Friday, August 14, 2020

Old Music and Whiskey





I've become emotional lately.  I might be watching the news and suddenly I feel like crying, face starting to pucker and wrinkle into that sad horror mask of grief.  Over what?  Fuck.  Too often it just feels like the end of things.  Not for everyone.  Alone so much, I am losing resilience.  Yesterday I was horrified to find myself talking out loud--to me.  Oh, no, I thought.  That is what happens.  I get slothful.  I get slow.

I plan not to drink late into the night.  At some point after dinner, I think to drink tea.  I have bought an elixir I am looking forward to trying, one that will be good for me, that will taste good, and that will help me sleep.  I've had it for two days but haven't opened it yet.  Last night after dinner, I started watching Kathleen Edwards concerts on YouTube. Such sad loveliness.  I was on a tour of the late '90s and early 00's.  Powerful emotional times for me.  I was getting, then got, divorced.  Suddenly, I found new, crazy good music.  I needed music.  And I got a laptop computer.  I began to write, millions and millions of the truest words I could think of.  I wrote emails, and I wrote journals.  Late at night, I played my guitar, recorded on the new digital editing programs.  My heart was full.  So many beautiful and terrible things all at once.  I loved my wife and am not certain exactly why she left, but I had given up much she didn't like while we were together.  I didn't play guitar.  Didn't write.  Didn't take photographs.  Then, all at once I was free to do anything at all.

And I did.

It lasted for a long while.  And there was a soundtrack to it.  It was a hell of a soundtrack.

Kathleen Edwards was part of it, and listening to her last night reminded me of all that.  I stayed up late watching, listening.  The whiskey bottle went dry.

If you weren't there, you can't know, but if you were free and unfettered, there was much potential.  Everything was fair game.

It got a lot of people in trouble later.  The rules changed, the lines moved.  I don't think any of that will ever happen again.  It might be better that way, but who knows.

My mother and I were talking a couple days ago about my relationships over the years.  She says she marks the past by who I was with at the time.  I thought that was funny.  Different women, different eras.  I told her that I realize now that I was sometimes too "this" or too "that."  I was specific and didn't use pronouns.  I told her I wish I'd been able to laugh away much that I didn't.  She said, yes, she had regrets, too.  She wondered if everyone has, and I said that they should but that I was pretty certain that some people did not, or at least did not admit them, though everybody should.

Then I told her that I am sure I wouldn't make the same mistakes again.  I would make brand new ones!

There is no way to avoid it, I think, making mistakes.  You just have to let them go.  I try to let them go.

But some nights, just by surprise, when you are sitting alone, maybe watching the news. . . .

It is this Covid thing, this isolation, that makes you think of death.

So I've been trying to move, even though I am still limping.  I don't stay in the house all day now, and yesterday I took a chance and went to the gym for a few minutes.  Literally.  Outside, I did my usual workout, and then I went in to use the weights for a final few sets.  One set each of. . . oh, who gives a shit about what exercises I did. The point is, I wasn't in there long.  I wore a mask and got near no one.  I wiped down everything I used with disinfectant before I touched it.  I was in and I was out.  It felt so good.

And then. . . the paranoia.  What if. . . .  I couldn't stand myself if I got sick, not from that.  My throat began to close.  My lungs constricted.  I could feel a headache coming on.

Stop it!

I don't think I will do that again.  But boy oh boy. . . there was this girl making eyes at me. . . .  It felt like being alive once again.

After a very disinfecting shower and a good lunch, I headed to the bank to deposit some of my funds. I am desperate to keep my bank account steady now that I've found myself to be traveling in the wrong direction.  Then, I took my car in for its "free" car wash.  The girl there remembered which wash I had gotten the time before.  It put me up another notch.  I am that way.  Terribly.  As my dead ex-friend Brando used to say, if it weren't for women, he wouldn't bathe or wipe his ass or brush his teeth.  He'd probably just crawl around in the forest scavenging for nuts and berries.  I took that and ran with it to the nth degree.

"Are you kidding?  I learned to drive just so I could take you out!  You're the reason I learned to speak!  I did it all so that I could be with you!"

Something like that.

The day was cloudy.  The light was no good.  And I wanted to take pictures.  I read for a bit, and looked at some photo books.  I was inspired by the photographs by Mark Cohen, one of my longtime influences.  I grabbed my Leica Monochrom and a flash.  When there is no light, make your own.

I like the pictures here today.  There were a lot more that I liked.  I felt myself on a roll.  I got inspired.  I have ideas.  If only I dare to follow them up.

I would like to be able to count on the weatherman, but it is impossible.  They change the forecast hourly.  Every night, they predict rain.  I try to make plans accordingly.  When I look again to see, the rain will come later.  When they say not at all, it rains.  Right now the light is sharp and crisp, and I should get out into it.  I have to keep busy.

And stay away from old music and the whiskey.

7 comments:

  1. I like the deliberate ambiguity of the “Please Watch for Children” The chiaroscuro, the canted angle, the use of space could just as easily suggest that “the children” are something to be feared and on the watch for.

    I’m in the weeds (literally and figuratively with projects and the joys of home ownership have me underwater (literally and figuratively).

    My Papaw used to tell me that it was okay to talk to yourself. Everybody did it. If you started answering back, well then that was the time to start being concerned.. Hopefully you haven’t started to answer back yet. I have, it is not much different to tell you the honest truth and helps for dialogue writing. The fellow that talks back is ornerier and meaner than I am and so makes a great antagonist.

    This is a fine to be afeard. If you ain’t afeard you ain’t thinking. The people that follow the Mango Ubu are not afraid at all. They don’t wear masks; they drink bleach n orders; hell they’ll whoop anybody anytime anywhere – just ask them. Oh, I know underneath all the bluster they are skeert, but it is the not thinking that helps them out. So long as they sing the marching tunes and holler a lot, things is just hunky-dory.

    Catch on the flip side.

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    1. Yea, I'm never sure what you are supposed to do when you see them. I guess they are like coyotes or bears or falling boulders. Just try to avoid them. Ha!

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  2. YAY!! An appearance by the Actor in Residence here at the Cafe. Always a welcome addition, well, I think so.

    And, oui oui, that's how I feel about the "Children" picture - it is so open ended.

    The minute I saw it - it struck me as enigmatic - undefined - and even a bit - cryptic?

    It doesn't tell - it just Is.

    I mean it can tell a lot of different things and ways - if you let your mind wander with it - as one should with art, attempts at art etc. but there is no "this picture means THIS."

    Yay U.



    As I mentioned over at Q's house yesterday, I watched one of my favorite movies. It is one that sort of sits there - comfortably without bothering me. I watched it with T. And not since.

    There was no need - I was fully accepted and adored for oh so many years- for at least part of my living - for being the oddball I am.

    During our time together I didn't need to be reminded that I was worthy of deep affection, love, true friendship. I was living it! (at least part of my daily living).

    Today, upon further contemplation (cause I was an absolute non-mover today except for some early v. early morning Ma stuff and strolls around the gardens and being flat in a chaise lounge in the sun and then the sofa - no music just floating in a big bowl of air and birdsong back door wide open) - that I, too, was "undateable" just like Frances.

    Sure I could lay around in bed with two of the Freak Brothers watching movies or discussing the latest X album or Vonnegut book - whatever we were doing and sure - they'd let me love them if that was what I desired - but in the end - they were definitely not interested in a long term relationship with me. Funny, we are in several - as dearest friends to this day.

    Ah the v. young.

    They all went for v. straight laced women. Except Matt -- I suppose I was the dumb one there.

    Was I too smart? Too girlishly dumb at times? Sure, I bought my clothes at thrift stores, I still do and so did they if they could. Did I read too much? Have too many opinions about things?

    Who knows.

    It's all behind me now. Aged as I am. But the reflection - it is sort of like putting your life together as a mosaic and stopping every once in a while to pick up a piece and examining it for knowledge. Like runes.

    Usually, things work out the way the Universe flows - I think. The best thing to do is try to be your best self. Again, I'm not sure. I'm always hoping. No wonder I love Obama. All that Hope.

    In one of T's letters he writes about intelligence being a blessing and a curse - about studying women and not having any clear answers after "all these years."

    He wrote "I just long for harmony in my life and to be accepted by a woman for who I am and my poems." And he hoped that I was "Real." This was a letter written right before our first wintery meeting in Providence, R.I.

    He was so anxious about his "looks," too. How silly that was.

    He had the most elegant mind & tender spirit. The body is simply a temporary house for those things. Sure, as a woman I always wanted to look my best for him - but even when I didn't - it didn't matter. And I believe he grew more handsome by the year being with me. True dat at least in my eyes.

    The Reindeer Lane boyz - well one - still talks about how ugly he was - it certain terms. I really don't like it.

    Oh there are lots of other dirty and delicious things not to be shared - just yet - but someday because they are true and full of Beauty.

    Harmony is a good thing for people to seek & practice.

    Sometimes - things get out of whack tho- and need steadying - we are merely human after all - not gods.

    I counted on T for my steadying. He knew me - and never once used that against me - isn't that a gift? Only to help me - he could sense when I was losing by balance.

    Yin/Yang

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  3. Shit that was unpacking eh? Well. You started it.


    I'm on the deck after a quick jaunt to the beach. The roses have their hips. Summer is closing. WAHHHHH. But Autumn brings its own splendor. It's what's after that is disconcerting. But let's remain Present, shall we?

    It's going to be a banger sunset. I came home to grab another Sam Adams Summer Ale and go back. I saw a photographer there - he's hoping he said - as he pointed to the sky and then I watched him walk around with his head up in the air. He was wearing a Grandpa tee of some time - so I called him that in our brief discussion.

    Oh! and I talked to Naples. Oh such laughter. Warms my cockles. I am hoping Hannah gets home soon too because I want to cook her dinner. She's commuting to the city three days a week for her 12 hour days - and it's an hour there. She's tired and hungry when she gets in and I don't get to be a Ma for too much longer - that is - under this roof. Fledge Beautiful Power Girl, Fledge!

    So that's that.

    Who were you? When you weren't taking pictures, playing your guitar, writing? I don't know any other C.S. Isn't that a strange thing?

    I am probably going to get the BUZZER that tells me I've over-talked. I'm bracing myself

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