Thursday, April 21, 2011

3:33 are you kidding me?

There was a band once, that I played bass in. The singer wrote this song that shared the title of this entry. He was up at some apartment that was either full of women, men, or both. He looked at the clock and couldn't believe the time.

This was almost 10 years ago.

I look at the time now and don't even think twice. I'm drunk or high or both. I'm working on finding a bed, finding a couch, or finding my own. Or either. I'm telling stories of lost friends, him, lost ways, mine, and lost hopes, ours.

The clock on the bookshelf is counting away my heartbeats; it's inching me closer to death. I leave and the counting stops. It moves to the next one in the room. Or the bookcase goes to a new apartment, a new room, a new hall. And that things holds books I've never read, from people I will never know, but leaves spots for the books that you gave back.

Those books sit on my counter and I have no space for them; I have no bookcase. But I'll keep them, and find a spot for them.

I got a new bookcase today.

I hope she has room for my books, my life, my shit, and me.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


Another mid-afternoon in some poorly lit watering hole. The sun shines under the door. Ray takes off his hat and props open the door with a barstool. This makes you feel less then you did. Someone in the corner is fishing for pills. Orange. The same color as Ray's beer, or what is left of it. The sweat on your glass keeps piling on. So you take the forty-three steps to another bar she has always wanted to go to. A farmhand sleeps in a recliner. Some lady stumbles and shows pictures of her family which might be missing, or she might just miss them. It's a blur of rum and cigarettes. You take her hand and lead her back to the first bar. Not the woman with the pictures, but the woman the small feet and a taste for vodka. You spin her once halfway between the two doors being held open. The sun reflects off the windshields of passing cars. You lead her inside and play a song she wants to hear. An old woman finds a place to hang her purse.