Fire up that stogie and come sit down here next to me by the bonfire and I’ll tell ya a-lil story. Now, pay no mind to them bullfrogs moaning down there by the river, just settle on in and have a pull off my bottle of Thunderbird. Cause mister, if you ain’t got sompin burnin deep down in your belly, then this here story might up and leave ya all goose bumpy and squinty eyed. Ya can have yourself one quick swig, but don’t get all cuddly with-er neither.
Disclaimer-this piece has a two beer minimum. Don’t attempt to listen to this spoken word project until you’ve consumed at least two or more beers. It won’t make a lick of sense to those sober, rational and/or conventional.
This piece was co-written with Robert Finley, AKA Jhango. He was my best drinking buddy, pool shooting pal, fellow night wanderer, purveyor of words and rhythms, a hell-ov-ah guitarist, and most importantly, a gifted teller of tales………we once shared a common key whole view to this crazy world…..
Yeah man, way back then we held the keys to the kingdom——-
Soundtrack “You Said You Loved Me (but I think you lied)” by Victor Uriz
Lyric’s
In this valley where the sun burns hot
upon a levee we both once walked
you said you love me once I thought
I can’t forget the things you forgot
Now you’re nowhere around
made your future in some distant town
you said you loved me in some old letter I found
I tore it up and threw it on the ground
I remember how our bodies shook
your dress on the floor the way you looked
Smell of your perfume as your love I took
these things you did I guess I mistook
I remember how you said goodbye
your voice it quivered a tear in your eye
you kissed my lips and then you sighed
you said you loved me but I think you lied
Winter here’s the snow it flies
skies are gray, the sun has died
and from you ghost I try to hide
I kiss another lips but I still see your eye
God I hate this way I feel
god I miss the way you made me feel
they say all wounds time will heal
I hate you so much but I love you still
I remember how our bodies touched
how warm you were how soft it was
you whispered that you wanted me so much
and in these words I did trust
I remember how you said goodbye
your voice it quivered a tear in your eye
you kissed my lips and then you sighed
you said you loved me, but I think you lied
The Low Lands
When I think of my hometown, I think of that fertile Sacramento Valley, where in late August the smell of rotting peaches hangs heavy in the humid evening air. For a moment, I’m once again consumed by that helpless feeling that would rise up in me when the three rivers that snake through the low lands swelled and threaten to breach the levee’s.
They nicknamed my town the walled city, due to all the eroding levee’s that encircle the houses, churches and bars. When I close my eyes, I can smell the earthy scent of damp sediment carried by the Sacramento, Yuba and the Feather Rivers. The raindrops became puddles, the puddles became little streams and the streams a raging river. The murky water slowly rose as it threatened to crest the river banks.
Every thirty years or so, the rivers would join forces and break the levee leaving the houses ransacked and the tired old town in shambles. The tenacious currents washed away the bridges, the trees and the accumulation of belongings that make up a man’s life. And after the waters receded, the people stood expressionless on the ground where their homes had once anchored them to a sense of permanence.
Thinking back now, I’m not sure if the levee’s were there to keep the water out, or us in. To this day, when I listen to the sound of rain falling outside my window, I never underestimate the power of a single raindrop.
It was here, that I first had my heart broke, but that’s another story……
Life is the Iliad, love but a Haiku===even the slowest of readers must sooner or later turn the page…..
This piece is dedicated to Robert Johnson who is credited with creating the blues. Enough said, the piece will detail the story behind how he acquired this gift, or as some might say—curse. Give it a listen and tell me your thoughts on the project. Thanks
Soundtrack, “Do What You Want, Be What You Are” by Hall & Oats
Lesson #1
Life goes on, with or without me. Fads come and go, hit songs become golden oldies, all my insecurities and self-conscious tendencies slip away leaving behind silent movie memories, like puddles evaporating in time—— seasons never end, they just change, a circle of revolving eternities….again I’ll wait for you to come round again—I’m no longer in a hurry, infinity is patient.
Lesson #2
I use to give a shit what people thought, but I’ve come to realize that everyone is so self-absorbed that no one gives a damn about anyone other than themselves—-just a cavalcade of egocentric, narcotic sons of a bitches———And they move through life as though everyone else is a hollow prop, a means to an end, a thing to be manipulated for their own good. Why is it so hard for us to see this life beyond our own selfish experiences and desires?
It’s not that far of a walk till dawn, until Mr Sun bumps his head up against that dogged horizon. Ya see, light can’t wait for time to give birth to another day. I awake to find that I’m still here, alive and ready to breathe. I”m not afraid, nor sorry, cause that’s just waisted time, let the sky creep towards blueness and let the dew sparkle like diamonds to decorate the glory of forever forgetting, rebirth brings amnesia——Who were you before this? I think I must have known you from some other place and time, maybe a lover, a brother, mother, my child, aren’t we all somehow connected? Fools are the bitter ones, dismissing miracles, failing to see the expression of god within stars and dust——the lucky ones grow closer to the day, to themselves, to others,——to what is…….
The bathroom mirror mocks me. I dip my chin and turn my head one way and then the other. “Here I am——this is who I am, what I’ve become through choice and consequence. As of late I’ve become keenly aware of my two selves. My private self and my public self. I’ve lived a divided existence, a chameleon, a shape shifter, camouflaging myself into an unchanging innocuous background. I’m struck by the notion of congruency.
Somewhere along the way I’d lost myself. I’d allowed myself to fracture into a million faux personalities. I did this to please others, to protect myself, to fit in, to avoid indiscretions, to appear normal, to simulate appropriateness——I’d been a faker, a fraud—-These days I’d rather be notorious than anonymous. Authenticity comes with a license to be free, to be crazily sane, to be who ever you choose to be!
Lesson #3
As I’ve grown older I’ve begun to allow my layered selves to coalesce into a unified me. Such a task requires practice, but at the end of the day it has liberated me. One of the blessings of aging is that it has stripped me of my vanities. I am who I am, no more pretending——the sky is the sky, my dog is my dog, life is life, what is “is” and so on and so forth….The simplest of ideas are the most difficult to grasp!
I’ve been thinking about friendships and it has occurred to me that my closest friends are the ones who allow me to be myself without pretension or expectation. They know me, they get me, and in spite of my faults, failures and foibles, they forgive me. Needless to say, these days I have fewer friends, but the ones I have help me become a better me.
To be understood is to be loved. And to be lovable requires honestly and vulnerability.
I’d love to say that this life is beautiful, kind and forgiving, but that would be like saying oxycontin will erase your hurt. Pain can be numbed and managed, but hurt is only consoled by forgiveness and love, of others, as well as oneself. Many choose to conceal their hurt rather than drag it out into the blinding light of truth——we are only as sick as our secrets. Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine. Such a pact will seal our love. We can only get as close to one another as we are true to one another.It will always be the same for us——us against the world.
Life’s not a journey, but rather a labyrinth. It’s a series of false starts, cul-de-sacs and trap doors. Mr Frost had it right when he spoke of “A road less traveled”. To be lost is part of being alive, as there is no map or compass, there is only well worn paths or those containing briars and weeds. Such a path is as Robert said, “the one that will make all the difference”.
My demons come clothed as jealousy, anger, fear and dacite. I know them well, they’ve surprised me in the dark passages that lead me into dead ends..There is no right road, no one path, no absolute destination, there are as many north stars as there are pious prayers.
How come the people who need love the most are the ones who push it away. And, why is it, that the ones who need help the most are the ones who refuse it. I guess it’s because we don’t always get what we deserve. No—- we get what we get. And, as my daughter would to tell me at the tender age of five“Ya get what ya get, and ya don’t throw a fit”.
Who’s blessed?– What’s fair?– Where’s safe?——Nobody knows———mercy is an ocean where we drown our faults, fears and doubts.
From our mothers womb we are pushed into this life screaming and crying. We are dependent on the care and kindness of absolute strangers. They hold us, love us, feed us, teach us and provide us shelter. And all to soon, we’re pulled from this world in much the same way that we arrived, crying out for our mothers. In the midst of this ever revolving circle we are forever repurposing ourselves. We become many things. Careful what you value, for in the end these things become you.
At the core of my life there exists a terrible sadness. It has to do with my fixation on death. It seems such a cruel law of nature that we must abide by. God must be a prankster. To give us so much, and then so quickly take it all away. I miss all of those I’ve lost.
Somehow–someone–someway–please slow down this life, I’ve already given up to many irreplaceable things.
We are all so very courageous, but sometimes it feels as if it’s us against the world.
Rants, Raves and Random Thoughts 