Time Alone
I spent a lot of time alone over this holiday period. It is good to be alone and it is horrible to be alone; I experienced both feelings at the same time. I was housesitting for friends and I literally spent 4 days, minus the Christmas morning presents and meal, with 3 dogs. That's it. No phone, not that I wanted to call anyone. I talked to the neighbor lady for about 40 minutes one day because she brought over some orange juice that she couldn't drink, which I gratefully accepted, and chatted with her. But beyond that it was only telling the store clerk what brand of smokes I needed, with a voice in need a good clearing due to inactivity, and then quiet. Oh, the tv was on, I talked to the dogs, I heard the sounds of the city outside, but quiet...quiet inside of myself. The brain will think over events, needed requirements, then it moves into memories and emotions, after that thoughts either settle or get numbed and your brain will kind of coast like an old car at just the right cruising speed on an open road, floating somewhere between acceleration and stopping. I coasted for about 4 days in my thoughts and feelings. That was Christmas '08 for me...a long, darkened roadway without traffic and me in my car, alone, doing about 74 miles an hour without the radio on and with a cigarette in my left hand, headed for exactly nowhere, feeling just time alone with myself.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Tales Of The Camaro
(I have been thinking a lot about cars and driving now that I got a car I remembered some crazy adventures I had in my various vehicles. So I thought I'd write about my first car, a 1986 black Camaro.)
My leg was broken, but healing inside the cast I wore like a big advertisement for how dorky I felt I was; crutches were a sign of weakness, but here I was walking...crutching really...around a used car lot with my Mom on a rainy Saturday afternoon. We had looked at some junkers and some lame rides, aiming for a price range rather than a model or make of car. We kept passing a black Camaro, but it was not something my Mom was going to allow me to own. We were searching for responsible cars, full of safety features and slow acceleration, probably in some drab color that would make me a better, albeit boring as hell, driver. Finally I asked the salesman about the Camaro. He grabbed the keys and I slid inside as best I could manage with the stupid crutches and the leg of white rigidity. It felt cool, it felt GREAT, it was the car. Even my Mom knew it...or else she was psychologically fatigued from the rain, the saleman's rhetoric, and the stress of buying her firstborn a car which would surely lead to future problems (which of course it did).
We went into the salesman's office and did a bunch of math on paper which was very dull but represented the next two years of my financial future and finally my Mom gave in and signed the papers. Oh joy! I was so proud and excited as she drove my new cool car home, which I was unable to do because of my cast being on my right leg, the accelerator/brake pedal leg, so I just sat in the passenger seat and smiled all the way back to the house. My brother heard the car pull up and ran outside exclaiming, "MOM! I can't believe you bought him a Camaro!" I guess my brother, knowing that he was doomed to ride with me, was scared for his life. Rightfully so.
It only took about a week before I took the car out. I couldn't stand knowing that my new car was sitting in the driveway but I wasn't able to take it anywhere. Torture! I finally eased it around the neighborhood streets to see how my cast would work and if I could manage driving it. I could drive it but it required concentration because I pushed with my thigh, not with my ankle, since my leg was stuck in an L position. Honestly I was nervous with my handicap because driving was still so new to me and because I really didn't want to hit something (or someone!) and ruin my new car.
I drove to school on a Friday, cautious but completely "cool", and showed off the car to all the envious friends that couldn't afford an automobile yet. Nevermind my crutches, I now had a social trophy. And a date that night as well.
I picked her up at her house, met her folks, reassured them of my good intentions and safe driving record (which wasn't a lie, I had safely driven a whole two trips--to and from school), and we were off. I dressed in my preppy clothes with my hair swooped in a cool way, not too many zits, and my cast covered with some new baggy pants from the Gap. I had vacuumed the car and put a Smiths tape in the cassette player, fast-forwarded to the best depressing song on the album. She climbed into the Camaro and we were off to cruise the mostly empty streets of my town, reveling in freedom and painfully supressed hormonal urges.
We drove around for a while and eventually ended up at the high school, which is where everyone went to cruise because our town was boring as hell. A couple of cars were parked in dark corners as we slowly trolled through the parking lot.
Suddenly a truck bore down on my car, swerving and riding my tail with their headlights on bright. I sped up and turned right into the bus lane. The truck chased me. I mashed the gas and desperately tried to outrun it, but saw up ahead that the bus lane made a U-turn and came back down the road I was on with a thin grass median separating the lanes. I roared toward the U-turn and went to pull my foot off the gas and apply it to the brakes but my cast was stuck, trapped by the backside of the brake pedal which forced the accelerator to remain at a heavy throttle!
The turn came fast and I grabbed the steering wheel with all my adolescent fear and turned it hard left. The car squealed all four tires as it slid around the turn, clearly going waaaay too fast, and we, me the cast-leg dork driver and my noticeably panicked first and last date passenger, clung to our seats for dear life. We did, however, somehow manage to slide around the turn safely and were now heading down the other lane when we saw truck's headlights bobbling weirdly in our mirrors and heard a slamming sound followed by the tumult of a tree crashing down through limbs and brush. The truck in pursuit had tried to take the turn but had hit the curb and flown out of control into the woods. I freed my cast from behind the brake pedal and we got the hell out of there.
We were too shaken up to make out and she just wanted to go home..."slowly please". Dejected, kind of horny still, I drove her home and listened to the mournful sounds of the Smiths' dirge-like tunes emitting from the speakers, knowing the band had composed the gloom for me alone.
She kissed me goodnight quickly and got out of the car and I drove home thinking of the events of the evening and realizing my luck and wondering if the truck's inhabitants were dead or bleeding but not worrying enough to go find out or report it. I lay in my bed that night and thought about my car, my leg, my sorrowful love life...and then at some point in the waiting for sleep the word "college" popped up and I drifted off into slumber with a half smile on my zit-half-covered face.
My leg was broken, but healing inside the cast I wore like a big advertisement for how dorky I felt I was; crutches were a sign of weakness, but here I was walking...crutching really...around a used car lot with my Mom on a rainy Saturday afternoon. We had looked at some junkers and some lame rides, aiming for a price range rather than a model or make of car. We kept passing a black Camaro, but it was not something my Mom was going to allow me to own. We were searching for responsible cars, full of safety features and slow acceleration, probably in some drab color that would make me a better, albeit boring as hell, driver. Finally I asked the salesman about the Camaro. He grabbed the keys and I slid inside as best I could manage with the stupid crutches and the leg of white rigidity. It felt cool, it felt GREAT, it was the car. Even my Mom knew it...or else she was psychologically fatigued from the rain, the saleman's rhetoric, and the stress of buying her firstborn a car which would surely lead to future problems (which of course it did).
We went into the salesman's office and did a bunch of math on paper which was very dull but represented the next two years of my financial future and finally my Mom gave in and signed the papers. Oh joy! I was so proud and excited as she drove my new cool car home, which I was unable to do because of my cast being on my right leg, the accelerator/brake pedal leg, so I just sat in the passenger seat and smiled all the way back to the house. My brother heard the car pull up and ran outside exclaiming, "MOM! I can't believe you bought him a Camaro!" I guess my brother, knowing that he was doomed to ride with me, was scared for his life. Rightfully so.
It only took about a week before I took the car out. I couldn't stand knowing that my new car was sitting in the driveway but I wasn't able to take it anywhere. Torture! I finally eased it around the neighborhood streets to see how my cast would work and if I could manage driving it. I could drive it but it required concentration because I pushed with my thigh, not with my ankle, since my leg was stuck in an L position. Honestly I was nervous with my handicap because driving was still so new to me and because I really didn't want to hit something (or someone!) and ruin my new car.
I drove to school on a Friday, cautious but completely "cool", and showed off the car to all the envious friends that couldn't afford an automobile yet. Nevermind my crutches, I now had a social trophy. And a date that night as well.
I picked her up at her house, met her folks, reassured them of my good intentions and safe driving record (which wasn't a lie, I had safely driven a whole two trips--to and from school), and we were off. I dressed in my preppy clothes with my hair swooped in a cool way, not too many zits, and my cast covered with some new baggy pants from the Gap. I had vacuumed the car and put a Smiths tape in the cassette player, fast-forwarded to the best depressing song on the album. She climbed into the Camaro and we were off to cruise the mostly empty streets of my town, reveling in freedom and painfully supressed hormonal urges.
We drove around for a while and eventually ended up at the high school, which is where everyone went to cruise because our town was boring as hell. A couple of cars were parked in dark corners as we slowly trolled through the parking lot.
Suddenly a truck bore down on my car, swerving and riding my tail with their headlights on bright. I sped up and turned right into the bus lane. The truck chased me. I mashed the gas and desperately tried to outrun it, but saw up ahead that the bus lane made a U-turn and came back down the road I was on with a thin grass median separating the lanes. I roared toward the U-turn and went to pull my foot off the gas and apply it to the brakes but my cast was stuck, trapped by the backside of the brake pedal which forced the accelerator to remain at a heavy throttle!
The turn came fast and I grabbed the steering wheel with all my adolescent fear and turned it hard left. The car squealed all four tires as it slid around the turn, clearly going waaaay too fast, and we, me the cast-leg dork driver and my noticeably panicked first and last date passenger, clung to our seats for dear life. We did, however, somehow manage to slide around the turn safely and were now heading down the other lane when we saw truck's headlights bobbling weirdly in our mirrors and heard a slamming sound followed by the tumult of a tree crashing down through limbs and brush. The truck in pursuit had tried to take the turn but had hit the curb and flown out of control into the woods. I freed my cast from behind the brake pedal and we got the hell out of there.
We were too shaken up to make out and she just wanted to go home..."slowly please". Dejected, kind of horny still, I drove her home and listened to the mournful sounds of the Smiths' dirge-like tunes emitting from the speakers, knowing the band had composed the gloom for me alone.
She kissed me goodnight quickly and got out of the car and I drove home thinking of the events of the evening and realizing my luck and wondering if the truck's inhabitants were dead or bleeding but not worrying enough to go find out or report it. I lay in my bed that night and thought about my car, my leg, my sorrowful love life...and then at some point in the waiting for sleep the word "college" popped up and I drifted off into slumber with a half smile on my zit-half-covered face.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Halloween
Stumble, legs crossing, looking upward into the night sky.
Trees blocking and light pollution aid the clouds.
But between this side view and that angle
I see a triangle dipper, and spin for more...
Only to catch a shooting star streak like a phantom
With no one to show or tell,
Even though it is already gone,
I felt magical or lucky like when I was a child.
Trees blocking and light pollution aid the clouds.
But between this side view and that angle
I see a triangle dipper, and spin for more...
Only to catch a shooting star streak like a phantom
With no one to show or tell,
Even though it is already gone,
I felt magical or lucky like when I was a child.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Not A Typical Day
Alarm rings on an old cellphone because I fail to remember to buy a new clock.
Shower, shave with an old razor, dress for Friday casual.
Grab a water bottle out of the fridge and put it in my travel bag. Slam a small glass of OJ.
The street of my neighborhood is dark and quiet and empty as I walk to meet the bus.
I wish I had a cigarette as I wait alongside the misty highway and stare at headlights that I want to be my bus.
I board the bus and sit in the overly lit quiet, this time I don't sleep or doze.
The bus fills. Later, much later, we empty at the public transportation station.
I ride to the central station and change my direction to North.
I continue on the train one stop past my usual workplace stop.
I walk down the street to Publix and buy 3 packs of smokes, separately, to get cash back on each purchase.
Leaving Publix, I take the long route to my work and pass construction workers, a closed strip club, and a college campus.
I thoroughly enjoy my first cigarette of the day.
I get coffee at Starbucks.
I hit an ATM and withdraw the maximum amount allowed for the calendar day.
Work.
Lunch.
More work.
I wait outside of my building for a ride home, smoking a cigarette under shelter from the rain, and saying "cya" to random folks.
My ride and I depart and roll into traffic, rainy Friday traffic.
We arrive at my friend's house.
I hand him a sum of cash.
He hands me the keys to a car.
I drive myself home in my newly purchased used car.
I remember the feeling of freedom, which is wispy like hope and sudden like passion.
Not a typical day.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Deconstruction
The countryside was gray and barren. Tall charcoal gray punched upward from ashen ground in the forefront of an inky backdrop skyline. Lamp light emanated forward around my face and eyes to illumine the area of my directional gaze. The car door was open and waiting for me on this abandoned flat of land, the engine running, bodies inside felt impatient to get moving. I walked across the dusty ground toward the vehicle and moved to get into the front seat. Familiar faces noticed me, told me to get out so she could get that seat as she slid into the car past me. A cloud of gray-white chalk dust sprayed upward from the spinning tire and the car wallowed down and then side to side, catching traction in rapid escape, leaving me alone in this charred wasteland. The shape and edges lose form into constricting obscurity.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
"Just An Observation"
This is a response to an email I received.
Colors droop overhead as a sky-wide drape, brightening the shadowy dew-dripped neighborhood in the wee hours of morning, and coats the dark like a descending web of pastel potential in my surrounding vista walk to retrieve the morning paper. She's there, already, always, in my mind.
Reaching out to me, almost scolding me from afar, her words touch my skin in my surprise and her possible concern. This extended communication is uncomfortable for both of us, I think too much, her words contain the familiar tone.
I stayed up late the evening I found her message, and thought over many feelings and memories and responses.
I crafted many retorts, defenses, justifications...then I considered not responding; it would be easy to never reply to a tentacle of the deep past, pretend it never was seen.
Your observation is truthful, it is stinging in the acuity, the simplicity collapses my complex, imaginary architecture of procrastination and delay. Yet, you do not spur me forward. You are not an inspiration. The words in your letter's injunction in my stagnant repetition of living is simply a gauge of my inaction. I do, indeed, see your point.
I'm somewhat comforted to find your life is good. I'm confused by you asking how I am, as if you haven't already determined I'm aloof or off track. And I wonder, truly ponder, if your quick message wasn't more than a guilt-ridden Hallmark, missing either the "I'm sorry", the "Thank you", or the "Just thinking of you".
Sunrise, sunset
Remember...forget
The shared past
Monday, August 25, 2008
Daily Doodle
Take a scrap square of paper
Draw a rough circle on it
Add a piece of tape at the top
Stick it on some random seat on the public transportation
Open a Bible and place it under the paper
Watch the circle fill with color
Notice a shine, a sheen
Close the Bible and take the paper off the seat
Walk to the tall building
Go to the next-to-top floor
Stick the paper to a rolling chair
In a cube, with a computer and a phone
And stacks of paper
Watch the color drain
Take the paper circle outside
Walk to the benches and smoke a cigarette
Feel the rain or feel the sun
Watch people less fortunate than this paper square
Feel the color lessen in the circle
Turn off the computer and take the paper
Tape it to a barstool
Laugh loudly and point a cigarette at it
Throw down a ridiculous bill
Take the deflated circle paper outside
Tape it to the seat of public transportation
Open a Bible
Watch the circle fill with color
Notice the glow
Send it down a dark street
Known as home
Friday, June 20, 2008
Art
5 weeks, and all in the shed out back while entertained with Braves games over the radio. Drawing calms me and helps me focus. I feel zen in my breathing. I wish I was better, but I'm proud of this effort.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Too-Short Story
It was a gorgeous sunset, lasting three months filled with radiating colors and sweet, soothing breezes. We sat together calmly and soaked in the dazzling gift, the God-rendered present to us, sharing time. And then night fell, dousing the bright hues and draping our picnic. We picked up our stuff and left different ways. The end.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Abandoned
Look ahead, in the distance...is that the what-if, the could've been? Hazy and shimmering, it dances on the edge of what is beyond our current line of vision. Notice the moon, full and swollen with wicked thoughts eeking onto the below. Did it cause the daze, the disconnect and confusion? Or did it shine brightly, finally revealing the muck surrounding? I watch the stars slide over the sky, by myself, alone tonight.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Light/Dark
Uncertain
I can't speak this
Because of your blocks
Won't say those things
That cause caustic runs
Along this timeline of us
Hesitate
We will...will we?
You guess I perceive
I infer your guess
We're a fucking mess
Don't forget to
Feed the fish
Before we disappear
With a light switch
I can't speak this
Because of your blocks
Won't say those things
That cause caustic runs
Along this timeline of us
Hesitate
We will...will we?
You guess I perceive
I infer your guess
We're a fucking mess
Don't forget to
Feed the fish
Before we disappear
With a light switch
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
For A Friend
Is that what you can
Do or belive in?
Can you feel this
Slit against reasoning?
Pull this one thing
Away from direction,
And you'll find later
Failure, disaster.
Take this strange insight
Words unexpected,
A stranger in passing,
And listen to live.
Do or belive in?
Can you feel this
Slit against reasoning?
Pull this one thing
Away from direction,
And you'll find later
Failure, disaster.
Take this strange insight
Words unexpected,
A stranger in passing,
And listen to live.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Double-Meaning Dreams
The movie in the dark, the reel of film in my slumber, the rolling expressions from within snap me into action on the otherside of sleep. The images are allegories, the placement of characters are directional patterns, props are ironic suggestions, and sounds are worded emotions whereas words are fears.
I shake my bed-hair head in a quiet, black room and get the sense I missed out on some big event which I desperately try to recall, capture in my fleeting memory. Meanwhile I also process my incredible sense of urgency to comprehend some new direction I'm to follow...when I figure out the puzzle-piece meanings displayed in that cloak of rest.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Altered
You aren't the reflection I feel like I appear to be
Anymore
Not with those who surround me
Fake act
Slight hand
Juke emotion
Double speak
Shift eyes and dodge my slip from perceived
Worth
Anymore
Not with those who surround me
Fake act
Slight hand
Juke emotion
Double speak
Shift eyes and dodge my slip from perceived
Worth
Monday, March 03, 2008
Not Usual
He said that I need to wait and see.
The new cubicle was flipped left to right.
I was given a business card from a Marta traveler who is planning on buying a house for me to live in and maintain.
The new hire turned around and smiled at me like she knew who I was which made me confused.
The folks at lunch were quiet today, like it was a funeral.
My empty desk had large dust puffs and an artistic shaped paperclip left to show my impact on the company for over two years.
Smiles and sad looks and half smiles and silent handshakes and clipped conversation greeted me amidst loudness, the vocal volume of my new department's vocation.
She wasn't home or else wasn't in the mood to talk.
The day was bright and this night feels thick and dark and full of detriment, spicing the disarry of my day with whimsy and distrust and abject removal of familiarity.
The new cubicle was flipped left to right.
I was given a business card from a Marta traveler who is planning on buying a house for me to live in and maintain.
The new hire turned around and smiled at me like she knew who I was which made me confused.
The folks at lunch were quiet today, like it was a funeral.
My empty desk had large dust puffs and an artistic shaped paperclip left to show my impact on the company for over two years.
Smiles and sad looks and half smiles and silent handshakes and clipped conversation greeted me amidst loudness, the vocal volume of my new department's vocation.
She wasn't home or else wasn't in the mood to talk.
The day was bright and this night feels thick and dark and full of detriment, spicing the disarry of my day with whimsy and distrust and abject removal of familiarity.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Can
Flag
Flowing in the breezy change is the flag of transistion, not really...no flag per se, but my eyes should show this banner of transistion.
The movement past cigarettes. The move beyond alcohol, except for one or two among a group. The departure of being an editor, moving into a new group, a new work position, leaving old, familiar ways behind. And her, the new addition in the middle of a my discombobulated life. That is now, this is me, the newness and strange and unfamiliar.
Dreaming bears the must disruption in that I can't sleep through the night without interruptions of expanding, swirling mind explorations. I wake up suddennly, needing rope for the tent, scared of missing Keith race the funny car, apprehensive that I didn't feed the cat that is long past.
I cough up blood in the mornings, a parting hell to my years of neglect for my breathes of life. Blood mixes with oxygen and paints permanence on white porcelain early every morning lately.
Hope hopscotches these painted signs of doom, more recognizeable than ever now in my leaps over and past them, as I breathe deep, as I reach further, and believe...know I can accomplish boundaries forbidden before.
Flowing in the breezy change is the flag of transistion, not really...no flag per se, but my eyes should show this banner of transistion.
The movement past cigarettes. The move beyond alcohol, except for one or two among a group. The departure of being an editor, moving into a new group, a new work position, leaving old, familiar ways behind. And her, the new addition in the middle of a my discombobulated life. That is now, this is me, the newness and strange and unfamiliar.
Dreaming bears the must disruption in that I can't sleep through the night without interruptions of expanding, swirling mind explorations. I wake up suddennly, needing rope for the tent, scared of missing Keith race the funny car, apprehensive that I didn't feed the cat that is long past.
I cough up blood in the mornings, a parting hell to my years of neglect for my breathes of life. Blood mixes with oxygen and paints permanence on white porcelain early every morning lately.
Hope hopscotches these painted signs of doom, more recognizeable than ever now in my leaps over and past them, as I breathe deep, as I reach further, and believe...know I can accomplish boundaries forbidden before.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Red
As I walk down windblasted downtown sidewalks, I see something red flash up, caught in the wildness of the breeze. A rose, a solitary flower, unends and petals shed as it rolls and floats toward me. I catch it; the wind dies for second as I look into the exploding folds of the petals for some kind of explanation of how this beautiful creation could withstand the gales and howls and sweeping wind to cut around unkind buildings and darkened streets, how it could bypass danger and depression and disregard in the faces of those passers that look only at themselves, and find me. This radiant, advertureous rose found me...I'll cherish it.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Squirt-Guns II
Wetumpka, Ala.--
Memo to all radio dispatch units:
Move all units into the main facility for maintenance inspections by midnight tonight. No units should be out, this is a mandatory inspection. River routes will resume at 6am.
Gerard Pitman,
Foreman
Alabama Water Division
Rome, GA--
"Are you prepared 4, over."
"4, prepared and waiting go, over."
"You may begin dumping 4, over."
"Roger, unloading, out."
Trailer Park, outside Rome, GA--
"What in the shit is that? Where in blue-ball-blazin' hell is that noise coming from?" Jimmy was frantic, standing up from the old couch with an ear cocked to the wall, then sitting down again to look wild-eyed at Brandi for confirmation. Brandi sat, bored, looking at the wall where the tv used to be.
"All I hear is you yapping Jimmy."
"You got wax buildup is what you got Brandi! You can't tell me you don't hear...a truck!"
Brandi suddenly sat up, quickly hiding the tray and pipe and baggie, and looked with panic at Jimmy.
"I do hear sumthin'! What the hell Jimmy, what the hell is it?"
Jimmy was wide open now, circling the trailer from end to end and peeking out of the windows, and he looked scared. He WAS scared.
"I...I don't know what it is Brandi. Ain't cops, we'd see lights. Ain't no car from the hood. Sounds like a dang-ol' dumptruck heading down to the crick."
The heavily loaded dumptruck's lights flashed across the trailer and turned left, hastily making its way toward the river in a cacophony of downshifting gears and diesel-engine groans.
Brandi looked at Jimmy. Jimmy slid on his jeans and grabbed his best skinning knife.
"Call the cops if ain't back in an hour Brandi..."
To be continued...
Memo to all radio dispatch units:
Move all units into the main facility for maintenance inspections by midnight tonight. No units should be out, this is a mandatory inspection. River routes will resume at 6am.
Gerard Pitman,
Foreman
Alabama Water Division
Rome, GA--
"Are you prepared 4, over."
"4, prepared and waiting go, over."
"You may begin dumping 4, over."
"Roger, unloading, out."
Trailer Park, outside Rome, GA--
"What in the shit is that? Where in blue-ball-blazin' hell is that noise coming from?" Jimmy was frantic, standing up from the old couch with an ear cocked to the wall, then sitting down again to look wild-eyed at Brandi for confirmation. Brandi sat, bored, looking at the wall where the tv used to be.
"All I hear is you yapping Jimmy."
"You got wax buildup is what you got Brandi! You can't tell me you don't hear...a truck!"
Brandi suddenly sat up, quickly hiding the tray and pipe and baggie, and looked with panic at Jimmy.
"I do hear sumthin'! What the hell Jimmy, what the hell is it?"
Jimmy was wide open now, circling the trailer from end to end and peeking out of the windows, and he looked scared. He WAS scared.
"I...I don't know what it is Brandi. Ain't cops, we'd see lights. Ain't no car from the hood. Sounds like a dang-ol' dumptruck heading down to the crick."
The heavily loaded dumptruck's lights flashed across the trailer and turned left, hastily making its way toward the river in a cacophony of downshifting gears and diesel-engine groans.
Brandi looked at Jimmy. Jimmy slid on his jeans and grabbed his best skinning knife.
"Call the cops if ain't back in an hour Brandi..."
To be continued...
Friday, January 18, 2008
Soul
A newness feeling, maybe "older" maybe "wise", but not likely. More of a "dumbass survived, lives to tell...blahdom" kind of feeling. I'm expecting something invigorating, but can't find the impulse to create a newfound expression to initiate action of any kind....
Out of the muck, tuned, a friend extends a needed hand, and...new notes project.
Not broken yet.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Ouch
The gimped left hand presses awkwardly against thin lines of steel, pushing with misguided might on the wood neck in an attempt to produce some kind of chord that doesn't sound like the woeful death of the tinman. Craping, arching weirdly, contorting, this atrophy digit collection makes me feel weak, insecure, desperate and slow.
My writings suck sometimes, I can't find the art in me on occasion, my mixes don't flow...but man, learning to play the guitar is hard work and I have a long, loooooooong way to go before I can even produce notes that are real.
Maybe I attempted something harder than I'm cable of overcoming. My left arm hurts, my fingers smart, my pride exclaims "ouch".
My writings suck sometimes, I can't find the art in me on occasion, my mixes don't flow...but man, learning to play the guitar is hard work and I have a long, loooooooong way to go before I can even produce notes that are real.
Maybe I attempted something harder than I'm cable of overcoming. My left arm hurts, my fingers smart, my pride exclaims "ouch".
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)