The Arcade Fire concert was life-changing, despite the crappy venue, one of the highest energy shows ever. Only could have been better if you were there. If you ever get the chance to see them, you must.
And all of the pretty things are here, and you are too. Toto. And you were there too, and you and you and you. And there’s a kid in there, and he’s big, and dumb and kind of scared of what may come after this. I can imagine my little legs tangling with yours, but he’s much taller and handsomer and deserves the permanent spot in your life, your house, your arms. I’ve got my angels too. They love me darling. I want my heart entangled with yours but time and circumstance forbids it now. Once as it was, and always as it should be. I no longer want to drive my car headlong into the side of his now illegally parked car. I accept it as a symptom of my day-to-day life. It all hurts, but less and less. I want your fanny full stop across my face, but I realize that it doesn’t happen that way ever again. Age brings on more nuanced approaches to sexual conduct of that kind. Robert’s love has left him in much the same way that you have left me. She needs more space. She will dangle him around for awhile and take joy in his dangling. He will come out better for it. I saw Jonathan the other night. He asked ME about YOU. I told him to come over and play violin. Music can save us all. Tomorrow night we will keep the car running. Tonight it was rhapsodic fuel of love that made all differences indifferent. I wish you could have been there, but that would have never happened....
The afternoon of his death, his wallet contained a single item, a photograph of his first wife, Anne.
Come back to me again? Maybe once? Maybe one day? Maybe you will come to find me? Was playing: Left Only With Love...
Tonight I am flying high above you in the stratosphere, staring down at your beautiful slumbering body, trying to know what it is that you dream about. Is it me? It can’t be him, he lies there beside you and we all know that the things that you have are not what you dream about. Is it about that house with a screen door and kids in the yard? This process is so difficult. I am trying to kill the you inside of me. I am trying to find a way into selective amnesia. To take back all of the bad memories, realizing that certain good ones will have to be sacrificed in the process. If you were to fly above me tonight, you would realize that the dreams firing between my synapses are of you. Or a vision of you. You the idol that I have created, partially from reality, partially from hope and desire. It is of the house with the screen door and a dusty yard and grass slightly overgrown, and laughter, and love, and sex beyond belief. In my awaken state I am a killer. I slay the memories at every turn. It is during my sleep that I cannot maintain the slaughter. It is then that you come to me. While I am flying so high above. You meet me in the air. I have nightmares, and pleasant dreams, and the ones of a dirty nature, and the ones of a future forbidden now, possibly never possible to begin with. I may try to accept you as muse, thus you can stop really existing,...
Oh, us boys who fall in love with dreams. Out tonight with Scott and talk of his failing marriage. Three years he waited for Morgan to come back to him. Sixteen ruined possibilities all ending with the same thing: “I am still in love with someone else.” An affair with a business partner and 8 months of therapy and he still wants to lover her, wants her to love him. I have no clue what goes on inside her head. He and I go out and we are like Frank and Dean. Not so attractive, but irresistible, but none of it matters. Morgan is in New Orleans likely with another man, you are irrefutably just down the street with another living with you. We still pine like little idiot boys. I had a dream that existed long before you. A house in the country, with a screen door. A woman and children in the yard that I spied through that screen door. Music feeling the house. A backbeat 50’s rhythm for kids whose peers would come to treasure them above all come high school years. An eccentric life that is thoroughly normal as well. A daughter, perhaps, who sings perfect harmony. I had a dream that existed long before you, that you waltzed in upon and demanded the leading role in . I gave it to you. You took it. We both fucked it up. I am not sure what your dream was. I am not sure that you want to sing death ballads to you children. But my dream and you became inseparable in me. These last few...
I buried my heart in a hole in the ground and waited for you to come dig it up. I watered it at first with water, then with whiskey and beer, and all that came of it was weeds – weeds with pretty yellow flowers that had me asking what weeds really were, but textbook weeds still in yet. It impatiently beat at first, reaching out to God to bring the proper gardener. Then the beating slowed only with sporadic flourishes. That heart swallowed a diamond and waited. It swallowed such sorrow and waited. It swallowed rock and roll and waited. It swallowed a slow-played banjo, and your voice, and a sad song, and your beautiful body in memory, and it waited. The spasms subsided. The heart got slow and dirty. Life seemed impossible, and at an impasse. Then I dug my heart up and placed it back in my chest and months later I passed the concrete-covered corner where I once buried my heart, and you carved our initials, and valiantly pushing through a crack wise a brambly vine from which later sprang a blood-red...
The cat power has always been with me, despite the fact that you think their butts are unsanitary. I have been in love with you forever it seems. A house in the country with a screen door flapping, in Prosperity, SC, two kids in the yard, football, hula hoop, limbo. I cry at my therapist about a dream that I had for years of which you were the protagonist, and me. I realize that it was my dream. I was all of the players, all protagonists, including you. I built a pillar so high that I put you on, and that being that sat atop that pillar was to be my wife, wifey, beloved… mother of my children. I was absent, intentionally from the dream. I’ve lived in bars, possibly too much. Drank a bit too much. Had, possibly, too much fun. Cried a bit too much too for a man. But, I possibly loved too much, and in too much a fucked up way. It was not the bottle that broke me and you up. It was the impossibility of us loving each other in the ways that our actions promised too early on. We could never live up to the fantasy. No one could. You would still be gone now if I were a teetotaler. Perhaps I would too. It’s not the bottle’s fault. It’s not God’s fault. He says it ain’t him. We have no free will, but we have influence on it. One decision made precludes a thousand other possible ones. I do know I am a beautiful man. A good man. A flawed man,...
I miss you tonight. Was playing: It’ll All Work Out...
Oh rock and roll can’t answer me and you. I suppose we both get tired with the circumstances we find ourselves in and we think briefly of each other. We stand in a friend’s backyard and look across the yard at the person that we have it all figured out with and we question ourselves. There’s no way that he loves Clary like I do. There’s just no way. She had become my niece present in this town. I have lost her too. You get her and he does too. Tell her about me one day, please. We will live our lives now so separate. You will convince yourself of happiness because you do not truly know what it is. I will learn to imagine a happiness that does not include you. I will turn this space off in the coming weeks as I need to let you go from my life. There will be no letters for your teenage daughter to read. There will be nothing of me in your life but your memories. Yours! And those will fade too. I think we could have had something true. Maybe we did, but you and I both decided to crap on it. At least I feel that I kept you a little longer than most did after the fantasy ran its course. It’s too bad you don’t like baseball. It’s too bad you could not be more consistent and stable and loving and not plunging toward every helpless diving lure that was thrown your way. I fucked up so much, but it was not just me baby. Fix yourself...
Recent Comments