sockmonkey

"One of the few good things about modern times:
 If you die horribly on television,
 you will not have died in vain.
 You will have entertained us".

~K. Vonnegut~

but it would take years.
of me sitting silent and bent.
never saying a word.
never eating a bite.
never sleeping or daydreaming
or running or walking or living
or any other thing,

than to write my love for you.

you touch me like no other human ever has
or ever will,

and my words fall into the deep nothing,
like my tears and laughter fall into my lap.

it would take bibles,
and i cannot,
if i live to be a hundred,

write my love for you.

and you,
if you live to be a thousand,
would not have time to read my love for you.

my january brown.
my pain
my joy

the root of every inspiration.
and evidence of every inspiration.

~today, i hope, tomorrow, i paint~

Currently listening : Songs for a Blue Guitar By Red House Painters

Wind, here, again.
Enough to make me buy another thrift store sweater
that will be given away in another two weeks,
and to give my Chinese food to the black man
with a baby and house slippers.

My grandfather told me about the slave graveyards,
when I was little.
And he told me why hushpuppies are called such.
How the slaves were not allowed to bury their dead,
and how when they ran up the side of that creek, there,
they kept those cornbread lumps to throw,
when dogs had been set on them.

He used to take me out to an acre on our farm,
where there was an old slave graveyard,
and he'd say, "Margo,"
cuz that was my name, then,
"Say hello to the ghosts of the slaves."
And, I would.
And an echo came back to me.

And then he would tell me to tell them
that I loved them.
And I would.
An echo came back for that, too.

Then he said to do the same,
"Hello," and "I love you!" for the bears.

An echo answered then, too.
And I would always say, "Papa,"
cuz that was his name then...
"Now, you say it!"

But he said that it was something that only I had.
He said that it was special.
He said they only answered me.

And he said that I would never have trouble
with the ghosts of slaves or bears.

I never have.

So, when my mom sternly told me tonight,
"Margret..."
cuz that was my name then...
"You can't just walk up to a strange black man!
You'll be killed, one day!"

I had to think, laughing, cuz that is my way, now,

No. I won't be killed. not by a black man or a bear.
And no~one kills a woman with Chinese food in hand.

And, how is it, that this woman was raised by that man,
And, she could still say something like that to me, now?

~blue where it should be blue~
~Cake. cuz that's my name, now~

Robots
Old Circus and Carnival Things
And Freaks
Clowns
Old Signs
Roads That Go No~where Forever
Old Glass
Ravens
Little Skeletons of Things
The Smell of Old Books
Carvings
Icons
Tiny Trees
Insane Controlless Vines
Salt
Impossible Love
Hidden things... Secrets
Like maybe Wings
waiting for just the right time,
to be needed and then used...
Perhaps they would take a sacrafice of pain to be found,
and perhaps they would require the trust of a friend,
to cut them out of your back...
surely, you could not do that by yourself.
And the sacrafice of a friend to do the cutting.
That would be difficult.

I didn't think I liked blue eyes
But when I looked at yours, I did.

I remember saying
Something about your hair
Being different colours, all about,
And that I loved your scar.

You said that mutts are always best.
And I said, "I agree."
You remind me of the summer...
Tequilla and tortillas.

Sometimes, makes me happy.
Sometimes makes me sad.

~Cake~

Currently reading : Where the Wild Things Are By Maurice Sendak Release date: By 09 November, 1988

Joe Novelli of J. DiMenna has been living in another part of the house.
We can hear him... doing things.
Sometimes he walks loudly, or seems to be dragging furniture about.
Sometimes there are others there, drinking, or playing the harmonica.
But, then, there is the "undetermined sound".
The "rolling of the irregular object sound".

Sometimes Joe Novelli makes this sound late at night.
Sometimes it is early in the morning.

All the other sounds... I understand.
And I like having Joe Novelli in the house.

But, really... what is the "rolling of the irregular object sound"?

Jericho and I often look at one another.
And wonder.
Will anyone ever know?

~Cake~

After all these years...

I'm  old.

I write.
I paint.
I write.
I say.

I look.  I listen.  I write.

Some have heard what I say, but don't know where it came from.

Some have read what I write, but don't see more than ink.

Like that comforter just out of the dryer on a rainy day.
Like that old cat that you find, sick, in the alley, and make him a box
to lie in...

Like that straight~banged pin~up girl, named Angie...
That you take care of when she's ill...
Or that little dog that ate the retro divan...

You're real.

Thank~you, Johnny.  For reading me.  For being from another time.

For being that old preacher man
that you can never quite get out of your system...

No matter how far you go into the world of standing behind Wanda Jackson.

And belonging there... Like the Cadillac Angel when you're drunk,
is how I put it once.

Anyway, thanks.

You make this time, where I'm not sure that I am,
or that I belong,
really,
seem less alonely.

There are posers...
And then there are you's.

To you, and your lovely.
~Never a photo that you can tell~
~Always sleep when you think you cannot~

~Cake~

(Hey, there's this guy, Will Elliott... on my friend list... 
 Listen to his music... I did, tonight, and realized, again, that he is not from here or now... so much... but from somewhere darker, lighter, farther, nearer...

somewhere.  He's from somewhere.)

Currently listening : Queen of Rockabilly By Wanda Jackson Release date: By 23 December, 2004

10:09 AM - 0 Comm

You, mine, Sweet and Beautiful Lover of the Summer
You, Ink Spilled Upon My Breast
You, who I would ask.
"Who will take care of your heart when I'm gone?"

We danced on paper
We danced through wires filled with sound and images
We danced with words and with sex
We danced sharing food and sharing a bed

We danced in the love of chickens
And pretty red~haired girls playing trumpet

We danced drunk
We danced sober

I will never forget
Ink Spilled Upon My Breast

What you have taught me

About hair products

This is a photo of the band, "The Year of Acceleration".
About two years ago, before the band became popular or known,
Scott, bass, read one of my journals.
He left a comment...
He would like an antique perculator.

I put one in a box.
I made a treasure hunt downtown.
It involved cabbies and hotel clerks, bartenders and strippers.  It took some time, and effort, but Scott has, now, an antique perculator.

thunder popping outside
like someone's paying for a murder.

raining pouring outside
like the world is paying for it's sin.

doors all open to this old
lim poy chinese market
that i live in.
trout fishing in america lies here,
unaffected by the storm.
his ears are too big for his head,
and his head is too big for his body.
a silly gimpy dog.

this time i have real coffee
from that old electric perculator.

i still may walk the shiny streets
when the rain has stopped.

go down to the grill.

on the way i'll look through the windows
of that old warehouse on the corner,
and see the guys 
who are practicing to be seattle. 

i'll sit at the counter
on that sticky vinyl
and watch the punks and derelicts
leave the bars.

i'll wear long sleeves
and be anonymous.

another perfect tucson night
to waste here in the summer.

~cake~

I just wrecked "Pearl" in the ice. 
Typical Tucson Idiot.
I did not know until yesterday,
that Scott works at a body shop. 
He remembers the perculator.
He will look at Pearl, Monday.

Gratis.

I just read a review of a band done by Dr. Dude...
(He's a DJ, now, and stole my radio show name and concept... Oh well)
Anyway, he didn't talk about the music, much,
but he did point out that one band member
continued to mis~pronounce Tucson... Tuk~son,
and that the 'base' player spit a lot when he sang.
That's right, the 'base' player...
over and over and over.

So, not only did he become, in my eyes, the bully in the school yard, that made fun of the kid who didn't talk right, but he stupidly mis~spelled bass while he was doing it.

Perhaps it is shallow of me to think that this is funny.

Or, perhaps, I will always think that you should use power wisely.
By the way, his last review is of Wanda Jackson,
but I found myself cured of ever wanting to read one of his reviews, again.
I think if he somehow disregarded Miss Jackson,
I would not be able to contain my disgust.

~May we all be judged with the dignity that we lend uthers~
~C~

Currently listening : American IV: The Man Comes Around By Johnny Cash Release date: By 05 November, 2002

Thank~you to my beautiful friend, Daniel.
He wrote a song for me,
And though he has played guitar and banjo in my home,
every February for almost ten years, now, he cannot come this year.
He made it so that I could put the song on my music list, here.

Gifts of words, of paint, of clay, of oranges and tequilla...

Gifts of promises of grill burgers and of extra fries.

Gifts of some small note or photo.
Smooth, cool stones found in my pocket.

Gifts of cut paper and of hurts that sting like paper cuts...

Gifts of laughter and of watching football.

I love you guys.

Gifts of music.
Gifts of gas, when I've run out.
Gifts left on doorsteps or in my mailbox...

I know too many saints.

~Merci~

Bonsai trees
Are allowed to do as they please

In MY house

~Z~

I woke before the light, again.
Lying in the tallest and piled highest of beds.
The North of beds, it is.

The monsoons started and the dark.
The desert freezing, storming, raging.
Snow where you don't expect it...

But not white and bright,
Like Christmas snow.

Dark and slushy,
A Trojan Horse inside the rain.

Birds freeze and fall as if they forgot
That they needed to fly south.

And,
Where is South from here, anyway?

~Cake~

Currently listening :
Undertow
By Tool
Release date: By 06 April, 1993

Why is it,
that we run
after
love,
religion,
acceptance,
and knowledge

like skinny, knobby kneed children,
ill dressed in bright rags...

running,
dancing through the dust and filth,
over and again

after tanks?

Sweating,
screaming and hooting,
happily...
at recruits
not much older than ourselves,

"Trinket for me, G.I.?"
"Throw me a trinket, G.I. Man..."

"Throw me a triinket!"

~Cake~

He's been my friend for so long.
One night, as the Doctor and I lay in bed, he said,
"Cake, if you ever get on the back of that motorcycle with David,
it'll be the deal breaker."

I wondered if I should tell him,
that I had, already.

"Are you concerned with my safety?"  I asked...
"Or are you afraid that I will have sex
with him while I am riding on the back of that antique BMW?"
"Because, if if you are afraid that I will have sex with him while on the back of the bike,
I'm damn hot, and you should keep me.  By the way, we went to Epic the other day,
on the motorcycle...  I walked home.

We all know how that turned out.
I got a legal letter of thirty day notice to move out of the house.

He's taken at least a hundred photos of me.  (David)
Evil says that any man that can take that beautiful an image of a woman,
must love her, dearly.

When I laid my head on his leg during the movie, he shook it, violently.
When I traced his cheek with my finger, and told him that I like his sideburns,
he looked at me in the eyes, for a long time.

His parrot mimicks my moods.  (Wambli)
When I laugh, he laughs.
When I am upset, he cries and complains.  (Again, Wambli.)

When I looked away, because he had looked at me too long...   (David)
He poured my wine down the sink.
It didn't make me mad.

I don't trust right now.

It seems that David does not know that I am a girl.

That's O.K.

He is mine friend.  I love him, deal breaker, or no.