November 2007

“pelican’s think they are the most beautiful creatures on God’s earth.”

“Name me someone who’s not a parasite, and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”

Well I don’t know if it’s the best song, but it’s in my top 10. The production is so damn sparse and perfect. Robbie Robertson’s guitar just walks around the song with quivering imperfection.

But they named a street after him. Over by that triangle they call a square where the homosexuals had a riot once. Don’t think any buildings burned down though. Not like Detroit where they had to send in the Airbourne or anything. Never met the man. Saw him on the street a time or two, never said hello…damn shame.

Meanwhile, I’m here in this land of the plastic palm fronds of oblyvion. Reflecting on my luck to fall in love with a ghost on this ping pong ball already awash in a veil of bitter tears and 3.50 a gallon gasoline. A world of sunshine and rot. But i allowed you to destroy me my love. My fault. To turn my morning into darkness. My day to night. Silly little man that I am. That will teach ‘you’ to ever give anything away again. Damn silly fool.

Blind Willie Johnson is dead. Hank Williams is dead. Graham Parsons is dead. Blind Lemon Jefferson is dead. The ‘Carter Family’ is dead. Charlie Parker is dead. My whole damn playlist is dead. Hehe.

“What would you give, in exchange for your soul,” Bill Monroe?

Been a wednesday kind of day. Can’t get wifi in my flat today, so I’m posting from my phone. Did the laundry and unfortunately washed one of my moleskins. Oh well. Hope the cure for cancer wasn’t jotted down in the damn thing. Opened the dryer and little pieces of paper went flying everywhere. The guy in the laundrymat gave me a real dirty look.

Been kinda down a bit today. Trying to fight it, but its there. Just feel so defeated. No gig, very little dough, no solid prospects, essentially homeless (but not, thanks to a fine friend), sold most of my possesions… need I go on. On top of this, I’m trying so desperately to keep my faith in others. There are so many wonderful people ‘out there’ but the hurtful and vacant ones can make you want to just shut everyone out. I wish I could paint. Ha. I would just paint and paint and paint. Paint a whole new world

Last night was odd and typical on the beach. Some crazy girl tried to beat up the guy in the tattoo parlor. Cops came and took her off to the pokie. I probably drank too much and ended up over at the sleaziest bar east of us1. Walked home and remarked how beautiful it was looking at the lights and orion and moon over the hazy tropic night. My buddy told me to shut the fuck up. Haha.

I love my old beat up kalamazoo guitar. It’s the most faithful thing I possess.

about your heart

today i burned the letter you never sent
which sat on my desk for days
and floated across the room
when the ocean breezes strayed
through my sunrise window
leaving me to find it
laying on the dusty floor
each day when i come home

today I burned the letter you never sent
in an old coffee can
full of ashes and tobacco
and watched the smoke dance
choking the air
while the homeless atlantic wind
swept across my bed
fleeing west to twilight sky

today i burned the letter you never sent
and kept the one you did

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

——————————————————

And some other similar things…

my daughter says there are no stars. there is no space. it’s just an illusion. an invention on a hollywood set. holes poked in a big cardboard box, set atop the flat plain of the earth. might as well be the truth. after all, this illusion is just as romantic as the one we all ‘believe.’ whichever inspires you I guess.

It’s an old song I wrote for “nobody.” At least I thought so at the time. This morning as I picked up the guitar, it came back to haunt me. Hurt my hands to play it. Just had to suffer through the couple of bar chords.

old mp3—> Lovin’ You

Lovin’ you
is sweepin’ leaves on a windy day
cause every time I get close to you
it all just blows away
I’ve waited half a lifetime
to find someone so true
but sometimes a dream’s further out of reach
when it’s standing right in front of you

honey
people don’t last forever
no matter what you say or do
n’ if you stand around this world long enough
someone might make a believer
even out of you

darlin’ you
burn the ice right off of my heart
on the coldest day
in the deep of night
you fire up my dark
but it’s a world of apprehension
with more fears than the fallin’ snow
n’ there’s an ocean of tears
with more shipwrecked hearts
than anyone can ever know

but I can’t wait forever
pretty soon I’ll pass right through
but if you stand next to me long enough
i could make a believer
even out of you

There’s a big silver moon over the horizon tonight. I guess there will be a big silver moon on the horizon everywhere sometime tonight. Sat up on the roof and picked at the guitar for a while, watched the barflies milling about on the street. The wind has kicked up a bit and I can feel and taste the salt on my face.

Went today and saw the “Dylan” movie, “I’m not there.” If you’re not a Dylan fanatic, you may walk out of a little confused, but you may be entertained by the confusion. I really enjoyed it. Cate Blanchett just completely nailed the mid ’60s Dylan. One of the best performances I’ve ever seen from her or anyone. Down to the hand movements, long and dirty right hand fingernails and delivery of the snarky lines. It’s worth it if only to witness Blanchett with a sock down her pants. It makes me want to hit the road re-invent myself all over again and again.