Queen of the Underground
The Hermitage / The Homage
Black Days.
And last night, the hermitage broke. Only by a select few, but proper few nonetheless and it was great to get out and rock out a little. Some great music, some old connections. I had a blast.
By the time I get to Jackson, I don't think I'll miss you much.
I am trying to break your heart.
I came across this last night, I wrote it last month.
~~
Tobin Street, January 9th, 2004 (Friday night)
In Halifax, there is a lot of live music. In Winnipeg, I didn't experience that at all. In Halifax it is my perspective as an adult. It's a great scene, and there are cliques as the young 'uns grow up a little, or a new kid shows up in town, and there are sub-scenes, like punk and hip hop and whatever The Family is. All these groups make up what I love about this city, and they interact like cogs. The gears that grind the town. Grind you down. Bring you up again. If you watch closely, you can see the influence they bring to each other. You can hear it, you can feel it. It might be the nod of a head, the tapping of a toe, the stage banter. But if you look real close, you can see it in their fingers, in the bending of a note, the flick of a wrist.
I am a privileged member of a sub-scene. There's no question. I am only beginning to appreciate it. I have witnessed many hours of genius. Some people will never get to see what I have seen, hear what I have heard, feel what I have felt. I know that in all those other scenes, the same thing is happening all over town. People are doobin' down and playin' tunes. Magic is being created. I hope all those other audiences (those not lucky enough to pick up an instrument) have been moved as I have. Because I have heard music that has made me dizzy and dumfounded and hushed with awe. For hours and hours on end. It's like knowing a dirty secret, almost. The experience is not incredibly unique, while at the same time managing to be totally and completely unique. I wish there was a way to impart upon the world the music shared at 5139, and the music I heard in the basement and at the mothership, and here in the little place on Tobin Street.
Wow.
~The Prophet~
(To Hell and Back. Literally)
I'm tryin' to think straight
"...While I'm strolling through the lonely graveyard of my mind
I left my life with you somewhere back there along the line
I thought somehow that I would be spared this fate..."
I'm very sorry for today. I have behaved badly.
What happened to that poison wine?
I remember when a girl you had known from university days left a coffee invitation on our answering machine. You scoffed at her and didn't return her call(s). I felt bad for her, embarrassed.
Her message prompted you to tell the story of a cigarette at the lookoff in the valley. And of a letter that followed from a girl, laden with references to the "moment" the two of you had shared. You were smug. You had shared no moment at all as far as you were concerned, merely a few inhales/exhales. Nothing more, although it was clear that letter did plague you somewhat, as I was privy to that story on other occasions.
Now I am those girls. No longer sharing in your disdain for the petty annoyances of others, I have become one of them. Don't think that this escapes me.
At times it has the ability to cease my breath.
Shack Wacky
Snowed in. Literally. Wow, I don't remember anything like this before. Maybe on Wake Up Hill, I remember Dad going somewhere on snowshoes, and drifts over the top of the Datsun.
But it's different in the city. In the city you take certain conveniences for granted.
It's day two of our "State of Emergency". Today was much better than yesterday, weather-wise. Yesterday the wind whipped and howled, today the sun was shining.
They are asking people to stay home, stay inside - let them clear the snow. There is so much of it - sooooooo much. Impossible to explain because the whole sensation is.... it's way more than visual.
I had to get out today. Not to shovel, just to see what was going outside. Just to get out. The air is fresh and clear. The sky a brilliant sapphire blue. White snow deserts and piles way over my head. Sidewalks 4ft high made of styrofoamy snow.
Several things going on tonight that I was looking forward to. Hermana said "yes, I think the bars will be open, and I think they will be
packed! " I agreed.
However, we are under curfew this evening, ordered off the streets (on foot or in vehicles) by 11pm or risk a thousand dollar fine. So all the shows have been cancelled. And everyone is stuck inside
again.
It's sort of like being
grounded.
But it's pretty cool.
In Dreams
When you don't know what you're looking for
Sometimes you find someone
Who'll woo you, confuse you, try to lose you
Turn around and do you like you've never been done
(not my words)
Planet Waves
Fuckers in my hometown.
The owner of Gatsby's actually said he didn't want the Salvation Army soup truck to park out front anymore; he suggested they move to Gottingen street where they belong.
WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!??!
Good god, this makes me angry. Fuck. I will never eat at that restaurant again.
I can't believe that people think this way, and actually have the gaul to say it out loud -- EVEN WORSE!!!!!!
This is the kind of thing that even makes me ashamed to live South. They
need the fucking soup truck on SPRING GARDEN, Gat's ass. I'm pretty fucking glad it wasn't me out on the corner asking for change a few weeks ago when it was -35 on the walk home. I remember, during those weeks, hearing one of the regular gals up by the CIBC say(while stomping back and forth to stay warm), "I'm just waiting for the soup truck to come around. It'll be good to get some of that in me."
At the time, I felt relieved. I didn't even know there
was a soup truck. I'm glad there is one. I'm sure that gal who hangs outside the bank is glad there is one too.
It could be a costly walk home from Robie to Barrington down Spring Garden Road, if I obliged every person who was asking for some change. I don't think I've ever been asked for change on Gottingen. Don't get me wrong, they need a soup truck too. But so do the downtown homies.
And fuck that fucking asshole at Gatsby's for ever suggesting that they are not entitled to a hot fucking meal because they're not homeless on the right side of town.
Oh my blood is boiling, I can't even write properly...
A love poem for Maury Wills
Babe, I’m so sorry I sent you away.
I miss our Q T at the end of the day.
My new place is lonely without your sweet chirps
And I only assume that you too miss my quirks.
It’s quiet at my place, and my bed is so clean.
I wonder sometimes if my actions were mean.
You were so charming and loving and sweet
When you got freaked out, you’d give a wee squeak.
Remember our snuggles and cuddles and games?
Hugging a pillow just isn’t the same.
I hope that your new place is also a blast
A ninja like you would re-adjust fast.
But don’t you forget me, my sweet coo coo cat.
I think you’re the shiznit, I think you’re all that.
If those guys take off for some foreign land
Then I’ll have you back in the palm of my hand.
I miss you and love you and hope you are well
On the fact that we’re parted, I cannot dwell.
If you could write letters how happy I’d be!
Maybe you’d write a love poem for me.
Happy St. Valentine’s buddy old pal
Have a good life with your new old dad Al.
Think of me fondly but don’t you be blue
As long as I’m out here, someone loves you!!
Crash on the levee, mama
The thing is, everybody else has stuff going on. They have lovers and families and the like. They have people waiting for them at the end of the day. They have somebody to share their little insignificances with.
Not I.
Yesterday I bought some CDs: Hard Rain. Slow Train Coming. Planet Waves. Shot of Love.
Ever since bank dick left, the Dylan boards haven't been the same. ARGH.
Heart Murmers
I guess love is in the air. Just mainly because the mainstream media, along with Hallmark et al are pushing it down our throats. I've never been big on Valentine's Day, even when I was half of two. For one who is consciously alone, the hooplah is pretty tedious. My thoughts alternate between ennui and bitterness. Neither emotion really that interesting.
I'll be with the girls, who I love, so that will be fun I guess. But it is difficult not to yearn a little for those arms, and that peace that comes from sharing the world with somebody.
Life is a little weird without Maury. When I come home at night, I still sort of expect him to be there. And then, under the covers, I still sort of expect him to hop up or come get a drink. And in the morning, I still sort of expect to hear him stretch and then wander up to say hello. I miss him.
Sunday. 3am. An old friend marks another year. I feel a lot of sadness about this and am not sure how to handle it.
Day 5 without nicotine.
I've got to start moving forward again. I'm getting stuck.
Touch Me
Oh jolly. I'm as predictable as the calendar. I can feel the inevitable cranks creeping up on me. They're still a ways off in the distance, but they're en route. Irritability, impatience, anger. And the big bad one I hate so much: Self Pity. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, it's so tedious. I choke on the words when I try to rationalize my feelings. I do NOT want to be alone much longer in this life. I
crave physical contact. When a coworker pokes me in the arm, I melt. I want more. When somebody rests their hand on my back for a moment of pause, I am putty in their fingers.
You might laugh, but it brings tears to my eyes.
I'm so sick as fuck of being lonely.
Give me ten days. This too shall pass, until next time.
Shout out to Hali
I love this city. I've lived other places, and there are other places I would like to live, but I fuckin' love it here.
I love the six block radius I live in. Some of the coolest places in town are a stone's throw from my old house. Bearly's. Allie's. Murray's. Costa's. The Hostel. The Yellow Bordello. The grey house on the corner. The Train Station. The Olympic. Atlantic News. Mr. Chang's. Supervideo. Alexandra's!
I love the old streetcar tracks poking through the pavement on the corner. I love the smell of the ocean when the air is thick with fog. I love to hear the fog horn's mournful and soothing call.
I love the fabric that keeps us all together through the winter.
Today, I even love the snow falling in the parking lot behind the apartments across the way, and the sun reflecting through my new windows in my old place.
Shout out to Hali!
Thoughts of a Friend
My friend ask me to post this. It's an email, unsent. I've posted similar emails from my own brain in the past.....
"What the hell do you want from me? One minute you tell me to keep the lines of communication open and the next you are ignoring me to no end. FUCK you, you selfish rotten chicken fuck. At least have to balls to tell me that you don't want to hear from me and for me to just leave you alone before you go and fucking ignore me. There is no excuse. I don't care if you are 'confused' or mad at yourself or mad at me or ashamed of the way you acted. Step up to the plate and take on some responsibility and speak your mind. Tell me to fuck off. I would rather that than silence!"
To all the girls I've loved before....
A Google search this afternoon to kill time at work dredged up some old questions that shouldn't matter. Questions that revolve around significance and the like. I know I shouldn't think this way but I can't help it sometimes. I will never have the answers I want. I know that, but I still ask the questions (to myself, at least).
Moving, as usual, has jostled me enough to make me feel suspended and displaced.
I miss Maury.
Saving Grace
I get to see
Dylan again. Finally. I got the seats this morning. Row DD. Section 110. This, followed by Cuba, will certainly make my soul lighter than air. Sweet jeezus.
If anybody can tell me how to make the font smaller on my posts, that'd be cool. I can't figure it out.
Short End of the Stick
I tried to explain to you last night, it depends on how you look at things. I don't agree that you got the short end of the stick.
My life was not my own for a long time. Maybe I didn't know who my friends were. But there have been lots of times when I have known who my friends
weren't.
I'm sorry I made you feel bad. I really am. That is horrible. I have been a monster in the past, I don't deny it. So have you.
I consider you a friend, I know you have come to my defense. But you want from me things that I am not prepared to give. Your perspective & mine are not the same. Your experiences & mine are not the same. I want to leave the past in the past, you want too much information. I want arm's length.
The thing that has stuck most vividly in my mind is you telling me that you have heard so
many ills spoken about me. I have tried not to speak a lot of ill of people. I didn't think I had enemies in this town. It's sad to hear that maybe I am wrong about that.
Last night was real tough. I wonder what happens now...
"If you look up when they flip the switches, you can see the smoke from all my burnin' bridges"
I got my ducks in a row.
Coming Clean
It Ain't Me, Babe.
Go 'way from my window,
Leave at your own chosen speed.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I'm not the one you need.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Never weak but always strong,
To protect you an' defend you
Whether you are right or wrong,
Someone to open each and every door,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.
Go lightly from the ledge, babe,
Go lightly on the ground.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I will only let you down.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Who will promise never to part,
Someone to close his eyes for you,
Someone to close his heart,
Someone who will die for you an' more,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.
Go melt back into the night, babe,
Everything inside is made of stone.
There's nothing in here moving
An' anyway I'm not alone.
You say you're looking for someone
Who'll pick you up each time you fall,
To gather flowers constantly
An' to come each time you call,
A lover for your life an' nothing more,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.
Copyright © 1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music
This is a test
Do not dial 911.
Let's get this party started.
