last year i asked for trouble and it almost found me.
and now.
time to ask for trouble again.
last year i asked for trouble and it almost found me.
freedom (47)
last year i asked for trouble and it almost found me.
i scan the eyes on the streetis it you?is it you?is it...no.
with your bangs cut right above the browswith your tighted legsyour funky bootsi feel your clothesdifferent they aresee them on shelves, hung in closetslong hairs clutching the weave of clinging sweatersand sueded skirts
i smell the candlelightthe clutched december walksyour friends that laughthe ease which i feelthe safety
i taste your skintaut. white. smooth. new.
you tell me i don't know what i'm talking aboutand i think you may be right.you smile and i agree.
the way you pick up a forkthe moment of study before you actthe carethe considerationlithe grace
i want to believe in youbelieve in the next life that comesthe life that might await meif the courage finds me
she's gonein my eyesdo not be afraid.
Her driveway under the streetlight a quarter past curfew
48 & O in 1982
Driving on state in a blizzard. all neon and script.
Solid gold at holly's house on harrison
The Creek
That country road where you thought: what if I just kept driving.
That CO gas station where I sneaked a peak at a hustler.
Blocks walked.
Towns driven through.
Lives flown over.
I remember that which I forgot.
It's just a desire now and again to have a completely different life. For maybe a month or so. Maybe banal. Maybe worse. Some other city. Some other country. Or maybe another era. Just: Flash. New. Different. Yes please
I remember that which I forgot.
It's just a desire now and again to have a completely different life. For maybe a month or so. Maybe banal. Maybe worse. Some other city. Some other country. Or maybe another era. Just: Flash. New. Different. Yes please
Fire engines. 5th grade. Today.
What is reality?
Why do you believe what you believe. is it because you believe you are supposed to believe it or because you believe it. or.
I spent some time in a white pile on a blue plate. it still lives in me.
Dependable/corruptible.
Skinny arms and bendy elbows. Studded gloves and hands on shoulders. smack bam twang. repeat. burrow. repeat. tire. resist. ache. ache. ache.
body aches.
sour.
time loss lapse.
too much to do.
too much to distract.
where's the substance.
where's the real.
silly over thoughtful.
make it all go away.
get simple.
tired. all the time.
too much to do.
too much to distract.
where's the substance.
where's the real.
silly over thoughtful.
make it all go away.
get simple.
tired. all the time.
sorry.
no spark in her eye.
no quickening in my pulse.
no spark in her eye.
no quickening in my pulse.
come back. i miss you.
miss the nerves that come.
what do you smell like?
what do you taste like?
miss the nerves that come.
what do you smell like?
what do you taste like?
where are you ticklish?
will you hurt me?
will i care?
what do you think about when you're alone?
what do you think about when you're alone?
did you place that ad i never even saw?
did i miss my chance?
skinny limbs.
bouncy steps.
yellow hair shines in the sun.
energy.
cliche.
(sorry.)
really i am sorry.
yearn for more.
old is not new.
old is old.
on a train.
skinny limbs.
bouncy steps.
yellow hair shines in the sun.
energy.
cliche.
(sorry.)
really i am sorry.
move along.
nothing to see here.
nothing all that different here.
yearn for more.
old is not new.
old is old.
on a train.
fall weather.
telephone lines stretch twixt you and
me.
(telephone lines? extinction.)
passing towns.
passing towns.
pickup trucks.
dead leaves.
littered ditches.
stoplights.
dreams.
stoplights.
dreams.
xmas lights in the lake.
work is work.
me spread thin.
time is running out.
waiting.weighty.waiting.
over.
work is work.
me spread thin.
time is running out.
waiting.weighty.waiting.
over.
in a city of 8 million.
father and son (tricycle optional).
everyman.
tomkat doorman.
assorted firefighters.
older black homeless man. reading paper. off the clock.
young skinny white girl. long dark hair framing the face. looks away.
young not-so-skinny girl. intriguing unknown ethnicity. pulls hair back. meets gaze.
father and son (tricycle optional).
everyman.
tomkat doorman.
assorted firefighters.
older black homeless man. reading paper. off the clock.
young skinny white girl. long dark hair framing the face. looks away.
young not-so-skinny girl. intriguing unknown ethnicity. pulls hair back. meets gaze.
woman. waiting for the bus. same phone and case as me.
orange truck.
newmark porter.
orange truck.
newmark porter.
driver in the black mercedes.
woman. walking beagle. sometimes frames. sometimes pulls back.
man smoking. folds paper into a makeshift cigarette holder. keeps the stink off.
and up i go.
repeat. repeat.repeat.
My dad turned 64 yesterday.
When I'm 64 came out in 1967 when he was 21.
What he thought then. 1967. 21 years old. 64 seemed so so so far away. And now. He's there.
From here on out, 64 will be a recollection. What was so far away is now behind. Never to return.
Caught.
And that's the thing about When I'm 64. You think about it. Don't you. What it'll be like. Who you'll be. The future; so far away.
But it's not.
But it's not.
OR
I roamed the East Village last Friday evening. After a rock show. At a club where I have ingested many things. Many of them illegal. You'd never guess it to look at me but I have ingested many things. Many (sometimes) wonderful things. Back when the Village was mine. Ours. And now it's not anymore.
It's theirs. Walking at 1am on a hot August Friday evening.
The people were cardboard.
The spark was gone.
The light was out.
I could ask for more.
When I'm 64.
But one lives in me.
One most certainly
does.
yet. there's seems a death of something too. sure: it's been back there. lurking. ducking round the corner when i look.
something. past.
and that's just what it is. past.
it's hard to say goodbye. hard to see a you drift away.
but there's a new you a-coming.
and maybe. just maybe it's the you you're supposed to be.
trying not to be hypocrite.
trying to be honest.
straightforward.true.
what is all this?how did this all happen?
what now?
waves of time past crushing my head.
trying not to panic.
trying not to flee.
trying to stay me.
say you love me
say you love me
say you love me
say you love me
say
you
love
me
let's just say you love me.
yes. indeed.
a cabin outside of glenwood springs colorado. surrounded by the mountains in a little valley. 1989. a valley of tall grass. or short trees. cool summer's night. sitting in a flimsy plastic garden chair. the good son playing over and over again as i took it all in. missing her, a state and a timezone away. most likely repeating the ship and weeping songs. play. rewind. play.rewind.play. i don't think i had my nice aiwa portable cassette player yet but maybe i did. not sure.
g-d. all those portable cassette players i owned. auto reverse. little red battery lights. super bass. anti rolling mechanism. high bias. radio presets. digital. plastic. metal. i always wanted one of those yellow sport walkmans but there was no reason to. i'm not even a big fan of yellow. i'm sure somebody had one. somebody i wanted to be.
the night was quiet. the stars were out. the air was clean.
and i was removed. distant. somewhere else. in pain. in longing.in sadness.
but now: paradise.
after living in exile, after closing your eyes to me
I even wrote scenes where I re-emerged boldly
and bearded alive with eskimo eyes
new baby on my back
but I didn't count the fact
that I have ghosts in my mind
stowaway great ghosts of my life
great ghosts of old wives
and they're howling
so I spent my wilderness time
rolling on the ground
pulling my hair
wrestling them off
yelling at no one
punching snow
I gathered ghosts and I gave them my lecture
bid them away
I pleaded and cried
there's no room in my life for you or your howling
let me undo these ropes
and go on living without you
not just change where I live
go on get, i said
I had my hopes of how I would be
after sending them off
after getting set free
but there's no such thing as living
without their prowling
as you can see, having descended the hill
I still look like me, I still wallow like Phil
and forever will
I'm teeming with ghosts
and I'm still whining for wives, unknitting my brow
but now I've surrendered
in fact i've joined in
you can hear us howling
Phil Elverum
i dont think this is the life i am supposed to be living.
not sure.
.to be continued.
_____________________________
the worms will come for you.
driving the stretch of land outisde kent ct to home. valley. vistas. hills. windows down. air feels good. sun feels warm. all is right.
an insurance adjuster in sacramento in 1975 driving home at the end of a disappointing day. wearing a light green suit.
sitting next to me at a french restaurant in queens. first the voice then it comes clear. one night. in october. how does that happen.
with an open bottle of wine sitting canalside on a summer's night in venice. hot off the water. watching the boats go by. good bread and isnardi oil. talking talking talking as the wine takes hold.
at a warehouse somehwere in williamsburg late at night in 1999. where.
the new gallery. paris. 1958. the work's shit anyway.
waiting. anxious. awkward. backward. the shivers. the darkness. the collapsing of it all.
yes.
the emptiest of feelings.
yes.
the emptiest of feelings.
