Sunday, March 25, 2012

The Road to Hell

"And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap..."

Henry V, St. Crispin's Day Speech

But what if you were lying abed and could only remember lying abed?

You know that scene in "Tombstone" where Kurt Russell keeps saying "no" over and over again as he plods forward into a muddy brown river, through smoke and bullets, into what appears to be imminent death?

It's kinda like the "I'm mad as hell and not going to take it anymore" scene in Network - only with less whining and a lot more personal commitment*. Anyway...

Kurt (Wyatt Earp) is pinned down with his men in a crossfire, and it looks like they're pretty much toast, when he rises up, righteous and indignant - and by force of personal will alone (plus a mantra of "no's") (well, okay, and two pistols a-blazin') single-handedly dispatches and disperses his adversaries.

Yeah, it's pretty much the stock, prototypical post-Leone epic western myth. And yet...

It plays. At least for me. Due in part, to the reaction of his compatriots.**

"Where's Wyatt at?" says one. Down by the river, comes the response.

"Most likely walking on it" says Doc Holliday (Val Kilmer).

Incidentally, I'm not a huge fan of Kilmer - maybe because he's a little too... precocious perhaps - but this is one of my all time favorite movie roles and he's the reason why.***

But I digress. The point?

Ah yes.

Today's the day. The day of no.

Or maybe it's the day of yes, but I don't want to by lying abed at some future date, reflecting on a misspent youth (or at least not oldth) of... well, lying abed.

Let Hamlet contemplate the slings and arrows.

I say no.

Or was it yes?


*Which was a turning point in American Culture, I think - not necessarily a good one - where it became not only okay to express outrage, but expected and even cool.
**Acting is after all, the art of not only "action" but "reaction" - without it, you get that whole, tree falling in the forest scenario.
*In fact I pretty much ripped off his interp to do a role in NY, but that's a whole 'nother story.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

In some ways I feel more alive than I ever have before, here inside my own head.

The blood flows through my veins and I feel it, the pulse and beat of moments being ticked off, each more precious than the last.

I am in the eye of the storm, joyful and weeping...

Winning and failing all at the same time.

Monday, March 19, 2012

There are runes

once again

in the shadows,

hints of meaning yet


but like schoolyard playmates


come and play.

Sunday, March 18, 2012


This is my life,
these are my words;
my body,
my blood

- take of them what you will...

Too much?

(throat clearing noise)

So there was this sculpture - a sign really - and it said:
I saw it hanging on a fence at Central & McDowell, made of gleaming sheet-metal, in block letters about a foot high.

Truth is, I don't have much to say these days, tend to keep my own council - a product of getting older, I suppose...

And the reverence I once had for the Arts has greatly diminished:
One man* builds a brick wall; another paints a painting - often based on nothing more than personal predilection. Who deserves more accolades?
Call it Zen.
Call it being a crochety old man.
Call it whatever you want.

But when "HOPE" appeared, I felt like something important had been transmitted.

So this is me saying thank you. I heard you. I get it.
Thank you for reaching out.

And I will attempt to do the same.

In a crochety old man way, perhaps, but nonetheless...

*woman, child, sentient being from the stars, whatever...


of the

Chubby Hussies

Gone Daddy Gone

It's Sunday morning, quarter til 9, and I am listening to the Violent Femmes, sipping stale coffee. The songs are snarky and adolescent, but fitting, somehow:
I dig the black girls,
oh so much more than the white girls.
I was so pleased to learn they were faster...
Don't drink much coffee these days - a concession to age and infirmity - and this crap is month's old -but- I'm out of tea and need to power up and help a friend move.

The friend, who shall remain nameless, is moving out of what was his house and into a studio apartment.

Without going into great detail, I'll just say he worked hard, did what he was supposed to do, and was perched on the brink of seemingly imminent and unavoidable success...

Then got the rug pulled out from under him.
...You know I love the lord of hosts,
The father, son, and the holy ghost.
I was so pleased to learn that he's inside me
In my time of trouble he will hide me.
Sing it, baby.

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Each morning is an act of creation and destruction.

This morning I made tea.

And smoked a cigarette.