Monday, August 01, 2005
Getting On with a Point
We motioned for hours around the visible moment TV, an insignificant event not quite here or there I suppose. The words fell off the bar and into the great wide open space empty by all means. A couple shooting pool, dancing to the funk mix cd that was skipping ever 10 seconds or so. I sit there deep in meditation, wondering why I was here (at the bar not some great ominous question of point) pondering like Howlin Wolf jamming on a riff. Details circled around my fingers as I was supposed to be shaking my love on the (dance)floor. I never payed attention to the details I just took the meaning that was my biggest problem. The end result was quissential not the trip but the road arrived to. The destination point not how you got there, did it not just matter if you got there? Some spend lifetimes reviewing the destinations never reached.
Weeks before I had seen the city and every time I pass the interstate coming in I often stare in amazement at the blinking lights and billboards that wear away in age. The night sky had just reached over hanging over a cool breeze and the clouds created the perfect shade of a night sky. The tower that blinked red caught my eye as I pondered ever leaving here. Years I have spent in this place somewhere else would be alien but I spoke about it hours later. In a mumble wondering if I could retreat in a mountain shack with a typewriter and a bottle of tequila. I was in search of no great American novel or dream those had all been found by better people than I. Words and music had filled me with passion my whole life. The painstaking details of art where the final product is part of the process. A keen eye of the result with attention to the finer points. The composition of a process was not stylistically aesthetic but the result and what it made you feel was key.
Some would say a perfect combination Pineapple and cheap vodka with week old fruit. The taste was sour and made my face pucker and revolt at the taste. My lips dried off in a moment that took me out of here. Lately after a couple drinks my head begins to hurt. Torturing myself over details often better left not even thought. I had no attention for the moment I was caught up living someone else’s life. My friend tells me he wishes we he was 16 again. The time of our lives he recalls. Living a lifestyle with no cares in the world. I think if I did it again I would be more constructive. Regretting the time wasted analyzing painstakingly. James Brown grunts in the background.
Conversations hide true feelings. The girl behind the bar smiles only to get a tip, sincerity is often forced. I feel often like I have lived 10 lives by the time I was twenty. I hid behind the spectacle briefly displayed on the screen. I prefer to be passive instead of aggressive. I keep telling myself I want to freefall just for a moment’s time and then come back refreshed from being out in the open. Art imitating life or the latter. Preoccupied diagnosis by the doctor to return to the pages of fantasy. The life of great men or women had gaps and I think I am in one of those gaps right now. Often being in between times are a good reason to keep pushing and maybe the right thing may come out. I lament hours later in a stupor of tom foolery as I spoke to myself with the key in the car and my headlights off. I often pictured myself capturing the moment in the right tone but tonight I feel cut off from who I really am. I take that with a grain of salt, and I wander off in some other tangent.
Weeks before I had seen the city and every time I pass the interstate coming in I often stare in amazement at the blinking lights and billboards that wear away in age. The night sky had just reached over hanging over a cool breeze and the clouds created the perfect shade of a night sky. The tower that blinked red caught my eye as I pondered ever leaving here. Years I have spent in this place somewhere else would be alien but I spoke about it hours later. In a mumble wondering if I could retreat in a mountain shack with a typewriter and a bottle of tequila. I was in search of no great American novel or dream those had all been found by better people than I. Words and music had filled me with passion my whole life. The painstaking details of art where the final product is part of the process. A keen eye of the result with attention to the finer points. The composition of a process was not stylistically aesthetic but the result and what it made you feel was key.
Some would say a perfect combination Pineapple and cheap vodka with week old fruit. The taste was sour and made my face pucker and revolt at the taste. My lips dried off in a moment that took me out of here. Lately after a couple drinks my head begins to hurt. Torturing myself over details often better left not even thought. I had no attention for the moment I was caught up living someone else’s life. My friend tells me he wishes we he was 16 again. The time of our lives he recalls. Living a lifestyle with no cares in the world. I think if I did it again I would be more constructive. Regretting the time wasted analyzing painstakingly. James Brown grunts in the background.
Conversations hide true feelings. The girl behind the bar smiles only to get a tip, sincerity is often forced. I feel often like I have lived 10 lives by the time I was twenty. I hid behind the spectacle briefly displayed on the screen. I prefer to be passive instead of aggressive. I keep telling myself I want to freefall just for a moment’s time and then come back refreshed from being out in the open. Art imitating life or the latter. Preoccupied diagnosis by the doctor to return to the pages of fantasy. The life of great men or women had gaps and I think I am in one of those gaps right now. Often being in between times are a good reason to keep pushing and maybe the right thing may come out. I lament hours later in a stupor of tom foolery as I spoke to myself with the key in the car and my headlights off. I often pictured myself capturing the moment in the right tone but tonight I feel cut off from who I really am. I take that with a grain of salt, and I wander off in some other tangent.
# posted by Bobby Bobson : 1:51 AM
