Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Where did this occur?

I wake up with a startling thump - on the floor - How did i get here? its early - not quite time to wake up - the comfortable room laughs only because it is not accustomed to this type of buffoonery - not drunk - just on the fucking floor. i am told later that i has asked something about the time - attempting to peer past the lamp and clutter of the bedside table proved to be too much for my center of gravity at this foggy hour of the morning. The smoot - old vaudeville house - pictures of the first showing of Frankenstein circa 1932 - ringling brothers - kong - all badges of honor to an era when this town was forgotten - left to its own devices, but loved in its yellowed pages and model T sort of way. almost as though the collective conciousness is the history of the town itself. The smoot still smells of the corwd from those old tymey days - the stage is small, perfect for juggling dogs and siamese twin acts. double tiered house all red seats and dark wood. too steep for modern crowds, the balcony seems as though its merely for show. bitter cold - most of load in i am unable to feel any sensation in my fingers - i learn that my locals are former drug addicts living at a nearby halfway house, so really current drug addics who havent been doing any drugs recently - all hard working folk from local towns who passesd the time of teenage angst by doing eightballs of coke and making meth instead of treehouses - not bad people, just wasted. Simple wooden chair leaning on tree - out of breath, an old man who sits and watches the bird and wood and snow - missing piecess with every pock and crack a story or year that passed by too quickly,. but now plays in elegant prose across the pages of his mind and the delicate nature of his arms and legs.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

who are you

I was looking at a picture of myself recently and had the sudden awful realization of my own mortality. i try to put the number 23 to this face and these eyes that should seem so familiar, but keep coming up as some sort of mystery. i pose to everyone that they look at a picture of themselves and then place themselves into a memory from around when that picture was taken. really exaamine your actions, the things you said, the looks you gave, the drink you drank, the smoke you smoked...everything. it will become absurd, its as though trying to look at yourself as an actual person that interacts with other people and has memories and feelings become completely insane. you may not believe this, but put yourself back in a memory you enjoy and as the initial feeling waves over you, there will be a sense of unfamiliarity, its as though that person who did that is merely an afterthought now. and it only is further complicated when you place conciousness into another person, we are instinctualy led to believe we are the center of the universe, in so many words, we feel everything as it occurs and we only feel what happens to us. no one else. so when you suddenly try to get behind the thoughts of a person you are engaging in a particular situation it will level you...or attempt to put yourself into the conciousness of a person you fought with, or broke up with. everything becomes confusing and complete...lets just all live on the ceilings and smile. its the only way to survive.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Conjectures of a guilty technician

18 hrs comes and goes like a dream - long enough to leave impressions short enough to be misinterpreted as a dream. I trade the secluded candle lit comfort of angels for hard grey loud scatters of new jersey. I find my legs in the bus that feels more like a submarine and a place i call 'home'. There is an odd comfort that i have found with the bus, a familiarity that estranged childhood friends would have, i say hello and she tells me to sit down and welcome back. The road beckons.
The rolling white hills of pennsylvania pass by smothered in the golden quality of light that has become a signature for frost bitten mornings. memories of tunneling through manhattan on a bleary eyed A train. brief. did it happen? whose face is that? why is everything green? i cant see green - startle - dreaming - complete - memories replayed as reoccuring dream. The roads have gotten bad, will informs us. his twang thicker than before, usually a notation of frustrations as the increasingly iced roads glare and mock him. i sit shotgun smoking cigarettes and trying to make sense of the headlights that pass my face. no such luck. West Virginia unfolds quickly - hills replaced with small desolate store fronts - all dime stores and lonely drunk streets. I unlock my rooms...johnny P and i stand and look at one anothers. we have walked into what appears to be a bed and breakfast, we prepare for a heart shaped bed with satin sheets, and lubricants and marvin gaye and poorly produced pornography. but it turns out to be tastefully decorated, where two people deeply in love could lose themselves - but johnny and i just met - so its seperated beds tonight! i wait for the load in tomorrow and to recap the previous towns show - my thoughts are scattered but i will attempt to lay them here...up next: the theory of todds.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Thus it begins

I dont care who you are, and you can deny it up and down, but everyone loves the song 'walking on sunshine'. period. but most aren't willing to admit this to anyone they know, because well, somewhere in history someone decided that because 'walking on sunshine' was such song that it somehow was able to tap into everyones natural 'gayness' if only for three minutes. and this scares alot of people. because everyone knows but no one ever says: Yeah when that song comes on and im in my car alone i turn that fucking song up and sing and dance and practically annouce my joy out loud to everyone in the world' no one says that because everyone does it! but at the same time if another car pulls up to you that song gets turned down faster than girls from statten island. oooooh snap statten island you just got burned...because your girls are dirty, or so ive heard, i really dont a matter of sorry statten island ladies (nasty hoes). why this walking on sunshine phenomenon fascinates me is because i was listening to this particular song today right before our first load in. which by the way honestly is like monkeys fucking a football, hilarious until you realize its your football. JP and i wrecked shop as usual, but the load in while interesting isnt the most brilliant part of tour. its my bus. i have always dreamed of being a rock star and anyone who has ever put a microphone within 3 ft of me knows this. So for the next few months i get to pretend i am a rock star and not a this is basically the start of my life on the road. the steps kerouac and cassidy walked are becoming my ownl. finding the souls that have travelled these paths before me and leaving my own mark and story behind for someone else to be in search of one day. ive realized that my line of work has its pitfalls and difficulties, but living on a bus that resembles a hotel room and staying in hotel rooms that resemble hyperreal homes is something that most will never experience.
Night falls and i sit in my hyperreality wondering where my friends are and what they are doing. imagining that how im picturing and in what context i am placing them is probably very close to reality. That makes me smile. because i know they are safe and they will be right there when i come home. I cant wait to see what lies ahead because i know its going to make a very surreal story.