tiburon

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.

construction

Everything is changing today. The neighbor is getting a new roof. Someone down the street has a bunch of men climbing in and out of trucks with tools. They are tearing down, replacing, building up, patching, painting and making something look different while functioning the same. A lot of people are doing this too. They get their stickers, their badges, and the ability to stick their nose up at me just a little higher. That is fine. The things that matter to me are still here. The green hasn't left the trees yet and the cloudless sky shows me there is still a blue that makes me smile. It thrusts me back to a day of laying in the yard one day after work. I was laying in the grass, writing lyrics to song, thinking about how much in love I was, and wishing I was on the plane flying overhead to anywhere. That's the feeling that is here now. I am getting anxious. I'm sizing up things, mentally building boxes for the things in my room; for the moving truck or the landfill. It feels like a neighborhood of exhausted avenues. Everything feels like things that should be thrown away. Everything is changing today, just like it did yesterday. I need trash bags for the differences.

I blog in a tie because I care

I played dress up today. I woke up with the sun, let the water heat up in the shower while I picked out a soundtrack for the day. There was lathered body wash and shampoo for my freshly cut hair. The coffee pot had already been turned on and was doing its job. A razor was placed to my face to make me presentable to the people I would present myself to. Underwear in case things go terribly wrong. Black slacks, skinny enough to question, dark enough to show how serious. Leather belt with a truck belt buckle from my best friend. Grey shirt, buttons to the top, sleeves rolled down. Black tie from a wedding. Skinny, but not hip skinny. Black socks, of course, hidden by the skinny slacks and the black square tipped dress shoes. Hair was brushed, shirt tucked in, glasses on and the overall appearance judged in the mirror. I held the coffee cup to my lips and thought "Here's to something" and drank.

youtube is the new crack

meaning it was introduced to innercity neighborhoods by the CIA.

I watch some of the most ridiculous things on youtube. I just watched the first 45 seconds of a "summer's over" slide show video set to an Atari's song. Nothing like anime drawings of beach volleyball to let you know your life is slipping out of your grasp.

I will now go make my own "summer's over" slide show. It will be a first.