I really appreciate your reading and quietly checking up on me. Last night as I snuck a sip of whiskey you called me out. That’s a good thing. Your calm, solid concern keeps me grounded.
It is the feeling of standing on wheels for the first time. Or perhaps a blade on ice. To me it was/is always unsettling. Today has been such a feeling. A restless and sleepy haze of sorting out details and overanalyzing motives. Of knowing that if I haven’t already stumbled and fallen in the rink I soon will and it will inevitably hurt.
Many people have pointed out that as of late I write quite a lot about the drink. My drink. I romanticize chemical dependence almost as much as I seem to depend upon it. This is a personal, private issue that I recognize affects more than myself.
So this week we’ll revisit the old habit of not drinking for a week or so. I’ve already given up some of my evening television, so this shouldn’t be hard. Again. Except for the fact that I already am missing the distraction, the amusement of feeling tipsy.
This isn’t 12-step longing. This just happens to be how I spend my nights as of late.
it’s been a day.
i encountered my acquisition impulse and played a bit with myself.
i heard from her, a soul twin, my mind’s lover…
i bought some used books. and some whiskey.
i napped.
i need another day.
walking
to the liquor store i wore his shoes. they are too big and i felt
comfort and love. i once wore his letter jacket and felt the same. no
one can really understand how this love works if they aren’t personally
privy.
when she called i felt boring at first and then validated
later. it seems that most of my life’s action happens in my head, and
that isn’t easy to tell over the phone.
i found a new album. listened to 4 tracks in the shower. steam rose and water dripped.
it should be known that Tennessee houses a replica of the Parthenon. and hank.
everyone wants to get married. me? i dream about it often. i doubt he will ever ask me and that makes me sad at night.
you
never quite know when inspiration will strike. and after a few sips it
all dissipates. don’t let anyone tell you different.
a day in
the life barely tells a full story without the burdened details. and in
my case they often lie within brain folds. gray matter. memory.
some day this will come together. like the water.
i am immersed.
and the lights come gradually on, like daybreak only a little accelorated
because i am in a pitiful condition (that liquor problem of mine),
but the first few hours are wonderfully bright and cheerful.
except nobody seems to have time to sit down
it isn’t healthy or normal
and licks all the time at my nerves
the pen is not recovered
now the lights are beginning to darken again
yet this period of time is bound to make a difference
“You were my drug, but I was only your cigarette…”
Good Morning… Do I have your attention? The undivided kind? Let’s hope so…
Patty Griffin just released her new album: Children Running Through. Well, really I suppose it was the powers that be, but it was finally made available. I downloaded mine a little over an hour ago. It hasn’t finished playing through and I’m already anxious to let you know it is one of those must have kind of albums.
If you have had any kind of conversation with me about music, odds are I have dropped her name to you. In fact, since I first heard her back in 1997, it has been a mission of mine to spread her love around. With this latest release there is a lot of love to give.
She opens with a sonically-spare “You’ll Remember”. A plea for a bit of recollection from who knows, but a perfect context for her brassy soprano voice. It is seductive and direct. Not so much a request as a command. Followed directly by this driving sorta beer-soaked groove called “Stay on the Ride”. If you don’t tap your foot you quite simply don’t have feet. And if she didn’t already own you, well, the third track “Trapeze” relaxes to let you know you don’t have a choice. It is a duet with her long-time friend EmmyLou Harris, sweet harmonies and dripping with the kind of sad storyline Patty tells best. But it is too pretty to feel anything but release. “Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah…”
Other huge standouts are “Heavenly Day” and “Up to the Mountains”. One is an ode to blue-sky-type mornings and the other a tribute for Dr. MLK, Jr. Please do yourself a favor today and pick this up. It will be like bringing your iPod to church.
Radical Anxiety Termination. I still don’t know how I was able to miss this concept on my first reading a year ago. Of course they call them “rats”… It’s brilliant and tragic. Here I am swallowing Lexapro and drinking whiskey to calm my mind, and Delany has written an institute that effectively de-humanizes individuals by permanently ridding them of anxiety. Is this really our common struggle?
Delany’s “rats” become slave labor for information conglomerates. They lack will, or the concern to respond to anything. They allow time to wash over their lives. And the follow orders to a fault.
The main focus is an un-named “rat” whose large body and acne-marred face make him the brunt of much criticism. He is assumed slow, stupid. He is a tragic hero whose untimely demise does not speak well for the novel to come.
There are a few things that intrigue me: the dangled masks that “men” wear, the glove which seems to me like a hyper-powered portable wikipedia, and the representation of sex.
And of course literature’s power to transform. As our “rat” reads the powerful words of obscure women his entire conception of the world is suddenly given context and interpretation. And his desire to return to the the box of cubed novels outweighs his pleasure in (and desire for) sexual orgasm.
Nothing beyond this recap to offer now.
…when things settle, and “…too many intake valves are open in the soul,” I eternally return to the throbbing feeling of abandon. I need shadowy candle light. Tipsy musings. Pulsing beats and meloncholy vocals. It seems I need you.
It’s a very Tricky mood to maintain. Ideal for wordplay. Perfect for discontent.
A welcome distraction.
Iota Subscript
by Robert (Lee) Frost
Seek not in me the big I capital,
Not yet the little dotted in me seek.
If I have in me any I at all,
‘Tis the iota subscript of the Greek.
So small am I as an attention beggar.
The letter you will find me subscript to
Is neither alpha, eta, nor omega,
But upsilon which is the Greek for you.
Because I cannot do ANYTHING alone, I’m just letting ya’ll know that I have spent the morning reading “Stars in my Pocket like Grains of Sand”. Kim and I decided to revisit our bookclub, to see if this time we can actually read the damn book all the way through. Last year’s failure had nothing to do with the book, but everything to do with poor attention spans.
I’m sure you’ll hear more about our journey on this very blog. Here again is the introductory post from last year:
Introductory Post from last year
Stay tuned…
Me and Mr. Jones 