It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles...
*
i sit amongst my spread, drinking Fat Tire, books on the dining room table that i haven't seen for five years, phone chargers still not put away from my last trip, ash tray (hate smoking indoors, let alone smoking) on top of taxi receipts from ATL that will never be reimbursed. the wall behind me has a mirror that was my great-grandmothers. in front of me, a patterned cloth mural that has the chili peppers that you sometimes find in chef pants.
like the table and chairs, i haven't seen this in years. and my aunt, who made it, i'm sure was unaware that i see this pattern all the time. or used to.
see, i've too much time on my hands. i read, i watch movies, i try and do all those things i always said i wish i had more time for "if not for work." but instead i end up thinking too much and doing this, write it down, hope that maybe i'll have the sense to read it later and glean some info from it.
*
i look on craigslist all the time, at cars and bikes. i'm gonna buy a bike first, and i've got a few prospects, just a matter of trying them out before handing over the money. i think i want a motercycle too, tho, and that's hard. no license. no "real" training. but i just want the mobility, the idea of still getting away from it all is enough to shrug aside the idiocy of it all.
i'm looking at old Harleys, just because. i can't give a solid reason, it just seems better than a Honda (in terms of bikes, that is). price is right, just need to figure everything else out.
*
i have a multipage note that an ex left me right when i left Pittburgh in front of me also. i tend to ignore it all the time, but i came across it when unpacking my crap a few weeks back. and it stares me in the face.
not in a bad way. i'm nostalgic for that period, that time when life was in flux and all i really was her to be there when i woke up the next morning after yet another night. but i'm older and (supposedly) wiser now,
*
time everlasting
time to play B-sides
*
interlude. deal.
*
i just want a return to normalcy...but i guess that doesn't happen. along the way you have relationships, you work, you get and lose jobs, you might love someone, you might get married, you deal with kids, you might divorce or remarry, and it's all relationships, and it all comes down to the things that i've never been good at.
*
Theroux starts out one of his travel books with the lines above, and despite my efforts i never read "Ulysses" in high school. i read the "Happy Isles..." for the first time following my junior year in high school. i am the one responsible for a water damaged book returned to the Bexley Library because i left it out on the sun porch during a freak summer rainstorm. i'm not sorry. i reread this book nearly every year until 2001, when i got too distracted.
time has a way of catching up with you. i'm reading it now, and while it's old, it's new again. i missed it, like i do the rest of the Therouz that i no longer have, along with half of my books. it's a long story, don't ask.
but it's ok. the Charlotte Library will be whipped into shape here in no time with my demands. and i will find a good used bookstore, and maybe even perhaps love, inbetween.
*
but...i look back over my dining room table here, and i see all these parts of me.
and it's hard.
Dear God, it's so difficult.
*
i sit amongst my spread, drinking Fat Tire, books on the dining room table that i haven't seen for five years, phone chargers still not put away from my last trip, ash tray (hate smoking indoors, let alone smoking) on top of taxi receipts from ATL that will never be reimbursed. the wall behind me has a mirror that was my great-grandmothers. in front of me, a patterned cloth mural that has the chili peppers that you sometimes find in chef pants.
like the table and chairs, i haven't seen this in years. and my aunt, who made it, i'm sure was unaware that i see this pattern all the time. or used to.
see, i've too much time on my hands. i read, i watch movies, i try and do all those things i always said i wish i had more time for "if not for work." but instead i end up thinking too much and doing this, write it down, hope that maybe i'll have the sense to read it later and glean some info from it.
*
i look on craigslist all the time, at cars and bikes. i'm gonna buy a bike first, and i've got a few prospects, just a matter of trying them out before handing over the money. i think i want a motercycle too, tho, and that's hard. no license. no "real" training. but i just want the mobility, the idea of still getting away from it all is enough to shrug aside the idiocy of it all.
i'm looking at old Harleys, just because. i can't give a solid reason, it just seems better than a Honda (in terms of bikes, that is). price is right, just need to figure everything else out.
*
i have a multipage note that an ex left me right when i left Pittburgh in front of me also. i tend to ignore it all the time, but i came across it when unpacking my crap a few weeks back. and it stares me in the face.
not in a bad way. i'm nostalgic for that period, that time when life was in flux and all i really was her to be there when i woke up the next morning after yet another night. but i'm older and (supposedly) wiser now,
*
time everlasting
time to play B-sides
*
interlude. deal.
*
i just want a return to normalcy...but i guess that doesn't happen. along the way you have relationships, you work, you get and lose jobs, you might love someone, you might get married, you deal with kids, you might divorce or remarry, and it's all relationships, and it all comes down to the things that i've never been good at.
*
Theroux starts out one of his travel books with the lines above, and despite my efforts i never read "Ulysses" in high school. i read the "Happy Isles..." for the first time following my junior year in high school. i am the one responsible for a water damaged book returned to the Bexley Library because i left it out on the sun porch during a freak summer rainstorm. i'm not sorry. i reread this book nearly every year until 2001, when i got too distracted.
time has a way of catching up with you. i'm reading it now, and while it's old, it's new again. i missed it, like i do the rest of the Therouz that i no longer have, along with half of my books. it's a long story, don't ask.
but it's ok. the Charlotte Library will be whipped into shape here in no time with my demands. and i will find a good used bookstore, and maybe even perhaps love, inbetween.
*
but...i look back over my dining room table here, and i see all these parts of me.
and it's hard.
Dear God, it's so difficult.
posted by jersn at 12:47 AM
4 Comments:
It's so weird getting older. All the things and experiences that we gather and dispose, half-remembered and exaggerated.
Don't forget the first part of the 'B-sides' reference: Home in the city, home on the highway, home isn't my way, home I'll never be...
When I see 'home I'll never be' it reminds me of these lyrics written by Kerouac, but borrowed by Tom Waits.
"Across to Mississippi, across to Tennessee
Across the Niagara, home I'll never be
Home in ol' Medora, home in Ol' Truckee
Apalachicola, home I'll never be
the thing i'll take with me from the song is how i heard it on the way down to Rockford, IL, one nite at 3 a.m. and despite the coldness (maybe -22) i still cranked it. no one one the road, either way, and it was me and rock n roll. the toll booth guy asked me and i said does it really matter?
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