Saturday, May 15, 2004

Don't go shooting all the dogs cuz one of them has fleas.

I just can't get them out. Just all kind of images floating around. Trains, planes and automobiles. Thoughts of Paris streets being cleaned by shop keepers and men in blue uniforms. Ranches and Texas sunsets, hell even sunrises. Images of people dancing, in the streets, in the clubs. Sometimes I drift off and daydream of being a rock star. This intrigues me as well. When I ever I have gotten on stage in recent memory, to say a few words of welcome or thanks, my voice trembles and my mind reels in fear. But I still see my self bathed in light in front of a roaring crowd moving to MY rhythm. Actually I see myself onstage as if I were standing in the crowd. I see how I look and how I move. I love me. teehee
I also had thoughts of setting balloons free at the break of dawn. Hell I have so many thoughts and images floating in my head right now I can't even get them straight enough to put them into words.
rain, highways, fences, tall grass blowing in the wind. Big trucks on the highway, a big truck driving down a small two lane road in the middle of nowhere West Texas, blowing the tall dry grass growing on the side of the road. They way the mist forms on the roadway in the rain with heavy traffic. Neon lights and thunderstorms. A forgotten radio playing in an empty room. There was a story in a magazine about an old man who owned a warehouse full of motorcycle parts. Buried somewhere in the place was a radio. It had been on the same station, buried under parts for 50 years. That makes me think about an empty room with white walls and a bare wood floor, a small wooden table and chair sits in the corner, near a window. The thin curtains are swirling in the afternoon breeze. On top of the table is a radio, playing songs from a place and time that never existed. A voice telling me about the time and temperature of a place that has never been. The other corner of the room is small bed. White sheets, worn by time. A green wool blanket pulled taught across the frame. A little blue nightstand, holding a book and a lamp. A sad room. The room of a man who has no love in his life. A man who life consists only of work. From sun up to sun down during the week he toils away in some unknown job. But on Sundays, his only day away from the grease or gloom or dirt of labor, he sits at the table. Listens to his radio, and watches out the window. He thinks of time ahead and behind. He thinks of a woman he has never seen. Who plays in the sun. A white dress twirling and floating on her shoulders as she spins and leaps in the grass. Every now and then she'll take a moment from her dance, she'll stop and look towards the window. And she smiles and waves and he smiles back. Cigarette smoke floats around his head, and blows out the window into the empty yard. The girl only in his head, an angel of sorts. The hope and wish of blue eyes looking into his. A soft hand holding his, a warm hug that lingers while he works. And the radio plays on, delivering songs that no one has heard but sound like you have heard them you whole life.

Coffee, cigarettes, and bourbon.

I have so much on my mind today i don't even know where to begin. i have a huge zit on my nose. it wasn't there when i went to bed, and i didn't go to bed all that long ago. so where did it come from? i poped it, and was quite dissappointed. instead of a satisfying burst, signifying my destruction of a zit, it just oozed out and bleed all down my nose. a real let down i tell you. anyway.
i was also thinking of amsterdam today. and how i always enjoyed mornings there. the city coming to life once again. or going to bed how ever you want to look at it. the city was nearly as busy at night as it was during the day. two seprate cities separated only by light. at night it was a glorious city. teeming with people, porn and pot. the way the neon and flashing lights reflected off of the canals make the imagery i keep in my head all that more brilliant.

i was telling you about morinings though. the sun lighting the day, tourists milling about taking pitures and reading their maps. locals trying to complete there appointed rounds and errands. bicyles zipping to and fro. the the sun painting the canal a glorious shade of gold. masking the human waste and industrial sewage floating to the sea.

i'm not real sure why i thought about this this morning while cutting the grass. maybe it's the drab and dreary day. maybe it was the cool air. it surely wasn't the smell of cut grass. i'm suprized that i am thinking about days in Amsterdam, because i was always out all night. the few times i was up in the morning was when i took people with me to show them the wonderland i found. days for me where to find a nice cafe, sit have a bite to eat and get a fresh beer to nurse my hangover. i'd sit on the street all day long just watching the world go by. i would confuse tourists by helping them with directions in english. i'd confuse shop owners by purusing their stores that were not on the tourist routes. they'd ask me if i was lost, i'd tell them no i was just shopping. they'd ask if i was on a tour, and i'd say no. i didn't take a tour i came here by myself. i'd tell them i wanted to get far away from the tour district. i spent all night there. i wanted to see what the city really had to offer. what it was like with out all the paint and polish. and it was a beautiful city. thousands of doors and dark allys. shops full of things, "Ver Koop! 50% off". shops where americans and english speaking people didn't go. shops where all the signs where in dutch. i remeber on time finding a flea market. this was not the amsterdam that the tourist council wanted me to see. everyday citizens, selling everyday items, for everyday bills. i bought a pair of wool dutch army socks, still one of my favorite pair of socks too, for 2 dollars. i love that town

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

more from the road

She and Patrick arrived in the driving rain. the wipers could not keep up as the rain poured from the heavens in large sheets. water was coming in everywhere into the old truck. from around the doors and through the windshield seal, running in ribbons down the inside of the glass dripping off of the dash only to pool on the rusty floor then finding its way to holes and back out on to the road. out of the rain storm they saw an oasis of light, a shining neon beacon of safty in the night. they pulled in the parking lot and parked, looked at each other and ducked out into the rain. they came out of the rain into the motel office. a man shuffled out from a back room, lit on by the light of a television. he was short, squat and balding. his once white undershirt now grey and stained from years of washing his own clothes and spilling his food while he ate. he wasn't there to make money, he was there because there was no where else to go in this town. he had worked for the motel since he graduated high school, just for the summer, but he never made it away. now years later he was not just the night shift manager, but he was the manager, and maintenance man. the exposed skin spilling from his shirt had a greasy sheen that matched his greasy hair, what little was left. he didn't speak to the them when they approached the counter, he just stood there with a blank expression, waiting for the ritual to continue so that he might get back to more important things. like watching sports and drinking his last beer for the night. Patrick asked for a room and the man flatly replied, 35 dollars while sliding a check-in card towards them. Patrick filled out a the card while the man fumbled to find a key and then handed him the money. almost as an afterthought the man gestured over Patrick and the girl's shoulders and grunted, second building on the left, check out is at 12.

Sunday, May 09, 2004

Can't Hardly Stand It

Can't Hardly Stand It :Charlie Feathers

Well, the sun's gone down
And you're uptown
And you're just out runnin' around

I can't hardly stand it
You're troublin' me
I can't hardly stand
It just can't be
Well, you don't know, a-babe I love you so
You got me all tore up, all tore up

You say you're trough with me
You're settin' me free
You're just out with your used-to-be


Well, my spirit's low
I love (miss) you so
I stand alone and watch you go


Well, now that you are gone
And I'm alone
All I do is sit and moan


Baby, all tore up
Baby, all tore up
All tore up...