The kids in Austin are bobbing heads. Heads fully-clad with trucker caps, yesterday’s style; it seems as if it stays in Austin and Athens, probably, where I used to live. An aging rock star of the minor variety sings a swan song. I am sitting in a house in a city and the lights are turned low and an artificial fire is burning across the way. Frozen precip is called for and already accumulating and we bought bread and beer – a Gen X modification on our parents’ call. It’s been a rough one. What was supposed to be movie night has turned into a movie itself. If I look up, I don’t know what I am saying. Three big beers and I am out of it, when it used to take a full bottle of rye. Of course I am melancholy. I know she want sto leave; she’s just trying to figure out the way to do it. Soon she will, and I will be talking to you all a little more. I guess that’s the way this cookie crumbles.
Bright and shiny it looks good in all lights, even the one at the bar when your tab is due. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. It would light up the night as we walk home on this icy night. Is it VT, GA or TX. An odd triumvirate. Maybe a cactus house with three stray cats lounging in the yard. I drove purposefully past the old house tonight too see where I have come from… so as to attempt to determine where this all might go.
I will be writing songs for strangers soon. If I can make it through to tomorrow. I will write the love they couldn’t put to words. Many will engage and marry to my words. Some will be put to rest. You can’t hear it on the radio. The stories are much too complex. More like a Vegas act. More like me.