So,here we are,in the Nineties.we listen to CDs instead of eighttracks.we have access to the world via cable TV.all of our rockstar heros are either dead or in thier fifties.dance music is the music of the day.or Rap.or 'heavymetal'.young turks carry guns .people live on the streets becuz they have no other alternative,not becuz they want to.having sex can mean Death.these are desperate times.I think that that has been said before,but now I am older and realize it.my teachers used to tell me that I would look back on my school days as the best days of my life.I still don't. they were wrong.oh,sure,they were carefree days,but the years immediately following school were the best years of MY life. I had no responsibilities then and I was free and I could do as I pleased.i decided to take on responsibilities and now I have to live with the decisions that I made.I just heard Steve Earle say"just becuz yr not paranoid,doesn't mean they're not out to get you".ain't it the truth?
I still can't believe that Butch is dead at 37.I've got some dead roses to put on his grave.I hope that I get to.I always thought that I would do that for Bear,but I don't know where he is anymore.I hope that he ain't dead yet.
these sure are different days.
ah,yes,these are different days
hard days,ruff days.days that seem to pass like lead.
why can't I seem to make ends meet?why can't I seem to not feel beat?I sleep little.I agonize.I don't know how to cope.Fortunately,I haven't felt like I have in the past.I want to keep going.I want to write poems.I want to write the ultimate journalistic piece.
days slip by
nites are long
I exist only for song
songs are short
I am lost
Life goes on
no matter cost
why can't things be like they should?
why isn't everything good?
cuz things are not all blackandwhite
and I exist only at nite.
please take this pain away from me
I want to live beside the sea
I want to live the way I want
I do not want to confront
the things that lurk inside my mind.
why cannot life be so kind?
living means one must exist
inside a veil,a front,a mist
an ever moving veil of doubt.
I wonder were is the way out?
please let me go
please let me be
I cannot take this sanity
I cannot take insanity
I cannot take much more of this
remove the pain
replace with bliss
yeah,rite,bliss and pain exist together in the same plane and we just have to learn to live with them and weigh them and find the balance between.and I have to get up tommorrow,so now I must go down to sleep.Goodnite>
it was time for another beer.I went to the garage and pulled two Colders from the cooler.yesterday was one of those days that I bought my beer on the way to work.the beer store is on the way,after all,so I put the cooler in the trunk and bought the case and some ice and thet were cold and ready when quitting time came around.on my way up the steps to the deck,I thought,"it's time to write something called...
CABANA DAYS"
that summer was a wild and perilous time,indeed.
I was footloose and fancyfree.the last four days of May and the entire month of June were work days.thirty-four straight days of work.lots of overtime,lots of cash.lots of beer,Coors Lite in those days becuz I could afford it.it was hot and my daughters stayed nites at the sitters so I could hit the bars,and hit them I did!I discovered a smoky little place with a bigscreen TV,that the DJ played metal videos on.a lotta AC/DC.I hung out there with Brenie some nites and met his friends and kin.in those days ,I almost always bought my beer on the way to work.cooler in the trunk,beer on ice.I always had beer in the car,yes,I was drinking and driving.you see,I called my cooler 'my cabana' .it had something to do with my passion for Jimmy Buffett music and my desire to live a tropical,Carribean lifestyle.(I just killed those two Colders,poured into my'Order of the Sleepless Knights' mug-going for more-I'll be back.Whoops!that one wasn't empty)anyway,that summer,I pretty much stayed real drunk,drinking before work,sometimes during work(on Sundays,doubletime),definetly after work,one or two on the way to the bar,always some on the way from there.a wild,drunken summer,for sure.I am a lucky boy that no less misfortune befell me than actually did,but I must run to the cabana now and refresh myself,so the stories of mishap and Magic will come later.
POETRY TIME
rains fall
times end
we call
messages send
everything meaningless
nothing makes sense
I call for reson
it has been spent
free me from this void,please
I fall doen ypon my knees
and still,no solice comes
the quiet town around me speaks in so many ways
that daylite people never will
I wish that i knew how to work this computer.I quess I do,in a way,but so many things don't work the way that I want them to.so,who cares?here's a quarter.
I want to say ,at this time,that I love my daughters.Life would not be Life,without them.imagine that!the dude who once said that he would never bring babies into this world can now,not live without them!
but,I am still so alone and on my own.it scares me to think of those little ones growing up and growing away from me.we are so close rite now,but they are so close to being thier own little selves.
I just hope that we can still maintain our relationships the way they are now,or maybe better as they get older.I dread these teenage years that are coming fast upon me.Christ,I know what my teenage years were like, and I had a father AND a mother.what are my girls going to be like,with me as thier influence?I can already see it in thier eyes.I am the guy who chokes thier freedom.Oh,god,I just want to remain cool and still keep them in control.I hope that I can do that and still remain sane.still-still?why does 'still' keep coming up in my repetoire?is it something to do with talking to Wes about his Tennessee heritage?
my youth was so much different than the life that my girls are living.I have seen things progress at such a rate ,and that would have happened even if I hadn't been a speedfreak.what will I do if I find my girls smoking crack,or whatever the drug of fashion is ,when they get of age?what will I do when I find out that they got sloppy,fuckin' drunk at some party?
christ,I suppose that I can at least steer them a little better than my tee-totaler parents did me.after all,they do have my example to go by.who wants to be like me?
I am definitely trying to fill this space that I left in this file.I feel as tho I should go read some Poe.I drink beer profusely.I wonder ,sometimes,if it makes my outlook somewhat different than it should be.I remember my feelings about beer drinking as a younger man,a teenager,actually.I felt that beer drinking was for rednecks.I was a head.things sure have changed.I can hardly even handle a toke session now.
what a wierd scene it was,the last time that I toked!sitting around with old,balding,conservative-looking dudes!
I'm outta here.must go get something to eat.no poetry tonite.maybe later,catch ya then.
I'm still despondent.I still think about transformers and high voltage electrical shocks.but I'm still together enuf to only think and not do.
I feel like creating some poetry,but I just don't feel inspired.wierd feeling,wan't to,can't.maybe some tunes will affect me otherwise.been listening to 'Bare Trees'.that should have done something for me.just felt good.what now?be back.John and yoko-'Milk and Honey'.you know,sometimes,I feel like John or wish I had been John or,I don't know.he was like,an artist,a poet.he should be remembered for the words that he put together and that is what I am getting at.I would like to be remembered for the words that I put together,and maybe I will be,by those who know me.I have been told,"you have a way of saying things."that is good.I like to put words together and affect people by the things that I write.I feel that that is much more important than how I make a machine run.altho,I must admit.I enjoy making my machines run the way that I do.recently,my bosses have said,"good job".what else can a working class hero to ask for?Life seems so complicated
but yet is so simple
I wanta call ya
I wanta ball ya
what more is there?
i'm definitly not inspired.
I'm hungry
I may be back later
how's that for a poem?
it's later
I am tired all the time.I am working all the time.I hardly ever see my girls.mornings,take to school,I'm still asleep.Nites,I either pick them up or they are here ,asleep.when I pick them up,they are asleep.I'm missing alot of thier lives.I'm not getting out and about.I'm not doing shit with them.I'm just workin' and drinkin' and maintainin'.
Sometimes,he would make up stories ,just to try and make his life more exciting...
tonite,i got off of work and needed to find some excitement in my life.I brought my hacksaw,my prybar,and several other tools from my toolbox along with me.instead of heading home,I went to Crow Keys,where there is an out of the way gun shop,that I broke into and commandered two 12 guage shotguns,several thousand rounds of ammunition,and all kinds of camping gear,which they also had on the premises.from there,I headed on up the road to the nearest bar.doning a ski mask,I entered the place,with my newly acquired shotguns and secured vast quantities of booze and all the money from the cash register.I continued up the road to Harptown,where I pulled out my shotguns and proceeded to destroy everything in site.I headed west to Chesterville and shot that town up ,as well.Hungertown was the next town in my path,and I destroyed everthing that I could in that village as I passed thru.I broke into the Delphin restaurant and took every ounce of foodstuff that I could carry.from there,I headed on thru Bigville and on up the pike toward Mt.Holt.there ,I headed up the mountain to Hammer Rock,where I whittled my new shotguns down to hend-held weapons,for later use.
His was,indeed,a lonely and desperate life,absent of any meaning,becuz she was not in it.
He continued to work long hours all through that winter.He hardly ever saw his girls,missing out on the fact that they were growing up.He continued to drink and smoke like there was no tommorrow.He continued to write wild ramblings and crazy stories all nite,until he would collapse into his cold,lonely bed and think agonizing thoughts about Magic going and Magic coming again.
He made it through the long,cold winter with quite a few mishaps on the icy roads.He survived these and the ressurection of Springtime looked upon a weary,crazed Bohemian,still trying to grasp onto his remaining shred of sanity.

The first glints of the morning sun shone through the library windows.The Bohemian lay with head on keyboard,arms sprawled across his work table,like so many mornings in the past.but something was different.Something was wrong.
His daughters came to get him ,to take them to school.The oldest wore his old,leather jacket,that he had passed down to her and the youngest wore a long,black coat,which he had worn to Sunday School as a child.
They called to him.
He did not answer,for,like his mother before him,his heart had ceased.
They called again and began to panic.They wailed and cried.Then,from behind them,in a soft Texas drawl,they heard a voice say"Girls,we have work to do."
They turned and there stood 'Magic'.Her dark hair was long and wild.Her eyes shone with a fire.She wore only a long,black and silver element coat.She was barefoot.
Together ,they dragged the Bohemian up to his beloved deck.They gathered the wood from the old maple tree that had been struck by lightening and built a funeral pyre.They lay the Bohemian upon the pyre and the gypsy lady struck a match.The flames rose fiercely.Magic took off her coat and threw her naked body onto that of her beloved ,and as the sirens began to sound in the distance......THE BOHEMIAN LEFT SUBURBIA......
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