Absence...

...Should ultimately make the heart grow fonder, as the saying goes.

Well maybe it just has...thanks to a late, or maybe even early, spring clean...

"Words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face. But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare."

-Guy de Maupassant

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On the way, out of the way...in WA

Two days down; Boise, Idaho to Everett, Washington State, and now onwards to who knows where.



Even in the new Washington, as of Tuesday this past week, it's a whole new state of affairs...a new beginning, hope, yes we can, and promise of better times.



Good Times, if you will. But no burgers and frozen custard, I hasten to add.



No way, puto.



Eleven months lost; for me, so far...but then maybe I'm now found. Yes? No?



Maybe?



Yeah, maybe.



It is what it is, and this is possibly it.



Hopes, fears, happy-sad, drunk, bored, bemused, amused, thoughtful, and I mean ALWAYS ridiculous.



Five basball caps down; Brewers, Royals, Rockies, Hawks and now Mariners. How apt.

Six if you include that obscenely essential barnet-topper from the Shriners back in Springfield, MO, the other day, eh?



Seven with the case of the curiois orange.



Besides, I'm beside myself.



Always was...usually.



But Ken's blueberry pie and ice cream, devoured just under 20 minutes ago deep in the Snoqualmie Valley, was just what I needed.



As I write, drift off and go for one more toke out the window...



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Bremen?...

3 thirteen AM...

I must have cut my nails down way too short the other day - particularly the right thumb, as the fucker's killing me while I attempt scribing out the jibberish and mindless nonsense unfolding before my very own eyes. And mind.

Strange times at the moment...don't ask me why.

Lost and even more lost, but the same as...

If only it was always "sweet as", eh?

Listening to Photek's "Aleph 1", and yeah, don't you just love the way it melts into "124", no? Classic 97.
Cheers, Rupert.

"KJZ" for what's now called the FSB, if you will.

It reminds me of Moscow the other day; smoking, drinking piping hot black coffee and putting slippered feet up on the desk in room 527 of the Hilton on Leningradskaya. Nothing but bleakness, snow, no-one and dim streetlights on a cold November night.
Oh, and then the long stretch with us all in the van there out on the way to the airport...passing through industrial landscapes and tower upon towerblock on the outskirts of the Russian capital.

Fuck that for a game o' soldiers, mate.

Nah, but it was nice really. Moody almost.

Just like 97.

Regardless, the drive to Hamburg in just under five hours time this morning, Russian love of The Pogues in the front lounge, Ukrainian admiration of the Bossa in the back.
It's all the same, but always different.

Maybe feel better in the morning though, eh?

Yeah, maybe...g'night/good morning...

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Forest Hills? Queens? Nah, Clinton...

Another morning late, another early afternoon spent, but only fifteen bucks or so.

That's without the chicken soup though...mmm!! Nice rolls! Toasted too.

Now it's late and Uma Thurman exacts revenge in part one on TV. Second time in a loop already.

Swiss/Serb/Croat/Albanian friends and acquaintances..."No, just one more stall...I just love that jacket." - at the flea market on Lafayette and Clermont.

"Fuck's sake! Alright, just hurry up already yet! Jesus!"

Cool Brownstones, serenaded by the trees down there on Clinton though. Yeah, nice. Autumn's always my preferred season...sorry, I meant "fall".
You catch my drift.

And the pink sky setting behind rooftops blows its own back down the street. Leaves and those midget black acorns, peppered down the pavement and around tree stumps like spices on all dry plate, crunch the path back to Lafayette.

Less safety, more solace down the steps and into an empty Clinton/Washington Avenues on the G. Five blimps down the line, that's all.

And then...bam!!!

...the day's done.

Again

Like yesterday, akin to tomorrow, but always slightly different.

I guess.

Anyway, fuck this; my thumbs need a break...



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Change?...One Day, Thirty Minutes Later...

Yeah, I'm sure it'll work, but as an outsider it still hasn't registered completely.

The jury's out, mate.

Indoors, off of Bedford, exactly 24 hours ago; celebrating Irish-American birthdays with cheesecake, beer and CNN and MSNBC...non-stop.

Sure, it's great. The Daily Show made it so, I believe.

Yeah...fantastic, even.

If you're American, that is, but then maybe the scope spreads way wider than that now.

Actually, yeah...maybe it is an historic a moment as the pundits, anchor men and women and everyone has been saying since the call at twelve AM this morning.

A whole day ago already.

Apparently, the 'Times was sold out in every store too...across the city.

I don't know.

Change is good, and yeah, sure, Obama's got his work cut out, but we'll see.
Trust no-one until they actually deliver...

And as for those fuckers, pseudos and hipsters down on Bedford and North 7th...well, that's another story.

Change comes in packages way less fancy than American Apparel and Brooklyn Industries, no?

3-second sparklers and bad Roman candles strewn across from the deli on the corner; half sparked, half arsed...

Should've lobbed a whole bunch of those mini rockets into the crowd over there, eh?

Now that, I would have paid to see...

Floppy fringes, brand new Keds and fishnet stockings, frazzled in a flash...fo' sho!!!

Nothing serious though.

And my reply to any sensible, less agitated mind's questioning as to whether such a violent act should be carried out? Just for laughs?

"Yes we can"...

("Victory" image, courtesy of Shepard Fairey, Obey Giant 2008)

Dia De Los Muertos...

I'm sorry for calling late.

I am now, and I think I always was.

Both.

Sure, I know Mexico was the day before, but to me, yesterday should have been today.

I feel sad.

I feel sad and I know all ninety one years of you would look away, laugh and call me a soppy bastard.

Of course, you'd be right.

Anyway, just thought I'd say hi; all's alright - sometimes, I'm older but none the wiser, and still here, just about.

Happy Birthday.

I love you, and I miss you.

See you at Christmas...

For Annie Joan Cross: 1917-2003

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("Dia De Los Muertos" image, courtesy of Shepard Fairey & Ernesto Yerena, Obey Giant 2008)

What Does Your Soul Look Like - parts four and one...Part 1

Well...?

Well, what?

Well, now that you ask...

...cruising at sixty, a much-delayed ride straight outta' Gijon, stress factors and Asturias almost, if not already, behind us.

Maybe my geography's not so great, but still...Google Maps and/or Earth will either verify or deny. The truth's inescapable.

No wi-fi though.

Tough.

Front-lounge: 3 guitars, occassional flamenco, new riffs; expansions on a theme, blue ink on yellow-lined pads and calls for "breakfast!", "lunch!" and, of course, "Tube 8!". Simple demands, basic human needs. All will come, go and then repeat the cycle in due course.

Back lounge: Playstation, intense focus and little noise. The rest between are either kippin', watching Airplane on laptops or trying to learn chess from books bought in Providence, RI, the other day.

Oh, and American Psycho up front also.

Battery charge - still orange before green in around two hours, interrupted for jaw-dropping mountain-range shots. Meanwhile, jamon y queso sarnies go M.I.A at the gas stop and dust-drenched quarry trucks line up like tourists on the edge of the Grand Canyon.

Could be Westerns, Franco Nero and the Mexicans, could be the future in reverse: Charlton Heston and a load of old ape japes in green or tan leather waistcoats. The choice is hard to reach. Best take both options.

Mmmm!!! Nice in black and white, eh? Love the detail.

Yeah, s'alright, innit?...

Meanwhile, Italians, Irish, Israelis, the Dutch and two Russians, each donning new D+G chemises in red and white, respectively, finish coffee, sandwiches and Spanish Omelettes and are back on board. After smokes, naturally.

All aboard?

Fourteen?

Si..."We're a bus!"...

Galicia soon, Villa de Arousa tomorrow...Shadow's parts four and one - the perfect soundtrack. No, the ONLY soundtrack, in fact...in that order.

Thing is, how come he put 2, 3, 4 and 1 as 1, 2, 3 and 4 though? It's not like I'm on "random shuffle". Probably an "artistic" decision. Maybe not?

Part two; a surprise addition to 13-minute bunk entertainment while I write these very words - to whom, I really couldn't guess or tell, or want to, for that matter.

That's how it's looking for now.

Anything else?...

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