12-31-94 How, What and Where
Here we go again ladies and gents, with another year just about under the belt some of us can and can not see… another collection of a mind gone elsewhere. Not too prolific or constant, I continue to put finger to key and flush the radiator that resides on my shoulders. As has been my experience since getting sober, the year has been full of feelings, experiences, love and head scratching. The disclaimer from previous years still holds true; this collection is of a first draft quality that goes with my current philosophy about my writing. I wish to capture the moment of the creation, warts and all, so that a document of the time is created. I suppose when I start writing song lyrics and Hallmark cards I will learn to edit, polish and detail my work. But, for now, I am content with this little buncha pages that clutter my hard disk.
What follows is some background on these ramblings; the warning holds… if you are an explorer, continue without reading the following. If you really want to know what the hell I was talking about, you can refer to this section. There are no guarantees to this map; I am not totally objective about what is here. Maybe you will find something I can’t see. All that is here are the seeds of images, the situations of the muse and the locale of the Powerbook that spits love and venom in unequal doses.
what will tuesday bring– California is a place where you can see some pretty crazy things. The past year has been environmentally radical, with fire, water, mud, quakes and the like. Driving through Malibu one night when the high winds were blowing what was left of the hillsides onto PCH, I was nearly broadsided by a rouge Christmas tree left by the side of the road to be collected. The two previous Tuesdays had been marred by a break in of my car (subtract one car CD player and window) and the rescue of a friend who O.D.’d on some tragic holiday magic. The third Tuesday was un-eventful.
alone in the deep forest– This year I wandered into the domain that some people refer to as a superhighway of sorts. My first few months on America On-line, a commercial computer service, were full of explorations like those of a child let loose in a Godiva chocolate shop (and more expensive I may add). I found all sorts of people there. When traveling into the chat areas, it is much like going through Times Square and yet I found a gentle place called the Deep Forest. It is a room where people would gather around the “campfire,” tell stories, read poetry and other writing. The woman who started it is named “Wolfyze” and her spirit moved me to start writing for the group. I also wrote it while on-line in real-time in a room while waiting for my friends to arrive. People would wander in and see this guy typing to himself; must have thought that I was nuts or rich or both! This is dedicated to the Wolf of the East.
prayer– Strange bedfellows…visions of snowplows danced in my head for weeks after my return from Canada and a memory of my childhood in New England. This appears to be a continuation of the experiment on-line mentioned above. A feeling of fellowship and a love for the children who follow in the wake of our own personal tornadoes must have been on my mind. Gratitude.
what we talked about– I have a problem with dreams; I rarely remember them. I used to have nightmares as a kid and now the filter that is in place prevents me from latching onto them. Every now and then, one comes creeping through. I was astounded by the clarity and the subject matter of the one that brought this piece about. It was very personal, very erotic and involved two people of which I was neither. I told one of the people in the dream about it and then wrote this. Turns out they were making love at the time of my dream! The couple are no longer together; but I think that the dream was motivated by my want for my friend to be happy and satisfied. Either that or I crossed wires with the Playboy channel…
mile marker– On the road again in a big yellow truck…every time I cross West Texas I continue to be underwhelmed. So, after all the stuff we hear from our Texan friends I decided to put forth my thoughts on the most boring 600 miles I’ve ever driven. At the same time, my mind was in “introspect” mode, so it became dueling verses…”Truck Drivers Who Love Too Much And The Cashiers Who Give Them Receipts… on the next Geraldo.” Special thanks to Jerry for being the other half (.5?) of a damn good team.
. (period)– This is for my friend John Malta, who lost his daughter in a tragic accident this year. I never met her, but I felt the pain of his loss as if I had been hit in the stomach with a two by four for eight hours. To everyone with children out there, enjoy them to the fullest now. Not only will they not be kids forever, they may well beat you to the grave in these life and times. Take a minute and tell them that you love them tonight.
bubble– Oh, there I go again…have you ever done what’s right and been mad because it went against the wants of your greedy, self-centered mind?
beauty and strength– A tribute to a special friend who has so much to give and a meditation about a balance of feelings and relationships.
—, —, ///– Observations of a housing development and human nature; more strange bedfellows…
(untitled)– A weird tour with no time and no inspiration to write; time to force myself to get back in the mood.
view from Embarcadero Park– In September I celebrated five years sober. We were close to finishing the Blues tour and did a show in San Diego. The venue was across the bay from another venue that I have worked at before and five years earlier, had used at for the last time. For the first time, I felt as if there was some distance between me and that behavior. Standing there seeing the place literally in the distance was too good an image to let go.
low to the ground– dedicated to Evan Michalski, my nephew for showing me his mother, my brother, myself, the future and the past. I love you.
three women and a coyote– Late one evening I was reading an Anne Rice book and had some music television on. Despite its male-oriented rotation, two really good female artists came on in a row!!! I was compelled to write and I thank those strangers for inspiring me.
glimpse– Now this sounds like a set-up for a joke; I had lunch with a born again Christian Jew, a narcoleptic film maker and a co-dependent chess player. Our discussion turned to theology and things got heated. I maintain that I am happy with the small glimpse that I get from time to time of the divine. Perhaps it’s all we can handle in our current spiritual condition.
Well, that’s it for this year. I wish you all love and good fortune and dignity if the winds of luck blow you off course. Thanks to Tom Drennon for being in range when my sonar bounces off of him, Andrea for being as close as one can be without seeing each other; the other creators who communicate with me directly and indirectly; finally, the one who comes first, the big Creator, the thing with a buncha names we can’t agree on, who makes us all possible.