all hands up

i been takin a break. since all those lost words for wyoming. reading, playing music, trying to convince myself my voice is worthwhile. i dread going to bed every night, laying awake uncomfortable, waiting to pass on and i take pills to help but they don't. not until the morning when i can't bring myself to roll over. but i dream every night. spectacular dreams. i lay in bed and write music in my head. i write literature. compose short stories i wish i would remember in the morning. only in the static time. only when my mind is the only thing working. only when i'm trying to convince it to stop.

and how much has happened since then? lost loves, new old firearms, making records, playing with handguns? i read a couple more books. made a couple more faux friends.

i was driving today, down the same old country highway, daydreaming. i think now of the last time i was there, going the other direction, of the ecstacy of music, of the screamed words, of the time and it was only a couple days ago but i can't remember. and i composed all these wonderful words in my head to describe it all but it's all lost on me. and i meant to write it all down but it all got lost in the barrel of a gun. i was driving today, down the same old country highway, daydreaming. i dreamed a radio station out of ncsu. i dreamed it was three in the morning and i was supposed to be dee-jaying for a couple hours. somebody has to do it. i dreamed i wondered if anybody was really out there. i let loose a message over the air, if anybody is awake, anybody at all, call up here and i would ask them what the fuck was going on. and someone would say something and someone else would call in and argue with them and i would mediate between phone calls, play a song or two in between for good measure - some amorino i suppose - when i came upon a church. this being a mile or two from my house, i knew it well, though never visited. saw a great white cadillac hearse in the drive, lot filled. five or six pall bearers sat on the steps under the peeking sun, some smoking, some lounging around, some standing. fat men and black suits. their charge under glass. i was playing reggae loudly, too loudly for a funeral. i wonder if they heard.