2 coffees and an O.J.

I cried while driving to work this morning.  I was listening to the song Spotlight by Shakira and driving the same route I take every miserable workday and I simply burst into tears.  One would think the edge would have worn off by now but it still hurts just as much every time I’m faced with the utter meaninglessness of my life.  I wish I could find meaning and satisfaction in all the irrelevant daily bullshit as so many of my contemporaries are able to find but I was not blessed with their capacity for happiness.  I once knew a man who lived entirely to make as much money as he could.  He seemed quite miserable but the funny thing was I don’t think he actually realized he was dreadfully unhappy.  All the same he existed in a world void of WHATEVER….  When faced with his particular brand of ugly part of me wished to lash out quite violently in an act of revolted extermination.  The other part of me only wished to run away and never have any sort of contact with this man again.

During the peak morning hours I put on Marvin Gaye’s amazing classic beautiful perfect 2002 album What’s Going On (the lack of question mark in the title is a key to the record’s themes which occasionally gets overlooked, suffice it to say this work has lost none of its relevancy or potency over the years).  However I removed the disc when I realized it was much better suited to evenings and dead of nights (late afternoons at the absolute earliest) than mornings.  That is no fault of the artist nor is it an indictment of the music itself.  But What’s Going On is an album that begs to be listened in the dark hours, either on busy roads in taxi cabs with swarms of city lights blurring bye or in RUSTIC bars where the air is thick and where the clientale all have a tortured tail 2 drinks away from being told or in the privacy of one’s home, curled up with a glass of wine, love optional.   There was a period in my life where I listened to this album on a nightly basis, often more than once and even now it is difficult to imagine more than a week going by without this music gracing my waxy earholes. 

Instead I slapped on the YEAR album Up! By Shania Twain.  This might seem like a jarring change to some but it made perfect sense to me and I think pundits will look back on it as a masterful move in the overall chess game of life.  Up! is quite simply a pop masterpiece and its central conceit – the album comes with 2 discs featuring the same 19 songs but with one featuring more country instrumentation and the other pop instrumentation – was and is a gaudy and audacious production choice that continues to fascinate and reward on repeated listening all these many years later.  Honestly, just listen to the first single IM GONNA GETCHA GOOD and marvel at that perfect thick slice of pop perfection. 

I recently purchased new copies of Pearl Jam’s YEAR and YEAR albums Yield and Binaural.  I’ve owned these albums for a massive chunk of my miserable life and I’ve listened to them countless times and it precisely this passionate and dedicated listening which resulted in their physical manifestations ceasing to function and necessitating that I work overtime in order to afford new copies.  These albums – indeed, damn near the entirety of the group’s principal discography along with a very healthy slice of their always excellent live “bootlegs” – have helped me through some very trying times and basically enriched so many of the ups and downs of my peculiar and tortured existence over the years.  When I’ve rejoiced they were there alongside me and when I despaired they held me and we wept together.  If I could only listen to one Jam release for the rest of my increasingly dark days I would almost certainly pick one of their live recordings but were I forced to choose my favorite of their proper albums there is an extremely decent chance I would select Yield.  The last five songs on there are about the most perfect sequence of tunes a guy like me can imagine. 

My desires and dreams are exactly the same as countless people who came before me.  I do not wish for anything unique at all for my life.  At the same time I do as little as possible to accomplish these lackluster, worthless shoals.  I don’t truly want the love of a cheeseburger – the fact that I literally do nothing to find it and let it go as something useless on the rare occasions it falls into my hands are testament to this – but the idea of a cheeseburger somehow being crucial coupled with my having witnessed this dynamic in so many others makes me think it is something I want and perhaps something crucial to my having a “successful” life. 

I ate expired yogurt this morning.  It made me feel like a real man for once in my life.  I think there’s going to be another war.  There were two old guys talking on the beach while not fifteen yards away a bird was pecking at the carcass of another bird.  They happened upon the house that Jack built and from there recounted their sordid tale, in so much as it could be recounted under those highly secretive and highly extenuating circumstances.  A painter’s psychic visions have continued to haunt me these recent years. 

I very recently saw the movie John Wick. 

I recently watched the movie Interstellar.

I also watched the movie Birdman at some point in time. 

Jonathan had control of the faith sector.  I think I remember who the writer was but I would have to triple check to be sure.  I keep seeing that figure cloaked in red from the corner of my eye.  I have nearly fallen into the canal on several occasions.  The act in the bedroom may have seemed simulated but it was not. 

Was there someone in my house last night?  How did you get inside my house?  I sing to myself while sitting in my office.  Things walk by and it’s hard to recognize them.  I think I’m losing control but then a tiny but insistent voice always reminds me that I never actually had control to begin with.  I think for lunch I’ll eat a pastrami on rye sandwich with some mayonnaise and mustard.  There are chromatic swans clouding my vision. 

I always pretend it’s you.  Sometimes it almost works. 

I love absolute zero

Hey I just met you.  This is fucking psychotic.  But here’s my hand in marriage.  Call me neurotic.  That’s what I would say to her if only I could.  If only I had the guts. 

If I could I would fill a giant vat with waffle batter and then jump into it, letting warm, thick and smooth batter caress every inch of my body.  I can imagine few things as pleasurable as that.

I was as shocked as anyone to find that I’ve become a massive fan of the Counting Crows.  In the past month or so I’ve purchased four of their albums, including their newest release.  Maybe it’s age catching up to me.  Suddenly Duritz’s words are hitting me deep and making me reconsider everything I once thought to be true.  Their records speak to me!  I love them!

People are always asking me why I don’t watch more television and I always tell them I find it to be a heartbreaking medium where even the best and most promising programs often devolve into cheap stunts, progressively rote characters and needlessly extended storytelling.  That’s just one man’s humble opinion of course.  I strongly suspect one day I will become an avid TV zombie and catch up on all the shows everyone in the entire world has raving about for these past two decades. 

However one recent show I absolutely could not resist watching no matter how hard I tried was The Flash which premiered some 5 weeks ago on America’s favorite CW network.  Those who know me best know of my deep seated love for the scarlet speedster and that he is second only to a couple dozen other characters in the pantheon of my all-time-favorites.  I was happy that this particular incarnation was spinning off the show Arrow as I had found that show to be of a high and consistent quality in providing very satisfactory superheroic romps on a weekly basis. 

So with a potent mixture of mind shattering terror and giddy anticipation I watched The Flash and have found that I’m enjoying it to a dangerously high level.  The tone is perfect for the character and his adventures and I feel the creators have really nailed the heart of his mythology. All the teases and Easter eggs and the near certainty of Zoom presenting himself have filled me with girlish glee and I genuinely look forward to each new installment.  Last week’s episode introduced Captain Cold – one of my all time favorite villains – played by Prison Break’s Wentworth Miller and he was written and portrayed to icy perfection and set up to return throughout the season.  The episode itself was titled Going Rogue and that alone was enough to make me weep with crocodile tears of joy and ensure that I will stay with this series for the long haul. 

Regarding American Horror Story, lots of folks have been commenting on Twisty the Clown (played by John Carroll Lynch) and how scary he is so I watched an episode and was disappointed as ever.  He looks hip and is a great visual but is not scary in any way.  I so want to like American Horror Story and I’ve seen several episodes from various seasons but it always seems to be trying too hard and still coming up short.  The situations, acting, atmosphere and effects feel very much to me like what a child might find frightening and I am often reminded of the Goosebumps series of books.  It is a very safe brand of horror and horror should never be safe.  What the hell do I know though?  It’s wildly popular.  I did like when Jessica Lange sang the David Bowie song Life on Mars in a recent episode because that is one of my all time favorite tunes.  Maybe if every episode featured a Bowie song I would like it more.   

My dream of seeing all Mark Rothko’s paintings in person is one step closer to completion after a recent trip to the amazing Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota and standing mere inches away from Rothko’s 1953 painting Untitled.  This is a truly beautiful piece of work and seeing it – swimming inside its color and being devoured by its heart – was an honor.  This also happens to be the first one I’ve seen in person so the projected completion of my dream is still quite a ways away.  Still, my passion is equal to the task. 

Naysayers are predicting I’ll die before my quest is complete but I plan to prove all of them wrong.  I plan to see them all dead and buried and then I will promptly perform a jig on their graves and laugh all the way to the bank where I will open up a joint checking account with my long lost twin brother.  I would like to plan trips to Houston, Texas to visit the Rothko Chapel as well as New York, New York to visit the Museum of Modern Art as they both house several of Rothko’s paintings and my checklist would be able to amass quite a few more checks.  If anyone is interested in making donations for these trips please let me know.  Who knows?  Perhaps I would able to assist in fulfilling one of your dreams as well….

I thought the green dress shirt I put on today after showering and shaving was clean but I may have been in error.  I have smelled myself all day and have not much liked what I’ve smelt.  I also ate yogurt this morning for what it’s worth. 

Next I plan to tame the beast and watch him fall.  Love conquers all.  I remember vividly a summer in my formative years when I was madly in love with Lynda Carter.  Although even now I’m still not sure if I was in love with her or with Wonder Woman.  Even that is a bit of a puzzler because it would be difficult – maybe even impossible – to further deduce whether I was in love with Wonder Woman or with the Lynda Carter actualization/version/interpretation of Wonder Woman.  Where does one end and the other begin?  Am I even able to separate the two as distinct entities in my tortured mind?  Carter’s Wonder Woman is still definitive and a glorious take on the character.  DC recently announced a new comic series which would feature further adventures of that specific iteration of the character (similar to their successful Batman 66’ series which are adventures of the Adam West and Burt Ward version of Batman and Robin) and I am pleased as punch by this.  But nothing will ever replace the real thing.  She’s the real thing.  Even better than the real thing. 

The Old Testament of the Bible is very interesting.  I need to read more of it and conduct copious amounts of research to increase my understanding.  

Right under my nose new albums were released by Los Tigres del Norte and Elida y Avante.  I was a fool not to realize this sooner.  So many things have been escaping my notice recently.  Today I will hitchhike to a local Mom & Pop (or is it Ma & Pa?) style store to purchase both albums.  Then I will listen to them and reflect on the truly meaningful life I almost had.  Both great bands.  I’ve seen Elida twice now and Los Tigres zero times.  I would love to see either of them again. 

I’ve been thinking of buying an upright bass (or double bass if you prefer) but I probably won’t.  I don’t have any of the skills necessary to play one.  But I imagine it being a very satisfying instrument.  Like water through a sieve. 

I recently started reading a new book.

O (Part 4 of 10)

This is the end.  In those final moments I am able to learn so much.  Where did this boldness come from?  Did anyone forget about anyone else?  I don't believe it is possible that such luck exists.  But in the end you understand the awful truth behind it all.  You understood but you'd found a way to beat it at its own game.  You pierced through all the lies and found meaning where there should have been none.  

You touched me just once and I felt such love and desire and pure ecstasy that my body began to twist and contort and I started grinding my teeth and I wanted to scream at the sheer joy I was feeling, my soul was in a state of rapture and your light was passing through me and I breathed it into my lungs and submitted my entire body to it and I was bleeding and it felt wonderful and I was twisting and trying to reach out once more and you started to sing and my eyes were unable to stay open as pleasure erupted through my every nerve and rational thought become impossible. 

Somewhere there are teacups shattering and two men kissing and everything imaginary is wonderful and I desperately wish I could stay inside my mind.  I know you speak to me at night while I am dreaming and I always look for you in those moments.  But so often that euphoria is forgotten, taken from me by the cruel morning. Where is all this domestic joy?  Why I only receive illusions in exchange for my trouble? 

I saw your radiance while in the park where you cradled life in your arms.  I laughed at my pretensions.  What if I confessed that every time I look out that shared window into the streets I imagine stepping in front of any oncoming truck in the hopes of a swift demise?  What would you tell me if I expressed that?  For two straight hours this morning I did nothing but beg for your forgiveness.  I heard echoes of your fallen tears from so many years ago.  I saw statues made of gold and briefly I was able to traverse all those dreams you once had which never came true. 

I have realized that indifference is the most awful thing.  This entire confession - every single word I have ever written or ever will write - is utterly meaningless.  There is a picture in my room and I am able to going inside and enter a new planet that has orange skies and the ground beneath my feet is made of glass and stretches out untold miles in every direction.  I can feel electricity in the air around me and my whole body pulses with its current.  Sometimes while I'm there I fall down on my knees and put my hands on my head and my temples feel like they are being drilled into and all I can do is scream and I want to break the glass beneath me and see where it is I would fall.  I crash again and again and I beg your forgiveness, I beg both of you for forgiveness and you both have heard my cries and I wonder when I will run out of second chances.  You should have thrown me out and left me there.  Why didn't you just leave me there?   

Your lights paint the landscape for me in shades of purple and blue and pink.  I see you step out into the rain and when it is dark you wrap your arms around me and tell me everything is going to be okay and I close my eyes and it feels so good and like I don't even exist.  For a few fleeting seconds I am completely absent from this or any world and it is complete bliss for everyone.  Then I am back but I am still with you and the tide is coming in and I hang on to your robe and I am crying and you have your hand on me but you don't say anything at first.  The colors in your eyes change every second.  

All those letters we wrote however many years ago are just mountains of words I’m throwing into the fire.  I have burned everything away a thousand times before but it always comes back.  Every time I promise myself I won’t read them again but my heart is a liar.  There was such hope in those words and somehow I am able to feel it all over again.  But inevitably I keep reading to the end.  All I can ever find is emptiness. 

There were vanishing angels and you spoke in language I had never heard before.  It was soft and melodic and I imagined you there at the end of everything.  Sometimes we’re sitting at a table together and sipping wine and talking.  The sun is setting and the ocean is nearby and the night promises everything.  There is nowhere I would rather be.  Other times we are alone and I am always on my knees.  Have you ever been truly blessed with freedom?  Do either one of us know what fulfillment feels like? 

I realize this is all so ugly.  It would be far better for there to be glass between us.  Everyone knows someone like me.  There is a network and they all pass this information along as they should.  

Most of all I recall in this final moment truly feeling as though you cared.  You said it not once but many times and I would have gladly made a fool of myself for the rest of my days if that was to be my reward.  I see you in white with a red flower in your hair and even as my life slips away I am able to leave in peace.  

You will see every one of them with me and at the next millennium we will be dancing together.

He says this is the end but he knows he'll be back again.  

O (Part 3 of 10)

He kisses me on the cheek first and then on the lips. This is what he always does.  And if he leaves before I do he always gives me a kiss.  I have no idea why since it is never long before we see one another again.  His kiss is exactly the same whether he is kissing me goodbye or hello, whether it is in the morning or right before bed, whether he just saw me 30 minutes ago or whether he’s come back from a long visit away with his family.  Always the cheek first, close to the corner of my mouth and then on the lips.  Half the time his lips are chapped and cracking and I hate the way they feel against mine but I never tell him this.  I never would have imagined the span of a few seconds can feel so tortuous. 

My memories are funny things and sometimes when I close my eyes to remember or I look through old photo albums – its weird being able to remember when photos existed more in binders and clear plastic sheets than on computers and phones – I can feel exactly how I felt during those moments.  But when I close the book or open my eyes the feelings leave in an instant and even though I know this is going to happen it is still always somehow a surprise.  I am detached from both the people in those old photos and what’s around me has started to look decayed.  There’s a dull throbbing between my temples and more and more it sparks a sudden rush of panic and my brain’s instant defense response – deniability – has become almost completely ineffective. 

Yet there is so much beauty to be found around me if I look close and if I have the will.  I want to create and give life to new and exciting things.  It springs forth from my fingertips without effort sometimes.  The image is in my brain and then it is reality and I can give it to someone and see them smile.  Or sometimes it is not effortless at all and it is grueling and painful but I love that too and there is almost nothing more to which I’d rather devote my time.  Why are we denied so much of this? 

I made you a scarf.  I don’t know why I did not tell him this.  I’ve made things for many people before.  What was different about this?  I only worked on it when he wasn’t around and even though it was only gray and black I spent a silly amount of time looking at different shades.  It took about five times as long to make as it should have and I loved every second of its creation.  I hid it in my purse one morning; wrapped it in paper and placed it underneath my gloves and checkbook and little orange bottles of pills.  My insides fluttered in a way I did not think possible anymore on the day I gave it to you.  I waited until no one else was around.  You said you loved it and I believe you.  It is a moment I travel back to often but only when I’m alone. 

On Sunday mornings I worship and I pray and then I spend the rest of my time sinning.  I don’t ask for forgiveness anymore.  Maybe that doesn’t make me as much of a hypocrite as I used to be but I imagine it’s all the same to God.  I don’t want to pretend.  I love both of you more than anything and that will never change.  Every morning I wake up and I still feel the same pride and happiness as on the first days that I knew you and the first days when we finally met.  But neither of you are going to be with me for much longer.  I don’t think I’ll be able to pretend when you’re gone.  That’s the fear that presses down on my chest in the middle of the night and makes my heart beat a little faster around closing time where our roles become more defined and far less easy to hide from. 

There is much more than this.  You were right when you said that to me.  Even though it’s something I’ve known for years I keep that thought locked up tight somewhere.  But why did you say that? How could you have such desperation in your eyes?  How could you feel exactly what I’m feeling?

I said you shouldn’t be walking.  I can give you a ride there.  That’s what I wanted to say.  There would be no harm in that.  I can give you ride and make sure you’re safe.  I’ll turn on the radio or put on something from my phone and we can talk about music.  You can tell if you liked that book.  You can tell me where you grew up.  We can talk about where we would go. 

I only feign indifference.  You must realize that on some level.  I want you to be happy.  This desire was unexpected and wonderful.  I’m not allowed to feel it but sometimes I let it happen just for a little while.  If nothing else I want you to remember that I wish you heaven.  I don’t know why it’s important to me but maybe if that’s all there is then maybe that will be enough.  When so many weeks pass by I start to worry we will never see each other again but this is never true.  You never stay away for too long.  I don’t allow myself to indulge but someone joked – thankfully not to him – that you are weak and powerless and in love.  I allowed myself to believe that for a day.  I experienced more happiness than I’d ever dreamed.  Then I banished those feelings.   

This is all only fantasy.  A wish fulfillment of the saddest and most obvious kind.  Of course, I am incapable of truly understanding.  This is all shattered ego and tortured desire screaming for attention.  But it is nothing worthy of a second thought. 

You told me once that you liked to paint.  I would love to see one of your paintings.  

O (Part 2 of 10)

It is night and I am swimming.  There is a voice I can barely hear against the crashing waves and it brings me comfort.  The moon is reflected on me and through its glow I can see dolphins break the surface and crash through below once more. 

I do not know how long I’ve waited; it could be millions of years as easily as it could be a day.  But I know I’ve been waiting to meet you.  I have heard your laugh against the waves.  I have seen your face when looking up at the stars and though I can never quite make out the color of your eyes I can see they easily top any pairing of sun and sky and anything descending over the horizon.  I swear I’ve felt your touch in those moments where I dare to dream.  And I have seen the waves of glorious black, a black darker than the ocean’s depths.  That I may touch those waves and ride along one is the wonderful desire that gives me the strength and resolve to push and fight and always stay near the surface. I have the overwhelming sensation that something is going to change. 

At once the sun is white and blinding.  Perhaps thrown by the hand of God or maybe just a brush stroke on his canvas, the scattering of molecules paints a portrait in blue for me and it feels like it is for the very first time.  Everyone is crashing around me and I know many of them are terrified of what may happen but I do not feel this way.  I am ready. 

My world becomes light and we are scattered and thrust up into the air.  The place I called home, the only place I ever knew, is now below me and every second it is farther away. For the very first time in my life I know what it feels like to be completely alone and it is a wondrous thing.  It is a feeling I will remember for all time but it is not how this will end.  I was born to touch you. 

I look around and see millions of souls with whom I shared my existence.  We are all burning and many are screaming and sometimes those screams still echo as they completely vanish from this life.  Others have a look of such heightened pleasure and they inhale that heat and it fills their bodies and transforms them and drives them higher.  The matter is only changed, it never completely goes away.  I breathe in the heat and my love and my devotion survive this initial transformation stronger than before. 

I see such wonders from up here.  My home stretches out untold miles in all directions and is magnificent but what is now in my line of sight and above is truly infinite and home to wonders which seem just as endless.  For a moment I witness the pillars of creation, these interstellar works of art.  But I can look away because what awaits me is greater.  I see now with so much more clarity those night stars, the suns that fulfill their central role to their respective galaxies.  How many are there just lying in wait under one of those suns, lying in wait for their moment? 

And I am moving, I am flying without wings and I can smell my former home and it is a good memory.  I see now the shores and the sand and still our span is stretching out, going further inward.  I can feel you are much closer and I will not yet be lost and allow myself to leave as so many around me have done.  I pass hills and mountains and fields of flowers.  There are moments where I feel as though I flicker in and out of existence but I do not panic, you are near and I will not have come this far only to fail now. 

Everything is dark and there is a cacophony that nearly deafens me, brilliant bursts of light flash all around me.  I am ready.  I know this is not heaven.  You are below.  I am transformed again and at once I am falling.  Everyone else falls around me and I no longer see any familiar faces.  As when we were first going up many of them are screaming but I am still not afraid.  The light continues to flash all around us, racing to the bottom and back again and beating us every time.  I start to laugh, how can I not?  This new world is coming into sharp focus. 

And I hit.  I collide with steel and the impact is tremendous but there is no pain and I am able to keep myself from separating.  There is something almost musical in the sound of those around me striking this structure and striking the earth.  I allow myself only a passing second to wonder where their own journeys will take them.  Some nearby have joined together and are threatening to overtake me but I do not let them.  With all my strength I push forward and then I am sliding down and down.  I stop, just on the edge. 

And I see you.

You are shielding yourself, allowing no one to come near.  You are more beautiful than in my dreams.  Your smile alone has made the entire journey and everything leading up to it worthwhile.  I pray that you are not some illusion but then you laugh and the sound is pure joy and blissfully real.  And finally there are those glorious waves of black, darker than the roaring sky or all the space which contains those once seen stars, darker than the bottom of the ocean. 

Just a bit more, just a centimeter more.  I trace your movement and I can see I will only have one chance.  Others are advancing but this is not their story, this is not their love.  Now.  A split second before you move I jump and once more I am falling.  The distance is mere a fraction of my previous descent but I swear the time that elapses is far greater.  Oh please. 

I am inside.  I am inside and everything is you and it is glorious.  Everything that makes up your body, I taste.  It merges with me and I am breathing in your spirit, your love.  It is ecstasy.  But I begin to slide down.  I do my best to keep hold but I am unable and I slide down to the end.  I hang there and I am transfixed by the sight of your eyes.  There are oceans and stars inside there as well, full of colors that have not yet been identified.  I don’t want to leave but I cannot hang on for much longer.  This is the only moment in my life I can ever remember feeling truly terrified.  I pray to please not fall; please do not pull me away from this.  But then a gesture of natural grace – a motion you must enact everyday – the waves are swept back and I am closer than ever.  The air around me is perfume.  The only sounds I will ever hear now are your honeyed voice and your laughter.  All I will ever see now is this impossible and perfect black.  All I will ever touch and taste is you.  I am safe.  I am home.

O (Part 1 of 10)

Of course I can’t remember when it began. 

I wandered the streets and had no idea where I was going.  The alleyways and avenues were twisted distortions of places I once knew.  Roads either stretched out to dead ends or all the way to the horizon line where they disappeared forever.  The shops and stores were tilted and in bizarre shapes, their architecture quite impossible yet they presented themselves as friendly and welcoming, the colors vibrant and I do believe there was music playing in the background.  I saw the restaurant and it looked nothing like itself but I knew it was the right place.

There may or may not have been a door at the entrance.  If there was it might have been one of those double swinging doors like the kind often seen in old Westerns.  I found a booth and took a seat.  The walls were blue. 

I would recognize you anywhere.  It starts in waves which are black as coal.  And then there is an angelic white, like bed sheets.  In the center of everything are twin oceans whose color I cannot identify. 

Maybe it started because I needed to come out of the rain.  Did you pretend not to know me at first?  It was playful and heartbreaking.  But there was just the tease of a smile at the corner of your lips and that was enough.  The drinks were strong and you said so very little. 

You told me to come back later.  You spoke in a language I should not have understood but this did not matter.  I asked for a more specific time but you did not give me one.  You said you would let me know. 

I wanted to see you but I promised myself I would not do this anymore.  That promise was a lie, just as I knew it would be.  It’s not a matter of strength of ethics or personal resolve.  Whether or not I possess self control is irrelevant.  My joy and my desire are diseased things that can’t help but intermingle.  They whisper in my ear and the sound is so sweet. 

The phone rang and I ran up the stairs to answer.   I somehow knew it would be your voice yet I felt terrified.  Was it unthinkable the sentiment might be shared?  Are we going to be here for much longer?  Is there a prayer of a chance? 

But it was you and hearing the voice through the phone for the first time was exciting in a way I did not anticipate.  You apologized for calling on my home phone and said you did not have the number for my cell.  I was momentarily confused as I did not remember even having a home phone but I let this confusion pass as it did not ultimately matter. 

“I’m still at the restaurant,” you said. 

My heart accelerated.  I did not say anything.  A word – any word at all – from my mouth would perhaps shatter this fantasy, leaving only the gray and indifferent reality in its wake. 

You continued, “You should come in again.  For a drink.  No one else is here.”

It was not a short drive.  I would speed.  The highway would not have much traffic at this hour.

“I’ll wait,” you said. 

“But…won’t someone care that you’re having drinks with me?” The phrasing of question was undeniably poor, certain words caught in my throat and refused release. 

“Absolutely.  He’ll care very much.  Which is why you’re not going to tell anyone.  I’m certainly not going to tell anyone.”

I don’t remember driving there.  I can recall a single image of the glow of street lights smeared across the sky like it was paint on a canvas.  The sky was a navy blue. 

I entered and you were standing by our booth.  There were two glasses on the table.  There was the same radiance which had been present in our very first encounter, the same which was present in every subsequent moment we’ve shared. 

Everything in a haze.  That we were sitting across from one another and having a conversation was something that never could have happened.  And yet there we were.  The duration of one drink.  Was there a universe created somewhere in that span of time?  Were perhaps billions of lives undone and put back together in new configurations?  Or maybe only two lives.  Two would be enough.  Only a few minutes but those minutes mean more than entire years of life.  Details shared and it is the most intimate thing imaginable to know that no one else exists for that span of time. 

And then it was over.  It had to be.  But I did not yet feel myself slipping away.  There was still that smile and perhaps a promise that this was only the beginning.  The word “always” came to mind and I felt warm and safe.  I felt peace.  And love.  I wish I could remember if we hugged.  I do not recall how we said goodbye. 

There were no more stars after I left.  I imagine we were both looking at the same thing.  It’s hard not to wonder where your hopes went at the dawn.  There were tears of regret and tears of betrayal.  They were calm and slow and accompanied with a silent asking for forgiveness. 

The days are going to turn away from us again and no one will see where we are or what is inside.  I am certain it is for the best and I even feel thankful.  But underneath all of that is a crippling desire to begin again.    

Even if there is nothing else I still have so many pages which were first seen by your eyes.  I will follow through all these worlds to which you have ventured.  Maybe you even left something in one of them for me. 

I know my words need to be like water until this is all gone.  I want to thank John for showing me how. 

I don't know which Alice to love more

I am starting to believe you are all the same person.  Once at the church, again at the diner, once more in bed and still there when I close my eyes.  What is this symphony that echoes through the chambers?  I have tried to comply with what you asked.  To whom am I speaking?  Rhapsody in blue. 

The same words you have read pass before my eyes and it is the only way I can know your mind.  The word “possession” is the only thing that makes any sense.   I still do not know what color they truly are.  It hurts but I cannot look away.  She caught me in the dark. 

He needs you right now just as you need him.  Of everyone I have ever seen… 

I see everyone through breaking glass. Do you dream like a child?  I think that you know what to do. It does smell pretty, she said.  And how right she was. 

I am going to think about you every Sunday morning (maybe just Sunday or maybe Sunday evening). 

My sunflower.  My sunflower, you leave me dancing

I imagine you with a mask, a pink mask, that’s how I want to see you. 

These things glisten like metal. 

Oh Johnnie, this world you have opened up to me. 

Heaven sent.  My sunflower I know this is the truth.  This is far too complex for such a simple man.  And then the explosions begin.  So much change in an empty, endless game and all I know is this true love I feel.  Everything is wrapped in a cloak of desire.  You can't help but leave so much behind.  And I could feel envy from others.

Fruit so supple it drips ambrosia.   There are endless fields by flowing rivers.  A paradise drenched in pink and purple.

It fills so much, please let me drink from your hands.

Don’t tell me your plans.  Love sprang forth in astonishment.  Temptation has a stranglehold on us.  Just one glance, black water on the shore.  We trade our virtue. 

The greatest motion.  Stars align themselves. Everything succumbs to blue and black.  I don’t dare venture back a second day.  You have eclipsed everything.  This is a raincloud on my life.  You drain my blood.

There is no greater beauty.  I took a vacation in the stars.  There was a harmony of love and desire.  He fled when he was saw what was in her eyes.  Everything was nuclear. 

No words to describe that movement.  He wrote a thousand of them and none of them seemed to fit.  There is nothing so pure.  Nothing else remains.  I have always searched for this.  In the morning she is there.  So many promises.  The veins. 

I would die for a dance.  The shoulder is the best place to be.  Think of this as my goodbye.  She could see it reflected in her own eyes.  There is nothing at the end of that street.  This is the last moment we speak.  It is better not to know. 

I can’t say anything in these moments of rhapsody.  Pianos go into overdrive.  You say words I have never heard.  I read words first seen by your eyes and they are far more beautiful for that.  How can I know you?  Tell me everything. 

My sunflower, I will search behind every glass door.  Where are you healing today?  I am just a guest.  So much rhythm all around us.  What difference does the choice make?  All those streets and alleys and shops all so connected.  We are at the top of the hill and see everything for once.  The other side of midnight is where you will see me next.

Desire was a transparent blue. 

You are there each and every time but I have no idea who you are.  I feel scared and oddly exhilarated.  You like to go places he doesn’t.  I wonder what places you could show me.  No, I never wonder that, I cannot.  I can’t allow you to steal away this perfect dream.  When you fall asleep at night what name is on your lips?  Who are you praying to before sleep takes you?  I know I was there at the beginning of things.  I would cradle you and wish for nothing more.  The days are few but they take an eternity to pass.  Leave me alone, no I don’t mean that.  What is everyone saying?  I go back and forth.  But it is all so beautiful; those are the words I hear.  Why is everyone afraid of going home again? 

There is a voice somewhere in the background telling me it is time to walk away.  I don’t want to listen to it but I know I will.  Someday in the park maybe.  We will be by a river or by an ocean.  From the terrace you hold out your arms as if for a hug and I can see you across the way, even when it is night. 

My spiral is never broken.  I have moments where I am absolutely certain none of this is real and I break down and cry because I realize no one I speak to actually exists.  Please someone tell me what is wrong with me. 

You’re exploding me again.  Just like you always do.  When the sun goes down I think we are both doing the same thing.  The music is quiet for just a moment and I am very terrified that the world is going to end soon.  The night smells familiar and it is wonderful and frightening.  Ah Monique, please arrest me. 

I may be going against the best advice but I am going to tell him my plans.  I agree we need a scheme but I know something will come to me.  Those brief moments together were everything and I believe I can be happy now that they are safely locked away forever.  What paintings will we see together?  I think we’ll be drinking something pink. 

I know I’ll see you at the next millennium.  

Album review: Songs of Innocence by U2

I was downtown having a few drinks at Valeria’s Mexican Restaurant when I saw the news.  Some 5 years after their last release No Line on the Horizon, U2 returned with their latest album entitled Songs of Innocence (I immediately caught the William Blake reference and enthralled everyone on the streets with my acumen!).  But not only did they return, they decided to announce the new record at an Apple conference (the company, not the fruit) and immediately release the album to all Apple iTunes customers at no cost, effectively reaching half a billion people in one fell swoop.  This news pleased me like a refreshing glass of fruit punch as I consider U2 to be one of my favorite bands of all time though I was bitterly disappointed with their 2009 release and eventually concluded it to be the worst of their albums.  Still, that’s just one man’s humble opinion and I’m always ready to enthusiastically embrace new material as I would a former lover who had just put on 30 extra pounds.

I immediately went home and logged into my iTunes account, downloaded the album onto my iPod (while my iPhone was charging with the iCharger) and then rushed back to Valeria’s with my iPod and iPod iEarbuds for the virgin listen.  You see, I could not possibly stay away from Valeria’s because Alicia and Angelica were working.  Oh sweet weighty goddesses with their huge behinds, oh wonderful pleasures of the flesh, how I adore you. 

And so it was that I stared at these two women while also reflecting upon the strange circumstances that led to my own bizarre life.  The files I’d also brought to the restaurant for review and analysis were of the most confidential nature and very soon I would be deciding the ultimate fates of no less than 3 men.  This task weighed heavily on me and as I stared and reflected and considered and drank I also opened up my waxy earholes and began to listen.   

The Miracle (of Joey Ramone) – The album started off in a sheepish manner and would have put me in a piss poor mood had I not been at Valeria’s.  I’m not sure who this song is in reference to but this is yet another tune whose chorus (or maybe it’s the pre-chorus in this case) is a chant of nothing in particular (or perhaps “Whooooooooooaaaaaawhooooooaaaa” is something in the ancient Sumerian language – the oldest language known to man and which I believe was first spoken and then subsequently passed down by ancient astronauts that now abduct us from our homes and perform horrifying medical experiments on us as part of a nefarious endgame the likes of which we cannot begin to imagine) and though it is a decent chant it is also perhaps the only memorable part of the song.  This strikes a rough note with me because I hate how stupid nonsensical chants have become a norm in popular music choruses these days.  Worse yet, the production (by Danger Mouse who handles production duties on the whole thing) coupled with those chants reminds of that godawful Imagine Dragons song (take your pick).  I would rather have an opening song with no chorus at all (like Sometimes by Pearl Jam off the No Code album) than something like this.  It did manage to grow on me a bit like a viral fungus over the course of its duration and I suppose it is suitably uplifting for an opener but it was not particularly impressive. 

It was here that I flashed back briefly to a time I shared with my beloved friend Calvin Black.  A former pilot, Black was sharing with me the extensive difficulties he had in enacting a foreign based operation and chiefly noted his belief that the armed force are far too constrained by an abundance of red tape.  I remember I agreed with home wholeheartedly at the time and we proceeded to eat a delicious breakfast of Belgian waffles slathered in syrup, strawberries and topped off with a dollop of whip cream along with a side of scrambled eggs, extra crispy bacon, sourdough dry toast and a tall glass of orange juice.

Every Breaking New Wave – I think I may love this song.  It is soaring and anthemic and all those other things people love to say about their best songs.  I don’t think it quite ranks among the best because it does feel like a rehash but it is at least a highly enjoyable rehash.  Bono’s vocals soar and there is some rather interesting interplay between his singing and Edge’s guitar playing during the chorus.  It has a widescreen scope to it and seems like a successful version of the song Magnificent from their last album.  The only thing which drags it down is that it just peters out rather than moving to an appropriately righteous conclusion.    

Song for Someone – I felt familiar comfort upon hearing the lovely lilting notes which begin this song and then Bono’s voice comes in pitch perfect and the harmony actually sweetens it.  This is a great song but it’s not quite fucking great and that’s a bit of a shame!  The bridge is a tad weak and like the last track it just kind of ends rather than letting that sweet chorus swell until it makes me want to bite my own tongue off!  I must admit after the last album and the rockiness of the opening I found myself wondering if these guys still had it in them and they thankfully showed they clearly do. 

California – I am honestly sick to grisly death of songs about California.  How many does the world actually need I ask myself while throwing back 5 cups of cafe in rapid succession, each with 3 sugars and 4 creams.  This song isn’t complete horseshit, it has a nice sonic landscape I can appreciate and some tasteful bass licks but Bono’s vocals actually annoy me a bit on this one and that hurts.  I love Bono’s voice so much that when it annoys me it is like someone has made a delicious turkey on rye sandwich and then slapped me with the piece of mayonnaise drenched white bread.  Ultimately forgettable. 

Iris (Hold Me Close) – Classic sounding Edge guitar throughout this number though the Bonster is maybe holding back a little.  This is a pretty song but one that does not leaving a deep impression for some reason.  It’s definitely one worth revisiting though as I suspect it may yield some rewards on repeated listens.  If one wants to talk deep impressions they should try and track down a bootlegged copy of my boxing match with Sugar Ray Leonard in the steamy summer of 76’.  I had Ray up against the ropes and was giving him a couple to the head before taking it to the body.  I was doling out a substantial amount of punishment and then the cut on my chiseled brow which I’d sustained in the third round dripped blood into my eye and that half second of surprise was all Ray needed to lash out with his terrific right and send me sprawling across the floor.  My girlfriend at the time was a beautiful and dangerously full figured woman named Leticia who had a penchant for leopard print pants which were often stretched to the max around her mammoth thighs and gloriously lethal mountainous ass and I could hear her screaming from the front row for me to get my pathetic self up and continue the fight like I had a pair.  But I just couldn’t move.  Sugar had sent me down for the count and I lost it all that night: my money, my girlfriend, my endorsements and my dreams. 

Volcano – This starts off with a jaunty but familiar sounding bassline and I was worried we were going into another faux funk old-man rock song like Get On Your Boots (or Vertigo if it was never your thing).  Unfortunately that’s exactly what happened.  This is weak, tepid rock and I am invoking the heavens that they may cease to write these types of songs.  Or maybe they should just write a couple dozen of them to get them all out of their system and release a double disc hard rock album that I can dutifully ignore.  Honestly, I can’t figure out why a song like this fails so hard for me but a song like The Fly from Achtung Baby or Daddy’s Gonna Pay For Your Crashed Car from Zooropa sound so great.  Volcano feels very sketchy, very incomplete.  It almost brings a tear to my eye with its basic lack of…everything.

Raised by Wolves – Similarly awful to the previous track.  Hookless, melodyless, anythingatallinterestingless.  At least those were my initial thoughts.  However after an unforgivably droning 1 minute 45 seconds the song becomes somewhat interesting when the chorus hits and Bono wails like a man on fire.  The second time around though that chorus becomes as annoying as I suspected it was.  For some reason this tune makes me think of something from Incubus’s last couple of albums.  Yes, I realize now it reminds me of their song Love Hurts from the Love Grenades album.  Good ol’ Incubus with their songs like Love Hurts and Wish You Were Here!  I wonder if on their next album they’ll have a song called Stairway to Heaven or Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!?  After finishing this latest U2 collection I’m going to re-listen to every Incubus album 27 times in a row. 

It was at this venture that Alicia again walked passed and began cleaning some tables.  I thanked the cosmos for such a blissful distraction.  She had married in the previous year and was finally starting to put on the glorious comfort weight, turning her already generous and shapely figure into a voluptuous dream that made my eyes bulge and my groin throb with the power of the bass coming from the speakers of an iRadio system.  She was wearing impossibly tight black pants and every time she walked by I nearly fell out of my chair in my effort to follow the wonderful jiggle and quake of her massive buttocks.  Her smile also melted my heart and the mole next to her lip was the perfect touch that drove me loco and forced me to order repeated shots of El Capitan tequila. 

Cedarwood Road – the last couple songs left me quite emotionally drained and I wasn’t initially sure I should dare to venture on.  The guitar riffs at the beginning seemed to promise another rocker and on first listen I immediately screamed and nearly hurled the iPod across the room in horror as though it were a poison dart frog.  Fortunately it doesn’t try quite as hard to be as hip or slammin’ as the previous 2 songs but it doesn’t try at very much else either and as it ends I find it has already faded from my memory and the sinister black hole that makes up the back half of this album only grows ever larger and more ominous by the second, threatening to suck in me and anyone else unlucky enough to step in front of it. 

Sleep Like A Baby Tonight – it was with a palpable sense of dread that I let the album play on to the next track but it turns out I was allowed some reprieve here.  This song starts out with fantastic atmosphere provided by the haunting and steady electronic pulse and Bono’s affected voice.  The band – suddenly and perhaps inexplicably remembering they once made beautiful, unique music – kicks it into high gear about a minute in and that also sounds shockingly great.  Bono’s vocals on the bridge sound oddly under produced and I haven’t decided how I feel about that yet given the album’s overall heavy-handed production and because the high notes do not come quite as smooth to him as before.  The chorus is quite memorable and I may call this tune a highlight of the album though that is admittedly low praise at this point. 

Angelica was kind enough to bring me more food and drink then, eyeing me with barely disguised sympathy.  She was no less an example of poetry in motion as her co-worker.  Similarly sturdily built, she opted for a skirt instead of pants and complimented this by wearing nude colored pantyhose and black high heels.  As she served me more rich portions of food I could not help but make the correlation between all the delicious mouthwatering meat and cheese stuffed into the enchiladas before me and all the glorious meat crammed into the hosiery and straining the heels on those deliriously lucky shoes.  Her coal black hair trailed down her back down to her enormous derriere and I longed for both of these goddesses to tell me what an ugly and pathetic loser I really am, to force me into submission and laugh at my inadequacies!

This Is Where You Can Reach Me Now – No sooner do they turn things around that they decide to bring it back with another face meltingly terrible midtempo rocker.  Something about a “soldier, soldier” and generic harmonized vocals and chants which eliminate any chance of interesting dynamics in this already nonexistent melody (this talk style of singing sounds more like a guide vocal than anything else.  Seriously, what the fucking fuck has happened to these guys?!  How is this even fucking possible?!).  This is the second longest song on the album and I can’t imagine what made them think this was one of the ones most deserving of a protracted running time. 

The Troubles (featuring Lykke Li): Yeah guys, the real troubles began when you started writing this stinker of an album, hahahaha.  Good thing you gave it away for free.  Typical calm, center of the storm we write about important stuff U2 closer.  Meh, not bad, I was mostly thankful to just finally be done with the fucking thing.  Lykke Li sounds more interesting in the chorus here than Bono (or anyone else in the band) did for most of the album.  But the main melody is very reminiscent of Duran Duran song Come Undone and/or The Smashing Pumpkins song Mayonaise which makes me angry because those are both far better songs.  But fuck, at least they bothered to include a melody in this one!  That must have been Li’s doing and they probably fought her the whole way on it. 

The album ended, I ordered another drink and started the whole thing over again, needing to rid myself of the trickiness of first impressions.  The second listen was slightly better but that was largely because my nerves were no longer in such a state of shock and the tequila had calmed my restless spirit.  The songs I thought I liked seemed less appealing the second time around but I think that was the eyeball gouging disappointment of the album as a whole rubbing off on the few bright spots.  The restaurant was closing so I plunked down a large stack of bills and stumbled out, mumbling some feverish goodbyes.  I took one last long back at these weighty beauties with their wonderful dark skin, hair black as night and tremendous jiggling rumps and stepped out into the world.  I stumbled through the alleys and passed by bums who smelled like shit and piss and one who had some kind of growth the size of a half-dollar on his lower lip.  I considered ending their misery but knew this would be nothing more than a panacea for the pain of my own failed existence and opted instead to pass out alongside them.  Sleeping in trash and shit with rodents and cockroaches crawling on me, I finally felt at home.  U2 had ruined my evening. 

It’s hard to summarize my thoughts when they are almost all so very negative.  I don’t know if this is more Danger Mouse or U2’s wishes or likely some ghastly hybrid of the two but there is a strong indie hipster pop vibe throughout A LOT of this work that sounds so cheap and calculated and actually embarrassing for a band of U2’s age and stature.  However this does neatly align with this release’s overall lack of hook or anything in the way of interesting melodies.  I dare say this is probably the weakest set of melodies Bono has put together for his vocals.  I don’t want to speculate on diminished technical ability but there surely must be a more graceful way for his singing to age.  It also seems The Edge did not feel there was any need to write any remotely interesting guitar parts for this album and just plays riffs which are interchangeable with almost anybody.  Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen Jr. all but disappear.  Song structure is depressingly predicable and I wish some experimentation would show up somewhere.  The quick ends became something of a sloppy theme of the album, a signature component of the record’s sound – though maybe I should be thankful that most of these songs did not last too long!  I still can’t believe I’m saying things like this about a U2 album! 

But damnit, statements like the ones I made above are unfair!  I know these guys are not slackers, content to rest on their laurels.  I know they sweat each album and that their music is a pure spiritual release for them (at least I think I know this) and they have made some of the most amazing music imaginable.  I know I will listen to this album many more times in an attempt at discovery and trying to unlock something here I can connect with but I would love to know what the group was thinking/feeling when they wrote these songs and understand their perception of the music presented here.  I would have no trouble right now calling this U2’s worst album and I would have a lot of trouble trying to recommend it to someone.  Bono has mentioned that a follow-up album titled Songs of Experience should be ready shortly and I honestly don’t know whether I should be relieved or horrified. 

I’m very curious what the critical consensus will be though I’m sure that if he hasn’t already David Fricke of Rolling Stone will give this one another perfect score.   Fuck, I bet he’ll give it 10 out of 5 stars and say it’s better than War, All That You Can’t Leave Behind, Zooropa, Achtung Baby and The Joshua Tree put together.  He’ll probably conclude by saying it’s the best album ever recorded! 

I’ll say some positive things now.  They are whizzes at marketing and it was super canny to launch this with the iPhone 6 as the amount of publicity they are receiving is staggering.   Much of the music sounds like it was designed for stadiums (though there is not a single song I would really want to hear live, even the ones I do like have been done before and much better) and this is likely all grand promotion for an imminent world tour announcement where they can rake in even more money, moulah, dough, greenbacks, pesos, bread, coin, bank, dead presidents, cabbage.  But how I yearn in my heart of hearts for the days of yore when U2 would put out an album as an artistic statement and not as simple marketing and concert prologue.   However there have been songs and albums which did not click with me or make complete sense until I saw their live renditions so I am hopeful something like that will happen here.  And even with two dud albums (or ten!  Or 100!) I would still say I love you too U2 and I will try my level best to see them live when next they tour.   I will also need more listens to get a grasp on the lyrics. Aside from a couple lines that were overly saccharine or old hat nothing stood out as particularly poor nor was there much I can point to as immediately grabbing me.  Finally, I would like to add that I did not like Achtung Baby when I first bought back in the great fall of 91’.  So there is still a glimmer of hope here, that’s gotta count for something! 

I’ll even end on the most positive note of all and say I think I’ll go give 2009’s No Line on the Horizon another listen because it seems pretty great right now!