Today I was going to run errands, today I was going to exercise, today there was a list…
But fuck all that, I’ve been working too hard and its been a century and a day since I said hello to you.
You, who listens from the ether. You who reads to read and plots to plot, we all await a better tomorrow with our poems tightly clenched in our fists.
I started a new job six weeks ago and its been six weeks since my last confession. (post)
We know very little about each other personally, and that is the beauty of the relationship. But I used to work from home. Days and nights, sitting on my butt, answering calls and calling out drunk in the night, wondering if you had to wake your mind to change your life or change your life to wake your mind.
So I changed my job. Now I run purposely into the city every morning. I feel neither cool nor scary but the human race on the subway is scary. And most of these people are less than impressive though they never cease to amaze me. And I wait, shivering in spot above my feet, wondering when I will turn into the weirdo, when I will do something brazen or dumb and stand out in a freakish way. We truly are an “amazing race,” and race we do, to our tidy ends, too sober and self assured to look back to make eye contact with the world. You should see the subway in the morning. sweet jesus, you’d think there was a reason for this gross tolerance of over population.
I think If I were a painter, I’d paint hobos. I’d at least have a series called, “the hobo” or “hobos in space.” I always stop in the middle of the road when I see a hobo: the man that reaches down into a corner garbage can, precisely unravelling a paper bag while I pass him with a food cart doughnut in my mouth;the man that sits on the corner of a hill, shouting in a Blake blessed hysteria in overalls, shouting a soliloquy no body is aware of…I lean in to see if I can catch a word…nope, nothing; and the guy that starts cracking up, satanically at a group of waspy “bros” strutting by on a Thursday morning…and while they are obviously not rushing to work that day, the second they realize the hobo is laughing and following them…they begin to walk a little faster.
Homeless allegories that can never be deciphered, retold or retaught. I often feel like a deaf man with an ear to New York’s crackling composition.
Whatever. Whatever seeks to pull us away must be distilled, from our hearts, and placed into a dropper.
I’ve written many posts in the last month, some I will post in a retrospective fashion, promise, but I have to start fresh.
I’ve been working my ass off, but that’s no excuse to neglect a lover, one’s “real job”, ad though I seek only to finger paint the blues for my muse, I vow to never…ever…
lose sight of her. Happy Saturday.