakespeareThe New Teenage Body Book by Kathy McCoy and
Charles Wibbelsman
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
The Seduction of Peter S.by Lawrence Sanders
The Shining by Stephen King
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The Witches of Worm by Zilpha Snyder
Then Again, Maybe I Won’t by Judy Blume
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary by the Merriam-Webster Editorial Staff
Witches, Pumpkins, and Grinning Ghosts: The Story of the Halloween Symbols by Edna Barth
“son, you dropped something…”
after a week of dragging 50 lbs of everything i own back and forth across portland, cheap tacos and cheaper whiskey, sleeping in parks and parking lots, nearly biting through my tongue in the face of a manipulative employer, stringing me along for mere pocket change, and all for the single chance to extinguish a heartbreak that i will never allow myself to feel again..
the train back to california is sold out and the coffee is mysteriously weak. i take inventory of a crushed soul and a shrinking wad of cash. how many more days can i afford to lay in the damp grass waiting for you to sort out your emotions? 2? 3? pity penetrates the pores of the city sidewalk, and it’s most authentic, and more comforting than i’ve ever allowed it to be.
i pay nothing for the train to the airport. trains are the ultimate vessel of false hopes. you may tax the cruel and the privileged. just ask the old lady from seattle who’s purse was stolen yesterday on her flight into town, and is now forced to ride the max back and forth from downtown to the airport, where she sleeps in the baggage claim, and is scared and hungry and exhausted. she’s not paying the fare either.
perhaps it is uncommon for someone to purchase an airline ticket for the next departing flight with cash, perhaps its the tears welling up in my skull, perhaps zenobia at the ticket counter is a prophet of peace and love, providing me with just enough compassion and courage to walk through the gate. i shall send her a card.
i recognize my bag coming down the carousel by the side compartment, shredded from being overstuffed and dragged back and forth along stark street. i can see odd papers and a single sock fighting its way out. i grasp the handle and haul it off the belt in one swift move. something hard and plastic falls from its gaping wound and hits the marble floor with a clank. i stare at the ground in disbelief. surely, it only my deodorant, or my toothbrush holder, surely it’s not a 9 inch black vibrator laying at my feet. without hesitation, i use the soul of my shoe to roll it under the baggage carousel. out of site, out of mind. but as i begin to book it for the door, it rolls back out, following me like a stray puppy. i keep walking, eyes on the door, past the elderly couple standing 3 feet behind me.
“son.., son! you dropped something. something fell out of your bag!”
a optimistic existentialist might suggest that such an event has set the course for confronting the humility of coming home with my tail between my legs and my cock rolling across the airport floor. in my broken state, it’s really the only thing that i can laugh at. but for humility’s sake, i’ll go ahead and hit the publish button.
a lullaby of sorts
G C G
i tried to sketch your whisky reflections
D
but the shapes and the lines came out wrong
Em C G
i sailed your portrait on the last wind out of town
D G
and i’ve only time to sketch you this song
the reason i came is the reason i’m leaving
it’s the reason for everything i do
you wont let me in, and you wont let me quit you
there’s no other reason like you
CHORUS
Em C G
dream of the birds that fly so free
D
dream of the rivers that roll towards the sea
Em C G
breathe in the stars and dream well of me
D G
rock-a-bye baby, bye bye
sleep in the tall grass ‘neath berries so bitter
sleep in a bar bathroom stall
sleep in my arms through the storm that never passes
cause tomorrow never happened at all
CHORUS
INSTRUMENTAL
you say that this world never showed you no mercy
you say there’s more than one kind of love
i hope for your sake and for those who surround you
you find all the beauty you dream of
CHORUS X2
ΛPГlCOT ГΛY