i have old man things
i have old man things
pocket-things that stay
a shuffling gait
a dull back pain
slippers
worn good
shufflingshuffflingshufffling
looking for my coffee
looking for my flashlight
looking for my screwdriver
nap
after lunch
i'll fix the mower later
when its cooler
right now
the dogs know what to do
and that is to sleep
in the sun
Thursday, August 23, 2007
J.R.
we drove out to the grand canyon
in 1994
your spring break spent
trying on another school
like a new body
listened to The Counting Crows
too much
and endured
the egomaniacaltooexpressivetoodramatic
desperate outcast
that called himself "sage"
who was obsessed with you
who's new toyota we were in
and who's credit card got us the motel room
when we got to Phoenix
and were dead.
and i had to drink Grolsch
when we camped on the rim
and i had to buy $45 sandals
at an outdoor place in Flagstaff
and we hiked
6 miles downhill
the Bright Angel Trail
to Plateau Point
and we were so
alive
and doing something that was real
with dust and donkeys
and families with backpacks.
the memory is splashed
with early 90's neo-hippy
counterculture positivity
and the Grateful Dead Cornell '77
and my green Woolrich jacket
that i just gave away last year
and all of the colors
of the Frutopia Furthur bus
parked on the ASU commons
and the 6 foot amythest geode
in the foyer of the geology building
and promise
and future
and inspiration
and a beautiful arc of life
peppered with photographs
and belly laughs
and trips to the ends of the earth
you lived big in your short time.
that you died on your way back there
is somehow fitting.
now your youth
stays gold forever
and hangs over the canyon
like a giant
brilliant
smile
we drove out to the grand canyon
in 1994
your spring break spent
trying on another school
like a new body
listened to The Counting Crows
too much
and endured
the egomaniacaltooexpressivetoodramatic
desperate outcast
that called himself "sage"
who was obsessed with you
who's new toyota we were in
and who's credit card got us the motel room
when we got to Phoenix
and were dead.
and i had to drink Grolsch
when we camped on the rim
and i had to buy $45 sandals
at an outdoor place in Flagstaff
and we hiked
6 miles downhill
the Bright Angel Trail
to Plateau Point
and we were so
alive
and doing something that was real
with dust and donkeys
and families with backpacks.
the memory is splashed
with early 90's neo-hippy
counterculture positivity
and the Grateful Dead Cornell '77
and my green Woolrich jacket
that i just gave away last year
and all of the colors
of the Frutopia Furthur bus
parked on the ASU commons
and the 6 foot amythest geode
in the foyer of the geology building
and promise
and future
and inspiration
and a beautiful arc of life
peppered with photographs
and belly laughs
and trips to the ends of the earth
you lived big in your short time.
that you died on your way back there
is somehow fitting.
now your youth
stays gold forever
and hangs over the canyon
like a giant
brilliant
smile
seventeen long years
your windows and doors
ive seen a million times
oh the start of this was so grand
such promise
big eyes
we could have stood
on the world
big
until i could see
that you were a ghost town
that countless others
had dropped their tools
and walked away
before they ever drove the first nail
that 'brain drain' is a symptom
of a soil with PH so high
that even a thistle like me
can't take root
everyone around you
has something
some dark secret
some ancient laughy legend
an abandoned mine
a flooded valley
a famous singer with a hokey smile
but you,
you have swept every corner
for culture
and collected and perserved it in a nice
tidy
box
and no one has to venture into these hills
to see "art"
no, my dear, this time is done
i have searched and searched
for the part of us that fits together;
everywhere i found revulsion
and a backwards response
to change
and fear
that someone
might tear your mountains down
and expose you
cowering
in this little corner
of nowhere.
your windows and doors
ive seen a million times
oh the start of this was so grand
such promise
big eyes
we could have stood
on the world
big
until i could see
that you were a ghost town
that countless others
had dropped their tools
and walked away
before they ever drove the first nail
that 'brain drain' is a symptom
of a soil with PH so high
that even a thistle like me
can't take root
everyone around you
has something
some dark secret
some ancient laughy legend
an abandoned mine
a flooded valley
a famous singer with a hokey smile
but you,
you have swept every corner
for culture
and collected and perserved it in a nice
tidy
box
and no one has to venture into these hills
to see "art"
no, my dear, this time is done
i have searched and searched
for the part of us that fits together;
everywhere i found revulsion
and a backwards response
to change
and fear
that someone
might tear your mountains down
and expose you
cowering
in this little corner
of nowhere.
when i burned
i remember doing things
with all of who i was
and feeling
the blank memory
of disconnection
i remember feeling
dismay at those
that seemed to live
without a burn
as i fought the tiny voice
that whispered
"that can be you."
now,
these days
after the fires have dimmed
and halfdreams abandoned
disconnection accepted as truth
time crawls
and disappears
(a process once scrutinized
now all but unseen
save for the ticking of clocks)
im still not sure
that it was ever here
or if that
was ever me
when i burned
i remember doing things
with all of who i was
and feeling
the blank memory
of disconnection
i remember feeling
dismay at those
that seemed to live
without a burn
as i fought the tiny voice
that whispered
"that can be you."
now,
these days
after the fires have dimmed
and halfdreams abandoned
disconnection accepted as truth
time crawls
and disappears
(a process once scrutinized
now all but unseen
save for the ticking of clocks)
im still not sure
that it was ever here
or if that
was ever me
when i burned
glorb
when we last left our hero, his 20-year old Honda had refused to hot-start after he had killed it by releasing the clutch prematurely while talking to his lovely fiance' on his prepaid cellular phone after having accepted his breaded and deep-fried fast food from the leathery barfly working the drive-thru at the local Burger King.
"I love you. Its Monday." and the phone is folded.
"TOMMY, COME HELP PUSH A CAR OUTTA THE DRIVE THRU!"
"I got it. It only weighs 1800 pounds."
Neutral, the car is easily pushed (sans Tommy, who is busy deep-frying artificially0-shaped pieces of chicken and cheese) out of the 12:45pm drive thru lane. Our hero re-enters the still rolling, low-slung cockpit of the CRX and coasts over to the edge of the lot, thinking he may just sit right there and have his lunch rather than eat as his "desk" at his callcenter job where he poorly does mid-level network security administration work for several large companies the company he works for has contracts with because partially educated, quasi-dorks are cheaper than people with MCSE certs.
He tries the key and the car starts - only having needed about 30 seconds to recover from the condition which causes it to not start immediately after having been stopped while at operating temperature. He would have waited, but it seems that the only time the car actually does start back is after there has been some change in his plans; delaying the lunchline at Burger King, postponing a dinner date, making calls to say he would be late...only then does the car start. If he just sits there and does nothing, it would never start again because on Monday things hate you.
So, he just got out and pushed it.
Those pictures.
His brother's 9-year old daughter "gets air on the four wheeler."
They are "dirtbike" people.
They're just people.
It not what kind of people they are that keeps him from being close with them, its just that they're people.
Sigh.
---------------
when we last left our hero, his 20-year old Honda had refused to hot-start after he had killed it by releasing the clutch prematurely while talking to his lovely fiance' on his prepaid cellular phone after having accepted his breaded and deep-fried fast food from the leathery barfly working the drive-thru at the local Burger King.
"I love you. Its Monday." and the phone is folded.
"TOMMY, COME HELP PUSH A CAR OUTTA THE DRIVE THRU!"
"I got it. It only weighs 1800 pounds."
Neutral, the car is easily pushed (sans Tommy, who is busy deep-frying artificially0-shaped pieces of chicken and cheese) out of the 12:45pm drive thru lane. Our hero re-enters the still rolling, low-slung cockpit of the CRX and coasts over to the edge of the lot, thinking he may just sit right there and have his lunch rather than eat as his "desk" at his callcenter job where he poorly does mid-level network security administration work for several large companies the company he works for has contracts with because partially educated, quasi-dorks are cheaper than people with MCSE certs.
He tries the key and the car starts - only having needed about 30 seconds to recover from the condition which causes it to not start immediately after having been stopped while at operating temperature. He would have waited, but it seems that the only time the car actually does start back is after there has been some change in his plans; delaying the lunchline at Burger King, postponing a dinner date, making calls to say he would be late...only then does the car start. If he just sits there and does nothing, it would never start again because on Monday things hate you.
So, he just got out and pushed it.
Those pictures.
His brother's 9-year old daughter "gets air on the four wheeler."
They are "dirtbike" people.
They're just people.
It not what kind of people they are that keeps him from being close with them, its just that they're people.
Sigh.
---------------
to the silent
I hear you.
did you only want me in your life when i was broken?
did you only need a friend
when you felt like you were performing an act of charity?
did i not do the right thing?
did i jump out of the box?
did i love outside the clique?
apparently, you will never understand
and you will never reach out
to anyone
note to self:
befriend the meek
the meek need.
so, yeah.
I hear you.
everyone needs friends
and everyone hopes
that everyone has
friends
but no one reaches out
to someone they "don't like"
because they see the negative
in themselves
reflected back
so, goodbye all of you "friends"
that never call
and never write
and never stop by
and never wonder
just what
is going on
and never accept
that not everyone
lives they way you think they should.
if you ever call
or you ever write
or you ever stop by
i will graciously accept you
but you will accept me
and my life
and my love
or
you will not.
never hip enough for the hip
never straight enough for the straight
never anything enough for the anything
we are here
in this empty place
a clearing created by fear
the untouchable place
where noone dare tread
for fear they be branded
as having "changed."
"but they wouldn't dig this town..."
try not to think about it, Alice Childress.
I hear you.
did you only want me in your life when i was broken?
did you only need a friend
when you felt like you were performing an act of charity?
did i not do the right thing?
did i jump out of the box?
did i love outside the clique?
apparently, you will never understand
and you will never reach out
to anyone
note to self:
befriend the meek
the meek need.
so, yeah.
I hear you.
everyone needs friends
and everyone hopes
that everyone has
friends
but no one reaches out
to someone they "don't like"
because they see the negative
in themselves
reflected back
so, goodbye all of you "friends"
that never call
and never write
and never stop by
and never wonder
just what
is going on
and never accept
that not everyone
lives they way you think they should.
if you ever call
or you ever write
or you ever stop by
i will graciously accept you
but you will accept me
and my life
and my love
or
you will not.
never hip enough for the hip
never straight enough for the straight
never anything enough for the anything
we are here
in this empty place
a clearing created by fear
the untouchable place
where noone dare tread
for fear they be branded
as having "changed."
"but they wouldn't dig this town..."
try not to think about it, Alice Childress.