goodness and bother

I've started this post a handful of times, but I realize these are things that need to be said to your ears. I've been accumulating links like a downhill snowball, so I'm gonna do a little house-cleaning. It's sure to be a grab-bag, so get your feet set.
I was listening to Medley: Jack & Neal / California, Here I Come by Tom Waits, and all I could think of is how cool I feel when I'm with you. We're rusty but soon will be able to form like Voltron with chameleon-like speed and ease. I was pretty obsessed with the the Beats when I was a teenager (isn't everybody?); now, it's the end of that movement that is most interesting to me. The best of them seemed like lost souls and that's what I liked: the fact that they had their moment. It serves to sweeten what it was all about. Short story long, I like these few pictures and I can't wait to see you next. California, here we come.


I can't wait to go dancing. I seriously can't. When I think about it, I tap-dance in my bare feet under the table.



So many pictures. I love and hate that there is no further information. Their histories form easily for me, but when my mind relaxes with them before my eyes I have to wonder: what's their story?


I don't even know why-the-velcro. I always want to see more of what you make. In Breakfast of Champions, Vonnegut theorizes that God made Man (or, at least, kept him around) simply because he never knew what Adam was going to say next.


Certain triggers always draw you to mind: Debbie Harry's one of them.


It was Tesla's birthday just the other day.

Certain expressions hold such poetry. Sugar of Lead...


Funereal copper canisters...

Dithyrhambia

I was reading Somerset Maugham a million years ago, and I remember Philip Carey, in the book, describing someone's letters as having become dithyrhambic in nature, of late. That word, dithyrhamb, was like a bell clapper. I had to go look it up in a book. In an adjectival sense, it meant something along the lines of being wildly uneven in emotion, tone and content. One of my top five words; what are some of yours?
The book was Of Human Bondage, by the way.


I was in a bit of a mood, or, rather emerging from one. The whole time through, though, you must know I was thinking about you. You stay in mind in times of drought and daily. It really heartens me. It may come across as being a bit, at worst, needy and, maybe understanding/reliance/ectoplasmatically sub-genetic commonality/we-just-find-similar-things-to-be-funny|exciting|beautiful|sad, but, in all honesty, it's far simpler and much less crude; any possible situations I foresee in my future involving you in any way fill me with a confident sense of goodness for which I will be grateful in retrospect: you like commas like I like commas.


You are undeniably educated and refined; bright, insightful and far further ahead in quality and inventiveness in your unique terms of expression than you will ever allow yourself to admit. Sorry. You're awesome. The humility has its charm, so keep it but know... You've absolutely got it going on and it's bedrock. I cannot express how eagerly I wait to see what you will do next. On another level, it's also something below and beyond all that. The graceful carriage of your head as you smile with a light in your eye and lean ever-so-slightly to calculate and digest before reacting or responding or initiating or doing nothing is bigger than deja vu.


More soon.

Doldrums

"She always thought of his hair whenever she thought of him back then, and she thought of him now. She'd wished it was longer when they were together forever ago. Part of her wished it so even now but all of her wanted just to smell it against her face. Closing her eyes and with great focus she drew him up over and over. If he was in the room, she would be able to tell how he felt simply on how he smelled. Were she aware, she'd've know that all feeling was long lost in her hands. Her feet would then follow and what crawled up after and all over her was not a numb. Pain goes to ache and then onto numb and this had been gone through again and again and was more-than-known-well. She'd hold fast for a bit and end digging in the scar, fishing for something. This here was different. She was gone, or, at least, was going and fast. She didn't even think about it. she felt born without a sense of smell or a nose or a tongue. Her jaw stuck there locked limp at an angle. She tasted the pain and the ache and the numb at the back of her throat lying open like a hole. She could smell him behind her eyes way up in her head. Her body reacted with a shudder and a strong well. Two thumbs leaned hard on the front of her skull but she would not give because making that water would get all of it out and let it all go and it would be gone, but it was all she had. It was the only thing she knew.
She bit down hard, sat up and shook it off. "It smells like shit in here." Her mugs were all dirty but she made coffee anyway. "I'll figure something out."" Someone Sad -Gordon Shearer-

I was a battered suitcase and you were a threadbare house coat. Together, we waited.

I worked hard and it was raining when I finished. When it rains it pours, and I sleep alone wet. Picture two people on the edge of a cliff like in the movies; they are holding onto each other by the left wrist, one person dangling and the other lying flat and holding fast; the victim is screaming "don't you let go of me!", and the savior's shouting "I'm not gonna let go of you!": Now, which one are you? I'll tell you this. You're my hero and at the same time I'm not going to let go of you. Who gives a fuck if it's raining.


Not to deny the import of melancholy. Like Kevin Bacon said in Footloose, "sometimes there's a... no, ummm... it's a time for when all you... when it is the season for the time when...": I haven't seen that movie in a real long time.


It makes me happy to think that we'll soon be someplace a little different.


We will live like kings.


We will party like stars.


Kings made me think of this...


More soon.

Carnivorous Marsupials

"As the pup breathed the last time, he continued to wag his tail. Gordon Shearer The Tasmanian Tiger, The Tasmanian Wolf


God, it feels like the rust is covered in dust. I'm just going to lay down what has caught my eye over the last few.


Admittedly, some days have been feeling like this.

I'm just gonna let my fingers do the walking while the pictures do the hypertext link to another website that's thematically if not directly related way thing.










More soon

Read Lips

"It was the same dream again: she sits up in bed and puts her feet on the floor then her socks on her feet; up-to-the-knees widens each of the stripes until taut they then relax and all, not so much as shrink, but relax firm and settle there, each and every of at least 5 colors; a handful of oranges in my eyes and all I feel is blue as I hear her sing so, tinily crying once like smoke falling along an alluvial drift off her lip: Her; "idontcare idontcare idontcare." She shakes her head, and her whole body makes the smallest sound like the squeak of arctic heartbreak; the room is filled with cracks. It keeps holding together for some reason, but for what it is which but dust: it's not the dynamic supercomputer of a rock holding itself together but ash walls waiting to fall on not much of anything. I was so relieved that I didn't care either."
Gordon Shearer -- Home is Where the Heart breaks


"Years ago in rocky mountains of my youth, a burnt-out rainbow approached me with a clipboard in hand and asked for the definition of love, LOVE. Normally dismissive but with time on my hands, I stopped and thought about it: it's a stupid slippery word; maybe not stupid, but clumsy. Obviously every time you feel it is an expansion of your previous definition by the very nature of all one's felt being exactly that and more all the time. "Love is rolling over and baring your soft to the blade." He thought it was grim; I wasn't talking about romance. It's becoming more rare that I can look in someone's eye's and feel they know that I am, know that they are. Miles beyond that, to look in someone's eyes and know they could reach inside you and pull you out on the floor to die before your own eyes a million times is love. Putting your heart in someone's hands is not a cartoon on a greeting card: blood is involved. "My love is not about people hurting each other: it's about when they don't.""
Gordon Shearer Delirious Trembling


Some phone calls remind me of The Moviegoer by Walker Percy; the eponymous Binx Bolling measures out his life in movies like ticks on a calendar: I don't use it to keep time but more to keep rhythm, to chart progress. It seems every exchange with you is a little push forward. I want to hold your hand: I want you in my ear.


I'm distracted, so it's nose-to-the-grindstone. More soon.


If You Only Knew -- Jurassic 5

Baby It's You -- Smith

I've got Blood in my Eyes For You -- Mississippi Sheiks

Johnny is Dead -- Q-Tip

This is where I belong-- The Kinks

Sateen Dura-Lux