mexican tackle box

i was broke and needed beer and cigarettes so i borrowed ten bucks from the mexican (Eddie) across the street and later that night he knocked on my door and asked to use my cell phone. because he did for me, i did for him and gave him the phone. i knew he'd bring it back. and he did.

when he did he realized he'd locked his keys in his truck. we got in after about an hour. good thing thing the cops didn't drive by. we couldn't have explained ourselves. neither of us is very smart. he asked if i liked to fish. yes, i said. then he gave me a tackle box with hooks, bobbers, lures and a chain stringer.

probably the best gift i have ever got.

mexican tackle box.

i think i know how it feels

i want to move to Montreal to be in love. as soon as possible. remembering bedrooms. and the colors. gotta get out of here. just go.

i see shadows. eyes shooting sparks. something filled me up, not gonna cry before i turn the summer into dust.

guess this sounds weird but i guess this is how to adjust. can't shoot straight with a point of view.

girl, i'm crashing towards you. i understand it now. my whole life prepared me.

to be yours.

ghosts

they live in iceland. ghosts do. they can't often be seen. but a friend caught one in a window. she got a pic. amazing. seems real. sure it's not. a real ghost. I mean because i've seen a few of those. not what you would expect. they look like people. they try to cry but can't. they just scream silently. helplessly hoping you'll take notice.

they have satellite skin and their breathe smells like kerosene. they take everything out of context. i'm scared of them.

they still visit me. they say we won't be sleeping in our own bed. everyone can find their way out. to live is to die.

thanks alexandra mekkin for the pic

gigantic one way gate

the folks they just can't take it no more.

throw you in the back seat and slam the door. drive you through a gigantic one way gate. a big old nurse all dressed in white, slaps you on a table in the middle of the night. straps you down real tight. shoots you full of thorazine. insulin shock on it's deadly way. you can't move, you can't get away. you thought it was a death sentence but they decided to give you life instead. packed up some stuff to keep in your head.

you wonder what do i have to do? could be TB, maybe a tumor. maybe a sickness i can't prove.

then upon a sunlit day they figure they can't cure you so they send you away. on your merry way. back through the gigantic gate. out onto the dusty street. dirt collecting on you feet. smell's like heaven. an empty place.

no one is waiting for you. nobody's on the outside to be found.
you wonder what's the use, you realize you're just tryin' to stay above the ground. you go ahead and move towards town. your head is empty, your eyes are too. you don't know what to do.

but you know living is dying. it's no place to fall into or out of. so you put on your flyin' shoes and try to be here now. so close and yet so far away.

Townes Van Zandt

John Townes Van Zandt (March 7, 1944 – January 1, 1997), best known as Townes Van Zandt, was a country-folk music singer-songwriter, performer, and poet. Many of his songs, including "If I Needed You," "To Live Is To Fly," and "No Place to Fall" are considered standards of their genre. AllMusic has called him "one of the greatest country and folk artists of his generation."

While alive, Van Zandt was labeled as a cult musician: though he had a small and devoted fanbase, he never had a successful album or single, and even had difficulty keeping his recordings in print. In 1983, Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard covered his song "Pancho and Lefty", scoring a number one hit on the Billboard country music charts. Despite achievements like these, the bulk of his life was spent touring various dive bars, often living in cheap motel rooms, backwoods cabins and on friends' couches. Van Zandt was notorious for his drug addictions, alcoholism, and his tendency to tell tall tales. He suffered from manic depression, and attempts to treat it with insulin shock therapy erased much of his long-term memory.

Van Zandt died on New Years Day 1997 from health problems stemming from years of substance abuse. The 2000s saw a resurgence of interest in Van Zandt. During the decade, two books, a documentary film and a number of magazine articles about the singer were created. Van Zandt's music has been covered by such notable and varied musicians as Bob Dylan, Lyle Lovett, Norah Jones, Steve Earle and The Meat Puppets.

flyin' shoes

It won't be long before I'll be tyin' on my flyin' shoes. It won't be long.
I'd like to stay. See time turn the green water to white and blue, but the mountain moon forever sets too soon.
I get so tired of these same old blues. It won't be long, before I'm tyin' on my flyin' shoes.

Townes Van Zandt

RIP Jim

One of my very first posts on Hootenanny was about Jim Carroll. His death last Friday reminded me of college summers drinking cheap, no-name whiskey purchased from the bargain bin, smoking what little dope we had and speeding along dirt roads in my Buick Opel in the middle of the night listening to the Jim Carroll Band's "Catholic Boy" on a battery powered cassette player. Jim was an American icon during a long era of great, batshit-crazy writers beginning in the 50's and 60's and including the likes of Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Bukowski. It was writing based in authenticity and as Thompson referred to it, "bad craziness", drugs and alcohol. I learned a new way to write by reading them and though I tried to write like them too, never quite hit the mark. And now Jim's dead too. Rest in peace Jim Carroll, you will be missed.

5.29.2006

if nothing is true ... then everything's permitted



Jim Carroll
A Catholic Boy and a great American poet.

cannot make this up

I'm sitting outside in the cool desert morning, copy of the Sunday NY Times, beautiful sunrise behind a palm tree silhouette, cigarette and dark roast in hand when I look up and see the neighbor across the street. Never seen him in daylight before. Only behind the porchlight when I'm outside grilling.
I notice he seems to have a basketball tucked under his shirt. Seems odd, but I pay little attention at the time. Back to the paper. Then I glance over again and realize he's not wearing a shirt! Apparently he swallowed a basketball and it's in his belly and it's yet to deflate. As I ponder this, a woman (I think), shows up in a long white bathrobe/cape or some other weirdo-miscellaneous sleeping apparatus (I presume) wearing a plastic shower cap (recent perm?). This presents a scene that will forever be burned in my conscious mind and remind me of the weirdness that is Phoenix, AZ. It's like getting a free ride on the Twister at the parking lot carnival. Or a convenience store pickle.
The best things in life are either cheap or free.

roddy's shoes

these shoes belong to a rock star. he bought them in istanbul. what more can i say?

siti

This is my friend Siti Nurhafizah. From Kulm, Malaysia. A Muslim. A sweetheart with no harm in her heart. Just a nice kid in a faraway land. She has a pretty smile and a nice disposition and an interest in people everywhere.
She taught me how to make stir-fried prawns in Tomyan sauce with cabbage and rice. Awesome!

rancid

just because i dress like this
doesn't mean i'm a communist

don't look away

Got a call tonight from a creditor. My mom "owes" them $165.00 USD. I was listed as a reference, could I help them find her. I said yes, I could. Do you have a number, I was asked. I said I'm not sure about a number, but I can give you a location. Where would that be sir? I said right next to my father in Wall, SD. We buried her there. In a brass box.
The person on the phone didn't get it and asked again, do you have a number? Your dad's number. I said 1964. What? 1964. That's when he died. She didn't miss a beat. OK, then your Mom's number would be? I paused to think. A while thereafter I said try 2005. She asked for the area code and I said 605.
Then she asked how best to contact her. I said with a shovel and a permit. She's dead too. You'll have to dig her up.
She must have been reading a script because she then asked if I was responsible for her debts. Money-wise? I said yeah, I owe. I owe her a lot, but I don't owe you anything.
Poor girl. She didn't mean it. She started crying on the phone. Sometimes people are real. She was.
I said just don't look away. Steal it while you still understand it.

forget the swan

I hope you forget everything that doesn't make sense anymore. I know that's asking a lot of you, but maybe you can do it just this one time. For me or for you or for both of us.
Forget the swan.
The elegance we could have had but can't reach right now.

There is a hard road ahead as winter approaches. Our winter after our summer of ease and fun.
Now what seemed so easy becomes so hard.

I know I have to go,
I can really only stay so long
We always have to go back to real lives,
and the reason why we want to live other lives.
To feel another world.
Another world.
One last time.
Forever.

how soon is now

Too soon to tell, too early to quit, but soon enough to always option out and run off down a country road. Sometimes you don't got nothing left but a pair of sneakers and a friend and a gravel road to nowhere. Sometimes that's all you need.
Other times you need more. But that's not as easy as running away from it. So you don't and I know you won't. Much as you might want to, I know you won't. I trust in that.
So if I see you some day soon friend, and I know I will, let's put on our sneakers and just run down that road for the hell of it. Down an old gravel turnpike, weeds to either side, a light breeze blowing and the best we could ever hope for.

Thanks Sunneva Snorradóttir, for the awesome photo!

51st and glendale

I found her at the corner of 51st and Glendale at the feed store. I was buyin' a bag of rosin for my bull rope so I could get it ready for the rodeo coming up in Gilbert. Needed a new glove too. Then I looked down the aisle and saw the damndest, prettiest gal I'd ever seen. Didn't give it too much thought at the time but then I ran into her again at checkout. She was buying salt blocks, chicken feed and ant poison for the damn ants that get into the chicken feed. Not that the chickens won't eat the ants right along with the feed "but they tend to crawl into your boots." she said.
Now I had already taken off my hat (Justin, white straw, 20 bucks on sale at the local western outfitters, made in Mexico), simply hoping she would know what that meant. She commented on my ropers. A little worn, worse for the wear and tear they are. She was wearing ropers to, same color. Not so worn.
She has green eyes and a smile that lights up the sky. She has a voice that I'm sure makes doves cry. And from the moment I heard that voice and paired it with the beauty before me, I knew I was lost. Done for. In love. So I'm sellin' my ropin' gear and my ponies, cheap. Gonna get a real job. Quit ridin'. Quit windin' up in jail every other Saturday in Pueblo CO, Henderson NE, or Yuma AZ. Can't mention Quartzite since the charges are pending. That was not my gun, by the way.
Sounds funny, I know, coming from a hardened old cuss like me. But I still know a pretty flower when I see one. I'll grow a whole garden full of 'em for her. She is the best thing this old cowboy's got close to in a long time.

little things in life

before I met you baby
the little things in life just passed me by
the sound of children's laughter
the tune to some forgotten lullaby
i was out of town on business
back when i had no place to call my home
i was arrrested by your beauty
we locked into a cell of all our own

you know i love you baby
ah honey what else could i do?
so let me know if there's anything
just anything i can do for you

when i was just a youngster
i collected crazy visions in my head
yeah the scene from 'the night porter'
a broken jelly jar crushed by the bed
yes at times our love was fragile
like a hand me down watch that slows down when its old
but our love could last forever
like a sacred ring of precious stones and gold

before I met you baby
the little things in life just passed me by
the color of the twilight
the reflection of my smile in your eyes

helicopters

every time i think that phoenix has taught me a new lesson in intolerance, they throw helicopters at me. i'm sitting outside in a predominantly Mexican occupied trailer-park and a copter hovers overhead, shining a spotlight. i was under a canopy (word to you copter idiots) and couldn't be seen but i'm annoyed. so i stand in the yard and wait and when they flash me, i represent america with a single finger. like nodding at a jehovah's witness, they take the bait. within minutes i'm surrounded by jackbooted thugs and cans of pepper spray.
who are you? what are you doing here (in America shouldn't I be asking that question?)
do you live here? um, maybe, who's asking.
may we approach?
no, you're close enough.
we are concerned that you may be harboring fugitives.
so get a warrant and come back. i'll be asleep and the fugitives that aren't here now probably won't be here then. in the meantime, stay off my property.
they converse, and Cpt. darth vader nods. they leave. mumbling like a gaggle of pure retards.
as they do, i mention the Wafflehouse on McKellips has a cook with M13 tatts. go fuck with him, but not until after you have your eggs, because he's a very good cook. and the waitress will make a fresh pot. if you're nice.

the killer

he came dancing across the water
with his galleons and guns
looking for the new world
a palace in the sun

offered life in sacrifice
so that others could go on

i know she's living there
and she loves me to this day
i still can't remember where or how i lost my way

if i could lose my mind

This is a short segment paraphrasing the words and work of Curt Kirkwood, who with his brother Chris and Derrick Bostrom, formed one of the greatest, most articulate and more eccentric bands of the early '80's right here in Tempe, AZ. (Tempe? Obviously rich kids.)
Curt lives in Austin now, my friend Ken ran into him there recently, I don't recall Ken's recounting of the conversation but Ken is known in many circles and I'm sure Curt was happy to meet him.
Chris struggled for awhile but has things in order now and is touring with his brother Curt again.
Derrick still lives in Tempe and has a radio gig with Mesa Community College. We speak every now and then (more then than now). He has insight on the early 80's LA scene and when asked about the SST days, he remarked, as I recall, 'it was not fun, Greg Ginn (Black Flag) was an ass'.
I last saw the original group at Cedarfest in Minneapolis in about 1992-3. Don't remember the year but Cedarfest is in August. I biked over from Columbus Ave. and ran into my friend Pat who produced a big fattie. Killer pot. Yikes was I high after that.
The Puppets blew the amps, but a local group whose name I do not recall (I was high, remember?) re-equipped the system in time for Yo La Tengo. Our friends, Tammy and Kim, showed up mid-way through the Yo La Tengo set and it was like magic. Summer in the city.

"There's nothing on top but a bucket and a mop and illustrated book about birds. You might go, but don't be scared, 'cause who needs action when you got words?"

I got a dollar in my pocket and a razor in my shoe.

Plateau.

gonna go meet up with Bigfoot

he has been monitoring my posts and finally contacted me. he wants to meet. seems he has a legal matter in re a splinter cat. i didn't think they had them up around Vancouver but seems they do and I have agreed to represent him. there will be a lawsuit, recriminations and what have you. i may need to borrow your goat (you goat owners know I mean you) and harness to get into the back country. he won't come out. took me over a month to get him on Twitter. don't know how or where he scored the iPhone. probably a tent raid. when Bigfoot comes into camp you either stand your ground and have a smoke with him or run like a girl. i've done both. mostly because he doesn't bathe often enough and stinks to high heaven. plus, he always gets the joint wet before handing it back. it's like Dude, dry your lips.
but he has been working on his English and I've been teaching him a little French. suspect I'll get him and family moved into the suburbs soon. it's cold enough in Minneapolis for all that hair. and the Mick Jagger lips will be sure to turn some heads. just got to get him some Bono sunglasses so we can down some pints like we did in Dublin in '82.

askew

so it all went askew. the train left the tracks. the car was repossessed. i was left with a handful of roofing nails, a sleeping bag and a dead cat; a bottomless pit with nothing in sight. just darkness in a starless night.
i jumped in my truck and drove three miles east on McKellips Road to the Waffle House. dude with M13 tatts made me three eggs over easy, hash-browns and toast. he threw out the coffee and made a fresh pot. there was no one there so we stepped outside for a cigarette - i quit smoking about two years ago but i smoked one there. in the parking lot. by the door. didn't really talk. had nothing to say.
it all comes down to this. no place to go. no place to be. no one to count on. one pair of shoes, two pairs of pants. a blue shirt and the desert before me.
helpless