Weekend Back Home (May 21-22, 2010)

Today rings the bell. At midnight 5/22 it chimes. Twenty-one years of feeling like the square peg in this cylindrical life. Back then my life was only up to 12 and now its been a day and eternity again. 21 on 22 with a hundred years of morbidity...enough! What's discretion: I don't know her. Scrawl a quick memory, this was the day he left me just a kid. Thank this world for friends that keep it looking like something worth following. These Springtimes that would hurt get anesthetized as if the stars sent it straight to us on the wings of notes and words and beats and smiles all over again.

It's not tomorrow till you go to sleep.

Tempo. breaks. drums. bass. keys.
Fanatical energy passes over to where I sit. Sponge it all up like juice through a straw needing music and people and comfort more than all else. All we need is a song and fuck it move on, next time, last one, maybe lone but not solo by any means.

Pick strings and take away the think: let the juice on the page with silver bricks and beauty on drums like a crush for years cymbals pounding through our ears. Old friends and cold beers. Who told us we couldn't play here?
It's a sandbox you say-sounds like December not May. Comfort like snow forgetting how nice it is to talk with someone who knows.

Onlooker step off this page. Get off the back of my seat it's too hot. One fucking slut I am not. Maybe a bit blunt but I've seen where it gets ya not to be.

Man my bros can rip up that stage.

It's good to be reading and feeling amazed. Been scrawling for years on courts and in cages...have only just started letting more of the world see my pages. I feel comfort and closeness and sleep's barely met me. But how can I sleep when this world came back to let me. There's been so many days that I watched and recorded: all these memories pushed to the bottom of a well. When they surge back in waves its amazing and sweet and all it takes is a smile, a song, an idea about pressing on. Makes me recall how much simpler was May. Before all the minuses and divisions and splits, there was peace and calm and friends. That was it.

So much time passed notes played lips kissed tunes heard all about this god-damn spoken word.

Audio in a tree. Audio on my knee. Audiometry: a name itself makes music when read. I can see the connect. Even after years later friends are still friends don't forget.

Check a page hear a tune make music make me move. Pick up pens and sticks and strum chords oh so rich with life and emotion and getting what I mean when I say that feeling ya know...just a feeling of comfort and brain-sync and free. Comes into view a scene of simplicity: only friends and time and beats, notes and blank pages, sheets and sheets to cover. Mnemonic that word like beauty sings to a nerd like me. Whats a name whats a title like a crack in the tile...

Who let you in my sandbox?!

I miss you all I do recall. Sneezed at a time when it was friends smoking dimes and kept thinking and drinking like hats eight or nine. When I think about Gateways and even never mentioned nevermen like Nezzermans: so many drinks courting my girl while an illicit affair was fuckin up my world. Solitude--I longed for it so much but tonight all I need is soft human touch, contact, strong hugs and friendship. Yesterday yesteryear I said fuck it. I didn't hear, closed my ears, drinks spilled, but fuck it up I always will. I always will...value those days when all that mattered was friends like blankets and impending haze.

Damn you thrash your guitar bang those drums slam keys and pound bass. These jerks behind me may get a smack in the face. Grills undeserving of any of this-just there to obstruct and distract, or try to fuck. Skills unparallelled and when we get outta here play me into your spell. I'm lost in notes and chords and ink like it always was, like smoke, pills, drink. Please don't stop it's better than sex just waiting to hear what old friends might play next.

All I can say is your bathroom mirror makes me cry and it was not even foggy or holding a photo but when I get flashes of what used to be that's just it. We go on and float on and hope they're all at peace. It's crazy how all it takes is just a little piece of this life to make us wish them peace in the next. Jamming vocals missing beats doesn't care doesn't matter anymore just music takes us in and comforts all that yuck that tries to creep in and make it dark.

Music is like a bandaid and ice on road-rash knees in blankets and water and a breeze and comfort and pillows and uncertainty but just live the moment because who knows what comes tomorrow. A mirror, a sign, a show, a beat, a trial, a spy in a house of beats who can't even find the words to tell-not to tell but maybe just to be a sister to that verse.

Your voice does what I can't: be beautiful.

Exquisite human harmony someone should tell you about in bed if you ever get there together, so many impossibilities and wasted time but there's a bandaid for that too and its green. I loved to hear you spawn a verse so sweet and smooth and inspiring it hurts. Know this, know your plaid makes me think about how it was and now again everyone sings and plays, taking some of that pain away.

Long time ago, long time since, long time coming to re-converge. But what seemed a lost and lonely truth returns and shines like treasured lovely youth. Makes me hopeful we can all someday come together and find peace again.