About to head back to the lake as soon as the bed head goes away, and for years I’ve used this song to get my fingers going. In 2009 there was less than three hundred hits and now there’s almost four million.So what? Words. LOOK!
So many words and the fall is at a stand still. The world moves and you can’t stop it. Control is exaggerated by our exuberance. The colors orange and yellow and cold breeze blows in. The last of the summer air has heated the hands and I sift outside looking at the real world. The grasses and dead plants and dirt is healthy and good for a growing dying man. Walking around barefoot and the grills stand still and are black. The light poles are still lit and you can’t see them because the sun is shining. Cold and blue toes and glasses on and writing and yelling in my head, screaming and smoking and the bed tossed and tired and everything is on the ground. The writing workshop packed up and moves on. Books behind schedule and I haven’t looked at my email in over a week. LOOK!
Crack a brew at two. Do what I do and then ten minutes maybe an hour. Soon lines of yellow road and there’s this crazy hitchhiker who stands on the side of the road in overalls that look like a potato sack. It’s not the old days, what’s he doing? If I see him today I’m going to get out and talk to him. I wonder what his story is. Everyone has a story. It’s amazing. Look…
The woods bend this porch where I sit and they scare people at night. Theres nothing out there but life and it could kill you, so what? The tracks bring you to sewage dumps and the factory behind it starts its day at four am. Forklifts dancing in time lapsed steps. Moving stuff around and being bored and eating ham sandwiches and waiting to go drink a beer and do something when the night shatters its face over the moon. Humans work in the day and wait for weather to cheer them up. I’m a bit too covered up. It was cold in the morning when I was eating pasta for breakfast. The congress people were yelling at each other and it takes me about three smokes to crank the wheel house and hunker down and start all over again…LOOK!
Puff and wait and listen and click. On screen my words wait from last night, from years of writing and the story almost done. Nothing reminds me more of life than the blue jay sitting on the tree with the squirrel and sometimes we get lazy and don’t write down words because we don’t know how to say something the right way, or spell it, but this is something only humans do…LOOK!
Do what you feel and the day is green and hot and it sings of the fall, of death, and death is as beautiful as the spring. The back and forth flavor and don’t worry. Papa don’t take no mess. LOOK! JAMES BROWN! LOOK! MARK TWAIN! Papa don’t take no mess. LOOK. Mark twain is a cat and he lives in the woods. He sounds like a wolf at night hunting for mice. People shine lights on the darkness. They lock doors. The tell ghost stories. It’s just the cat. It’s Twain. He only comes out on sundays. He looks at me and falls asleep in the dandelions. LOOK!
Run smoothly, improvise and make mistakes, laughter and little bee legs by my face. Sting me. I don’t care. Washing little hands and bees fly under my nose, no hunney here fella, and it goes on and on. Last night. LOOK!
Hot and the thrift store vibes of the past and seasons coming and singing carols for the future that who cares if it comes, you just make it up as you go. Blow and moan. Rake them leafs. make them happy. going with the spontaneous mess of my life, and that’s just good enough for me. The day, its alive and dying. AHHHH, that’s life. I don’t care what you think. We’re as clueless as when we were kids. Paranoid little kids. Nice…
LOOK! Hand made books to feel like a house builder. Words need a roof. Words about time need a clock. Words that confine to human principles need physical relation to the humans eyes. The internet is a tent in the woods and temporary housing for the words we read. The book is the log cabin and the progression of making a home.