a conversation about wes montgomery reminds me of the time i met the
devil in front of the 7-11. just light banter about places one should
be and places one isn’t. we talked about jazz, and guitars, and why
montgomery is the greatest guitar player of all time (at least by the
devil’s suggestion, but i wouldn’t cross him on it). an offer was
made, a very tempting offer, and i refused him. i can’t really say
whether it was moral defiance or if he just kind of scared the shit
out of me. but after his little trick with one of my 20-dollar bills,
i just wanted to not be around him anymore. as i was pulling out, he
jumped in front of my car and screamed “i stole from you once, i’ll
steal from you again motherfucker!”
“psh”, i thought to myself. what could you possibly take from me? my
last drop of blood? but he spoke of things that are not possessed. the
unrealized. trust, love, the ability to walk down the street and pass
someone you may or may not know, and to never have questioned whom
they serve, or what their destructive objectives could be. the devil
pulls the earth right out from beneath you and it’s a fucking long way
down, man. and with every inch, every jabbing pain, every ring of the
phone brings heightened awareness of your crippled mortality. the
bottom is not pleasant, but calming. kinda like county lock up. you
walk the floor a couple times and take a good look around at the
sunken faces and bloodshot eyes and the hieroglyphics on the cement
walls and you try to remember how it all went wrong and you promise
yourself that you’re no worse than everyone else and that everyone
else is probably thinking the exact same thing and there is absolutely
nothing you can do about anything except wait for someone to throw you
a rope or wait for the walls to crumble where they stand or wait for
death and all it’s promised freedom. but no such saviors come through
these parts, only the option to crawl out the same door you came in
through. and they might ask where you’ve been and they might not say
anything at all and they might already know that you were always
there, your head bowed down, leaning into the winds of time. but there
are lessons to be learned, strengths to be gathered, and beautiful
souls to love along the way (just so long as they’re not too creeped
out by my friend, the devil. he’s a bit of a tag-along).
i’ve noticed that my internal monologue has taken on a rural scottish
accent, and i wonder if i’m channeling some ancient ancestor of mine,
and then i wonder what’s really wrong with me.
ΛPГlCOT ГΛY
