when shaky strangers tell me things

the stupid mustache was a test

but   was it for me

                or for them

reaction was preferred

the honest or the polite

   the careful tweeners

who took a long time

                               to stare

trying to figure out

how much they thought   i’d care

if they told   the truth

whatever that is

preksha laughed

 in that way

the one that says

  what are you doing

 then she said ‘what are you doing’

in the parking lot at bill’s new place

    still spent most of her time

staring

     at me

then i almost said the right thing

george said it was nice to meet me

even though i’ve been twice to his home

and heard his laugh

             big and fat

over the whole of his backyard

    

norman only saw a picture

until late on wednesday evening

before the day he was leaving

which was two days before i was leaving

and neither of us had packed a thing

at least most of my clothes

 were clean

when we met at the place we always met

and the meal was quick

we were done with it

but smiles

    were wide

and even if i couldn’t feel them

all the way inside

the girls still said ‘hi’

like they want you to

    stay

or to come back

 again

some other day

    the ponytail let loose a laugh

the ponytail always laughs

at me

      it seems

but that’s a large part

of himandme

     what i’m looking for

better best to

be ignored

jjb gave two thumbs up

for keeping it til chicago

            even though he couldn’t wouldn’t or shouldn’t  go

    his support was known

which was about as much as could be expected

 since some things changed

waters said it was cowboy-ish

            i said

you’re  cowboy-ish

                   she neglected to reply

but i sensed no conflict

jarral took it all in stride

she did that

 most of the time

  and if cool is a lion

that girl is a pride

we need to get her back

stateside

                        aight
        aight

her friend rj had the curly hair

but she pulled me straight

 by the ear

on hiphop night

in the old neighborhood

where the sweet keeley was last seen

at broken midnight

when the big man

sulked enough

to get it stolen

with housecat hiss

of touch and wah

          a liar’s bliss

he wallowed

in

        it

and this says nothing of

        maccallister

who waited til she knew

then let both barrels go

my dream is still that she’ll whisper

‘close the door

    and tell me secrets

that aren’t true

           anymore’

still   curious looks were

preferable to invisibility

which    if actual

would have been useful

but

in reality

only served to underscore

          the very fear i can’t ignore

that there’s no such thing as the hooker oak tree

         and happiness is just a dream

when shaky strangers tell me things

Drawing by Woody Guthrie

The Two Jakes

It must have been somewhere that the land meets the water, or maybe, where the mountains meet the sky.  It certainly seems like the city and the country collided but no one is really sure if it was where Truth bumped into The Lie.  


Still, we are certain that it happened.  The ‘it’ in question is the rather fortuitous meeting of Blackbeard and Yellowbeard that led directly to the sonic experience that is ‘The Two Jakes.’  My first, and hopefully not last, encounter with the Jakes was at a small club in Buffalo, NY that looked fairly traditional in it’s dive-bar aesthetic.  I was impressed by the sweeping announcement from the public address system for all patrons to make their way to the ‘War Memorial Stage’ in the front of the club.  What I saw when I got there were two bright, harsh spot lights shining on seated figures, hunched over metal slabs containing small boxes with lights and knobs. 

Blackbeard leaned into the microphone and almost whispered, ‘Tonight, this is the truth center’ and a gentle, rising pulse of sound began to fill the room.  Then Yellowbeard struck one mighty chord that sounded like, well, doom. 

A hush fell over the Buffalo night and things that were merely ‘real’ got ‘right.’

Finding beauty in chaos is a trick that only a few can muster and most of them have left us to our own devices via death or the dismemberment of how to achieve such sonic desires.  Those that remain must be more vigilant than ever to not let the secret art die out, to continue the madness perpetrated by Cage, Young, The Velvets, Silver Apples, Gabriel’s Genesis, Eno, Bryars, Sonic Youth, Branca, Spacemen, Shields, Kember and Pierce.  

The madness of jagged shards of sound hurled and then corralled into sweet songs that come from a time where wanting and having are parallel lines and the Jakes soon decide that they just might be able to make those two ornery motherfuckers coincide somewhere deep in the night       if they could just get the delay pedal set right, they might. 

So when you listen and when you hear (which, after all, are two distinctly different tasks) to their songs float up, out, over and around and when you hear the feedback howl, the Fender music box growl of the Jonny Greenwood special,the deluxe 85, the southern blues for dessert Rolling Stones with Mick Taylor Duane and Dickey dirty gritty Gibson SG on eleven with pretty little melodies that fell out of heaven.


When you hear all that
             When you listen to all of that
                                  When it really sinks in
                                                 That’s when the good life begins.  

apparent tense

on mondays and fridays i'm a ghost

shuffling gently through a crowd

by the time anyone sees

the hint of a rumor

hypotension

i am the sickle cell

the river   blood red clay

not sticky muck san antonio shoes

a north dallas counter  slowed but shown

on every thursday morning i am a rush

lists of names for academic gain

a lack of pain and wu tang

hawk

an alabama smile

with trombone eyes losing some

while taking the fight to smoking rights

words that will make you learn despite

on rainy tuesday mornings i am alone

it is different than being lonely

in little degrees marked by

tiny lines in a circle

told

it is time

it is enough

it is the measure

of what we have come to know

on every second wednesday i am at once

 the who you have known

and the hello stranger

yes mother maybelle

circle

filtered through staples

gentle     english tremelos

record store floors like the heroin chic

of that   the nineteenth of november, 1965

on every single weekday i am at most

the time it takes to scrutinize

identify or multiply

hold up a hand and

testify

to the house of cash

and thimbles with the name

john r. by the side of the very road that runs in and out of one soul sucking town

on fridays in particular i am at best

the sweetest sound that i can

coax from those s a d-1's

push and pull trems

lollar

gunstock oil the hooker oak tree

write a happy song

and don't you dare forget about me

on saturdays in the fall i am at home

with the jittery nervous idea

that time will not tell

the answer

ever

that time is laughing as it passes

the very ones who might notice   who might care  

who might   try

to slow it down   buying rounds  on drinking nights

on fridays after the wall comes down i am the host

to the collection of pick me smiles

from every little year gone by

in my  boot brown eyes

try

drunken phone calls to the

very last person who would expect

to hear from you on a european afternoon

double ring and impending doom straightway from weimar texas

on the third day of may i make the thanks

for lessons learned and sunburns

hitson drawling little words

all the way out and

unconcerned

inverted numbers letters sent

caused a flood in my own defense

i learned the  songs and what it meant to decatur dirge but lift myself

on the very next sunny monday

i will be more than the thought

of the things not bought

the swagger stalk

rope

pulled hard         taut

christmas greetings you forgot

the first fallen snow quiet and clocked

until the the gray takes things more often than not

on broken sunday trips around the lake i am the most

ithaca gorgeous rintin starbucks whiskey hidden giddy of a north buffalo big man

w/uncertain heredity

                                changer

the telecaster at twenty three

the way i play that is not the lead

the metal pedal will change your plans

she not sleeping lil man                 she dead

yes on fridays and mondays i am a ghost

stand/sitting at a bus stop

ever seeking  smile

joseph lee henry

sold

melody left

left to right to left

letting out all of the heat

the forgone 

concluded discussions