omar says whats up angel
on haight street
im walking to get a burrito and i
take the long way
to pass by his house
stand on the curb
for five minutes
smoke a cigarette and chip my nail polish
take a left on webster
smile at some little girls
who dont smile back
on valencia i notice
my shoe broke probably somewhere by davey jones’s house
where there is a huge chunk of cement
sticking out of the ground
where once he ate shit on his skateboard
and we walked to divis
and got an ice cream
tonight its getting colder earlier
somewhere along mission
i notice its fall
and walk a little slower
three people on the sidewalk
do a sideways dance to avoid each other
but we brush elbows anyways
and i wonder how many peoples
elbows
have i brushed in this city
at 23rd i realize i forgot where
the burrito place was
the bank where it used to be
has turned into a dollar store
and im all flipped around
i buy a coconut popsicle from a man
who’s hands look like my fathers
take it to dolores
but its too late and people
are going through garbage cans
and drinking in the dark
i wait for the J train which takes me by
chuva’s house
i like to look in windows on church street
and watch people cook dinner, watch tv
smoke, one arm out the window into their night
Monday, October 13, 2008
this is how a short story starts
i dont remember the first time, cant remember the last time and all of it is falling around me, confetti and sugar cubes, rice flying down stairs of the church and slipping down my dress, into the yards of fabric around my legs, between the tiniest of tiny gaps between mine and his pressed palms. last week we were sitting on the corner curb of 16th and mission, among bum spit and burger king wrappers and now, now we are wearing silly outfits, smiling and hugging old family members we dont know and putting cake into each others face even though i know he doesnt like sweets and he knows i hate his mother. last week we had been regular, had been riding bikes and drinking pabst and today, today were freaking married.
i finally find elijah in the back of the studio, where i had left him that morning, mixing paint and smoking cigarettes and looking at pictures of unicorns on the internet.
“whats up, man, i thought we were going to meet at 8?” it was now 10:30.
elijah turns at me and his hands and arms are entirely covered with pen marks, drawings and words, half sketches that look like math problems and parabolas, smiley faces and phone numbers. this morning he had been clean, we had washed his arms clean.
“lij, what the fuck is all over your arms again? i bought you that notebook for your poems?” i see the notebook still in the bag in the corner.
“linds, i just have to put it anywhere else on paper, you see, i just cant put it on paper. its too
final, and this? these things? they cant be too serious. they have to be as serious as what people say out loud...and how serious is that? what type of change does that make? im not even sure of half the things i read in print. i just cant be like that linds, i dont want to be unbelievable.”
outside a group of kids walk by and i catch their sentences slamming up against each other and the summers hot night, hanging phrases and laughs, suspended frivilous nothings. i want to be one of those kids that talks about nothing, i think. i want to stop all these secrets out loud.
i finally find elijah in the back of the studio, where i had left him that morning, mixing paint and smoking cigarettes and looking at pictures of unicorns on the internet.
“whats up, man, i thought we were going to meet at 8?” it was now 10:30.
elijah turns at me and his hands and arms are entirely covered with pen marks, drawings and words, half sketches that look like math problems and parabolas, smiley faces and phone numbers. this morning he had been clean, we had washed his arms clean.
“lij, what the fuck is all over your arms again? i bought you that notebook for your poems?” i see the notebook still in the bag in the corner.
“linds, i just have to put it anywhere else on paper, you see, i just cant put it on paper. its too
final, and this? these things? they cant be too serious. they have to be as serious as what people say out loud...and how serious is that? what type of change does that make? im not even sure of half the things i read in print. i just cant be like that linds, i dont want to be unbelievable.”
outside a group of kids walk by and i catch their sentences slamming up against each other and the summers hot night, hanging phrases and laughs, suspended frivilous nothings. i want to be one of those kids that talks about nothing, i think. i want to stop all these secrets out loud.
vintage
So
as if your leaving is not enough
youve taken my heart
in your knapsack
next to the bologna sandwich your mother made you
ate both of them under an oak tree
on some back road
some truck bed
and napped afterward, easily
whats wrong with splinters under fingers
and paper cuts
stubbed toes
or bumped heads?
why make blood be on the outside?
or at least mend the gaping wound
at least use needle and thread to put me
back together again
patchwork quilts of eyes and lashes
lips and wrists and waists
and smiles
use the tools from your excavation
to build something beautiful
for yourself
we cant have those shiny, thoughtful hands go
to waste
Good morning,
that day we cut school
took Old Toll Road
out to the waterfalls
slipped into naked and the rocks were warm on our bellies
as you both tried to impress me
with your
mystery
it was somewhere after three i woke up
with cattails in my hair
and sunburned
you both were in the water, diving under
and gasping up like newborns
it was your laughter that woke me
it sounded like
when i was seven
and both of you brought me valentines cards
made of elmers glue
and innocence
that day the sun had made me lightheaded
and looking off my rock
the glare of waterfall and valley summer
made your faces indistinguishable
it turned two into one
To: Colorado/Montana
it wasnt our kind of dive bar
we drank no name beer
and fidgeted and wiped sweat
from our top lips
with crooked fingers
i ate peanuts and pretzels from the bowl on the table
but they were stale
you smelled like body and flannel
i was wearing a slip for a dress
still wet from the gas n' go bathroom sink
where i washed it
and you brushed your teeth
the man at the bar
sits next to a wife giving birth to the moon
her belly swollen and exposed
he says get another shot for ma women
were getting the baby drunk tonight
you swatted a fly away
suggested we take a walk
and outside the night had lit itself on fire
the cement ignited the sky, ignited the car
the womans hair on the corner, the soles of our feet
exploded up and out
you sighed and said, baby, its fucking hot
as if your leaving is not enough
youve taken my heart
in your knapsack
next to the bologna sandwich your mother made you
ate both of them under an oak tree
on some back road
some truck bed
and napped afterward, easily
whats wrong with splinters under fingers
and paper cuts
stubbed toes
or bumped heads?
why make blood be on the outside?
or at least mend the gaping wound
at least use needle and thread to put me
back together again
patchwork quilts of eyes and lashes
lips and wrists and waists
and smiles
use the tools from your excavation
to build something beautiful
for yourself
we cant have those shiny, thoughtful hands go
to waste
Good morning,
that day we cut school
took Old Toll Road
out to the waterfalls
slipped into naked and the rocks were warm on our bellies
as you both tried to impress me
with your
mystery
it was somewhere after three i woke up
with cattails in my hair
and sunburned
you both were in the water, diving under
and gasping up like newborns
it was your laughter that woke me
it sounded like
when i was seven
and both of you brought me valentines cards
made of elmers glue
and innocence
that day the sun had made me lightheaded
and looking off my rock
the glare of waterfall and valley summer
made your faces indistinguishable
it turned two into one
To: Colorado/Montana
it wasnt our kind of dive bar
we drank no name beer
and fidgeted and wiped sweat
from our top lips
with crooked fingers
i ate peanuts and pretzels from the bowl on the table
but they were stale
you smelled like body and flannel
i was wearing a slip for a dress
still wet from the gas n' go bathroom sink
where i washed it
and you brushed your teeth
the man at the bar
sits next to a wife giving birth to the moon
her belly swollen and exposed
he says get another shot for ma women
were getting the baby drunk tonight
you swatted a fly away
suggested we take a walk
and outside the night had lit itself on fire
the cement ignited the sky, ignited the car
the womans hair on the corner, the soles of our feet
exploded up and out
you sighed and said, baby, its fucking hot
Friday, October 10, 2008
fish out of water
i cant finish anything ive written in weeks and i hate it. im literally gasping and reeling over the keyboard. drip drip drying my eyes over x's and o's, and nothing feels real. im sorry. im sorry. im sorry. i want this to be real for you.
i dont want to live in grey and its the only place ive been lately, staring at this business card i have at my desk saying, "you are your art."
and my art right now is nothing.
i want to write you love letters and apologies at the same time. that just seems fitting. to say:
i love you, im sorry.
or
im sorry, i love you.
they both just feel so fucking sad.
i dont want to live in grey and its the only place ive been lately, staring at this business card i have at my desk saying, "you are your art."
and my art right now is nothing.
i want to write you love letters and apologies at the same time. that just seems fitting. to say:
i love you, im sorry.
or
im sorry, i love you.
they both just feel so fucking sad.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
things are going along swimmingly. if anything, im more of a mess than ever before and im riding the waves all up and down and sideways, turbulent like Ike. in my scatteredness i find comfort and stability in the inability to hold down a job, a feeling, a boy, an apartment for more than a year. today is lovely. yesterday i didnt leave the house and today i find myself restless on side streets at cafes and using the bathroom of the nail place where i say "im a regular" and its true because four years ago, some other apartment, some other boy i used to go there on weekends and get pedicures, when my bank account wasnt negative and i smoked cigarettes on weekends instead of right when i wake up. i let myself sink into the chair and talk to megan on the phone in calistoga and the sun comes out and im getting texts from my other friends who dont have jobs and i get too worked up some times when things arent going exactly how i think they should be, how i want them to be, i get nervous and anxious and frustrated and sometimes it takes two cups of coffee, four cigarettes and a long walk to ocean beach to settle my hands, to make them write, to have my shoulders fall neatly into the day instead of tensed up to my ears. the sun breaks through for a couple hours and thats all i need it seems.
"tell me a story," she will beg and you will write her the softest water and double it three times to make it your own. "make me feel better," she will say, holding your hand and burrowing into the blankets and you will write her notions of great things and turn on your heals, stand on your head, rip yourself inside out to write down your day and give it a twist, something sweet on the inside, the pushing the pulling, the ability to hold it all together, for her, for her. "make it real," she will whisper and it is hopeful, so you will turn poetry into prose, you will put her on refridgeraters and inside baseball cards because she is so immense in her smallness, commanding in her submission. you will take stories from your head, your heart, you will write it down and do things with words no one has ever seen before. excuse the comma and disregard all capitals until your voice rises and crests with her even breathing and she will hum "see, it gets easier, it gets easier" you will lie next to her and she will sleep and a story is a story is a soothing palm to her forehead but it is a story nonetheless. "take me home," she will sigh and you will wake next to her with your elbows maybe touching and there will not be any words when morning comes, she is thirsty and you will need to write this down.
im getting lost in boxes of jewels and old notes, old writing, scraps of paper and notebooks half filled out with words that couldnt possibly have been mine. like, i actually have no recollection of ever writing that, thinking that, feeling that. and that is the beauty of words and feelings and time. i tell heather this last weekend that time works everything out as shes staring at me steely eyed and blue, and i couldnt believe it more myself today. time moves people into places, out of places and makes writing seem distant, phrases that held meaning are nothing anymore and you catch yourself saying new words, new phrases to new people and the only possible reason is time. time changes it all.
last night dayna and i walk to the store at 11 after half watching a movie on jose's bed to get chips and soda which dayn calls "pop" and i love those things about people that make them them. but we hit the stairs and its cold on cole street, so cold ive put sweats over my leggings and a hat on, shove my hands in my pockets and half expect to see my breath come out in short puff, puff, puff heat but its not that cold, its still september. i say "smell that?" and we both inhale, deeply, as b and i had the whole drive up to portland, deep and long and with your eyes closed because somehow that makes the smell stronger, more wholly felt. and we look at each other "thats autum" dayna says and i just say "shit, it sure is." and there are things, that as much as i hate saying goodbye to summer, that i love about fall. its the smell of fire place, of wood burning stove. and my hands get warm in their pockets, balled up fists and i shake my shoulders a little bit. im not ready for fall. but its here...
this is something ive got to get my hands on for fallllllllll.....
gold leaf combs from Chanel, daaang ma. i be loving that shit.
"tell me a story," she will beg and you will write her the softest water and double it three times to make it your own. "make me feel better," she will say, holding your hand and burrowing into the blankets and you will write her notions of great things and turn on your heals, stand on your head, rip yourself inside out to write down your day and give it a twist, something sweet on the inside, the pushing the pulling, the ability to hold it all together, for her, for her. "make it real," she will whisper and it is hopeful, so you will turn poetry into prose, you will put her on refridgeraters and inside baseball cards because she is so immense in her smallness, commanding in her submission. you will take stories from your head, your heart, you will write it down and do things with words no one has ever seen before. excuse the comma and disregard all capitals until your voice rises and crests with her even breathing and she will hum "see, it gets easier, it gets easier" you will lie next to her and she will sleep and a story is a story is a soothing palm to her forehead but it is a story nonetheless. "take me home," she will sigh and you will wake next to her with your elbows maybe touching and there will not be any words when morning comes, she is thirsty and you will need to write this down.
im getting lost in boxes of jewels and old notes, old writing, scraps of paper and notebooks half filled out with words that couldnt possibly have been mine. like, i actually have no recollection of ever writing that, thinking that, feeling that. and that is the beauty of words and feelings and time. i tell heather this last weekend that time works everything out as shes staring at me steely eyed and blue, and i couldnt believe it more myself today. time moves people into places, out of places and makes writing seem distant, phrases that held meaning are nothing anymore and you catch yourself saying new words, new phrases to new people and the only possible reason is time. time changes it all.
last night dayna and i walk to the store at 11 after half watching a movie on jose's bed to get chips and soda which dayn calls "pop" and i love those things about people that make them them. but we hit the stairs and its cold on cole street, so cold ive put sweats over my leggings and a hat on, shove my hands in my pockets and half expect to see my breath come out in short puff, puff, puff heat but its not that cold, its still september. i say "smell that?" and we both inhale, deeply, as b and i had the whole drive up to portland, deep and long and with your eyes closed because somehow that makes the smell stronger, more wholly felt. and we look at each other "thats autum" dayna says and i just say "shit, it sure is." and there are things, that as much as i hate saying goodbye to summer, that i love about fall. its the smell of fire place, of wood burning stove. and my hands get warm in their pockets, balled up fists and i shake my shoulders a little bit. im not ready for fall. but its here...
this is something ive got to get my hands on for fallllllllll.....
gold leaf combs from Chanel, daaang ma. i be loving that shit.
Friday, September 5, 2008
josies first letter from costa
hey guys,
sending out a quick little note from costa. everything is going swimmingly. flew out wednesday, the flight was quick and painless. at one point i opened my window to get a liittle more reading light and we were just over the border between land and ocean, I´m not sure of which country, and it was this gorgeous sunset and just to the left of the sun was this perfect crescent moon, and while we were watching the sun go down all of a sudden this huge bolt of lightning strikes like a foot past the wing of our plane. it was crazy, like all the elements combined in that one time and place to welcome us into central america. the lightning storms continued til we landed, but we landed so no complaints. we spent that night in a hotel in downtown san jose and the next day walked to the bus station and caught a 3 hour sketchy bus ride to san isidro, where mckenzie lives. randomly found her downtown, thank god since we had no clue how to find her house, and caught a cab to her house because of all our luggage, but it´s less than a 15 minute walk so we´ve been walking in and out of town when we need anything. her house is adorable but not furnished yet really, because her truck and furniture are coming down in a big shipment in a few weeks, so until then shannon and I are spooning on a twin mattress on the floor, and we´ve been eating dinner and playing kings and fuck the dealer, etc. on the floor. we´re getting bars put on the window within the week, since the house got broken into a lot before we got here and there´s bullet holes in my bedroom window... don´t worry, they´re supposedly only from a pellet gun.... drink of choice here is guaro, not recommended if you don´t like hangovers. my spanish is coming back pretty effortlessly, actually, and I can fool most people into thinking I understand everything they´re saying... I´m broke as a joke, so we´ll see how long I can stretch it. speaking of that, and I know you´ll all shake your heads at this, but I just spent like half my money at the vet for a puppy we found on the way to town one day, who had some serious flea and worm issues. however, now we have a guard dog, well, guard puppy, who we fittingly named bones. it´s rainy season, so it´s been raining on and off, today is nice though, and even when it rains it´s not cold so it´s not bad at all if you just accept the fact that you´ll be soaking wet all day. domincal, the beach town mckenzie used to live in where she knows a bunch of people, is 18 miles, or about a 40 dollar cab ride away, but the bus comes fairly often and will take us there too. we´re going out tomorrow, but once we have the car we´ll be driving all over the country and into panama to see the canal. I miss you all but everything here is gorgeous and relaxing and healing and perfect, so you probably won´t be seeing me for as long as my money lasts.... love love love, ex´s and oh´s.
jos
p.s. for those of you who saw it, the gash in my knee is sooo infected. awesome...
--
"I pray that your prayers be answered in kisses" -- saul williams
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gabrielle toft to Josie
show details 2:16 PM (2 minutes ago)
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josie,
i cant fully write all that i want to as im at work. and i find that i can never adequately describe what i want to say when i really need to say it (or can i?) unless you are around, and then it seems like the good lines or advice or the truth, even when it hurts, come flowing from me.
im so proud of you first of all. that you have made these great leaps and bounds out of comfort and lifestyle and easiness to go be a part of something wild and adventurous and scary. im terribly jealous. so jealous my bones hurt, but thats okay. its jealousy of our closest friends that makes things stir in us and forces us to seek out the things we are capable of and test ourselves, and then i guess, its not jealousy at all...but something much more like...well...i dont know. like, love.
i wish the best for you.
keep me updated. like, on everything. i will try to make magic happen here at home, so that when you do come back there will be a safe place for you and your new pup (youre nuts but i totally understand) to land.
i miss you like fucking hell.
i miss you like i missed summer, like i miss 19, like i miss myself as a little girl, carefree, dirty face, sweaty brow. i miss you so much.
work it out, baby. thats my mantra, however you may take it.
say hello to shanny, and take care of each other. take care of your heart. heal up. and let me know how that goes. i feel so open and wounded and raw all the time. but i guess that is part of the healing, leaving it to the open air, and chance.
you are beautiful in everything you do, i couldnt ask for a more perfect friend. come home soon you dead ass baby.
keep it nitty,
love,
g
a drive is never long enough, nor a song, nor a kiss
sending out a quick little note from costa. everything is going swimmingly. flew out wednesday, the flight was quick and painless. at one point i opened my window to get a liittle more reading light and we were just over the border between land and ocean, I´m not sure of which country, and it was this gorgeous sunset and just to the left of the sun was this perfect crescent moon, and while we were watching the sun go down all of a sudden this huge bolt of lightning strikes like a foot past the wing of our plane. it was crazy, like all the elements combined in that one time and place to welcome us into central america. the lightning storms continued til we landed, but we landed so no complaints. we spent that night in a hotel in downtown san jose and the next day walked to the bus station and caught a 3 hour sketchy bus ride to san isidro, where mckenzie lives. randomly found her downtown, thank god since we had no clue how to find her house, and caught a cab to her house because of all our luggage, but it´s less than a 15 minute walk so we´ve been walking in and out of town when we need anything. her house is adorable but not furnished yet really, because her truck and furniture are coming down in a big shipment in a few weeks, so until then shannon and I are spooning on a twin mattress on the floor, and we´ve been eating dinner and playing kings and fuck the dealer, etc. on the floor. we´re getting bars put on the window within the week, since the house got broken into a lot before we got here and there´s bullet holes in my bedroom window... don´t worry, they´re supposedly only from a pellet gun.... drink of choice here is guaro, not recommended if you don´t like hangovers. my spanish is coming back pretty effortlessly, actually, and I can fool most people into thinking I understand everything they´re saying... I´m broke as a joke, so we´ll see how long I can stretch it. speaking of that, and I know you´ll all shake your heads at this, but I just spent like half my money at the vet for a puppy we found on the way to town one day, who had some serious flea and worm issues. however, now we have a guard dog, well, guard puppy, who we fittingly named bones. it´s rainy season, so it´s been raining on and off, today is nice though, and even when it rains it´s not cold so it´s not bad at all if you just accept the fact that you´ll be soaking wet all day. domincal, the beach town mckenzie used to live in where she knows a bunch of people, is 18 miles, or about a 40 dollar cab ride away, but the bus comes fairly often and will take us there too. we´re going out tomorrow, but once we have the car we´ll be driving all over the country and into panama to see the canal. I miss you all but everything here is gorgeous and relaxing and healing and perfect, so you probably won´t be seeing me for as long as my money lasts.... love love love, ex´s and oh´s.
jos
p.s. for those of you who saw it, the gash in my knee is sooo infected. awesome...
--
"I pray that your prayers be answered in kisses" -- saul williams
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Your message has been sent.
gabrielle toft to Josie
show details 2:16 PM (2 minutes ago)
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josie,
i cant fully write all that i want to as im at work. and i find that i can never adequately describe what i want to say when i really need to say it (or can i?) unless you are around, and then it seems like the good lines or advice or the truth, even when it hurts, come flowing from me.
im so proud of you first of all. that you have made these great leaps and bounds out of comfort and lifestyle and easiness to go be a part of something wild and adventurous and scary. im terribly jealous. so jealous my bones hurt, but thats okay. its jealousy of our closest friends that makes things stir in us and forces us to seek out the things we are capable of and test ourselves, and then i guess, its not jealousy at all...but something much more like...well...i dont know. like, love.
i wish the best for you.
keep me updated. like, on everything. i will try to make magic happen here at home, so that when you do come back there will be a safe place for you and your new pup (youre nuts but i totally understand) to land.
i miss you like fucking hell.
i miss you like i missed summer, like i miss 19, like i miss myself as a little girl, carefree, dirty face, sweaty brow. i miss you so much.
work it out, baby. thats my mantra, however you may take it.
say hello to shanny, and take care of each other. take care of your heart. heal up. and let me know how that goes. i feel so open and wounded and raw all the time. but i guess that is part of the healing, leaving it to the open air, and chance.
you are beautiful in everything you do, i couldnt ask for a more perfect friend. come home soon you dead ass baby.
keep it nitty,
love,
g
a drive is never long enough, nor a song, nor a kiss
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
rocket man
its a shame to be so sad on such an incredible day. i give myself guilt trips on the mornings i wake up next to you and just cant perform, the mornings im quiet and slow and smile like i mean it but i dont, and i dont know why, because nothing makes me happier than a warm day, or you. its hot at 830am when we leave your house. i hold my jacket at my side and my legs are already sweating in the place where your hand rested last night as we fell asleep. the curtains moved this morning and your eyes were more blue than i have ever seen them as the light comes in over the buildings on polk. the meth clinic across the street that last night had been all turquoise windows and white shades drawn is beginning to wake up. silence is beginning to eat at me. sometimes i feel like i am too messy for you. that i am a disaster, that i cant even pin point where i go wrong and whether or not the things i write about are right, whether any of it matters. im telling you all these things as we drive freeways, deep blue, black stencil trees, yellow tunnel lights on the back of your neck, your hand on my bare knee and my skin holds the day, hot and dry, and when we get back to the city my mouth has almost stopped working and i dont know why i shut down when all i really want to do is let it all out.
this is one of my favorite songs and i feel a little bit less crazy and wild and mad when i hear it, when i read the words.
She packed my bags last night pre-flight
Zero hour nine a.m.
And I’m gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the earth so much I miss my wife
It’s lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight
And I think it’s gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I’m not the man they think I am at home
Oh no no no I’m a rocket man
Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it’s cold as hell
And there’s no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science I don’t understand
It’s just my job five days a week
A rocket man, a rocket man
And I think it’s gonna be a long long time...
because its calming me down tonight. aloe sits in the fridge in some apartment i dont have yet, one like my apartment on irving, big, airy, wood floors and long hallways, tiles and kitchen cabinets filled with all my own things, magazines and fancy rice milk that i like in the mornings in cereal while i sit at my craft table in the kitchen and watch rain fall, or on back steps in a back yard. i have to do things like this. last night b cant fall back asleep and i rub his back and tell him to get comfortable and think about a trip you want to go on and all the fun things that you will do. sometimes its these small things we know about people, that for me, i like to think about a place, a home, surroundings, and how those things comfort me, make me still, and safe and that for him, its moving around, going places, shaking things up and opening his eyes in another country that makes him feel alive, and after a few minutes settles him back to sleep.
t talks about tattoos and mars and albert einstein earlier today and it seems all these things are inter-related somehow. that its not about finding your souls counterpoint in another person, its finding that other person that feels what you feel, when you do, and wants to be wherever you are, mars, portland, china, whatever. we must not forget these people that we were, and risk forgetting the people we changed to be.
and then theres this:
which i can totally see myself in some corner booth in portland in the rain, with a cig, writing you letters when youre not there.
The city streets are wet with rain tonight
Taxi drivers swerve from lane to lane
A lonely guitar man playin down the hall
Midnight blues comin through the walls
I tried to call you on the telephone
I left it off the hook
Just to hear it ring
You told me you were better off alone
I never knew that tears could stain
Im on the roof and Im starin at the stars
Lookin down at all the cars
I can see you
In the window of your favorite corner bar
But to reach you is just too far
And I might as well be on mars
The city seems so old and grey and beat
It closes in and makes me wanna suffocate
And you just live across the street
But thats a billion miles away
Youve turned my world into a dark and lonely place
Like a planet lost in space, my light is fadin
Id cross the universe to be right where you are
But Im right in your backyard
And I might as well be on mars
Chorus
I might as well be on mars
You cant see me
I might as well be the man on the moon
You cant hear me
Oh, can you feel me so close
And yet so far
Baby, I might as well be on mars
Baby, I cant fly
If I could Id come down to ya
Maybe I should try
Im on the roof and Im starin at the stars
Lookin down at all lthe cars
I can see you
In the window of your favorite corner bar
But to reach is just too far
And I might as well be on mars
what am i talking about? i dont know, i really dont know. someone once said to me, you are your art, and my art is madness right now, all over the place, so i guess im a little bit mad myself.
this is one of my favorite songs and i feel a little bit less crazy and wild and mad when i hear it, when i read the words.
She packed my bags last night pre-flight
Zero hour nine a.m.
And I’m gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the earth so much I miss my wife
It’s lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight
And I think it’s gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I’m not the man they think I am at home
Oh no no no I’m a rocket man
Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it’s cold as hell
And there’s no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science I don’t understand
It’s just my job five days a week
A rocket man, a rocket man
And I think it’s gonna be a long long time...
because its calming me down tonight. aloe sits in the fridge in some apartment i dont have yet, one like my apartment on irving, big, airy, wood floors and long hallways, tiles and kitchen cabinets filled with all my own things, magazines and fancy rice milk that i like in the mornings in cereal while i sit at my craft table in the kitchen and watch rain fall, or on back steps in a back yard. i have to do things like this. last night b cant fall back asleep and i rub his back and tell him to get comfortable and think about a trip you want to go on and all the fun things that you will do. sometimes its these small things we know about people, that for me, i like to think about a place, a home, surroundings, and how those things comfort me, make me still, and safe and that for him, its moving around, going places, shaking things up and opening his eyes in another country that makes him feel alive, and after a few minutes settles him back to sleep.
t talks about tattoos and mars and albert einstein earlier today and it seems all these things are inter-related somehow. that its not about finding your souls counterpoint in another person, its finding that other person that feels what you feel, when you do, and wants to be wherever you are, mars, portland, china, whatever. we must not forget these people that we were, and risk forgetting the people we changed to be.
and then theres this:
which i can totally see myself in some corner booth in portland in the rain, with a cig, writing you letters when youre not there.
The city streets are wet with rain tonight
Taxi drivers swerve from lane to lane
A lonely guitar man playin down the hall
Midnight blues comin through the walls
I tried to call you on the telephone
I left it off the hook
Just to hear it ring
You told me you were better off alone
I never knew that tears could stain
Im on the roof and Im starin at the stars
Lookin down at all the cars
I can see you
In the window of your favorite corner bar
But to reach you is just too far
And I might as well be on mars
The city seems so old and grey and beat
It closes in and makes me wanna suffocate
And you just live across the street
But thats a billion miles away
Youve turned my world into a dark and lonely place
Like a planet lost in space, my light is fadin
Id cross the universe to be right where you are
But Im right in your backyard
And I might as well be on mars
Chorus
I might as well be on mars
You cant see me
I might as well be the man on the moon
You cant hear me
Oh, can you feel me so close
And yet so far
Baby, I might as well be on mars
Baby, I cant fly
If I could Id come down to ya
Maybe I should try
Im on the roof and Im starin at the stars
Lookin down at all lthe cars
I can see you
In the window of your favorite corner bar
But to reach is just too far
And I might as well be on mars
what am i talking about? i dont know, i really dont know. someone once said to me, you are your art, and my art is madness right now, all over the place, so i guess im a little bit mad myself.
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