i started this by double-clicking the icon of a song entitled “dream a little dream” that sits on my desktop.
it’s a song that i remember the mamas and the papas singing, back when mama cass was the “vocal-ist” vocalist of the band and everyone in america wanted michelle phillips; well, at least this twelve year-old american.
of course, i was still unclear as what to do with her if i ever got her, but such is the way of desire…
and now, years later, the song has become another beckoning that i hear – my eyes closed – as a long-gowned dream stands beside the piano on my stage, a hip curved out seductively, a hand to her ear, the other caressing the microphone stand – oh you kid – mixed bills of various denominations, a lot of tens and twenties, laying and leaning in the big snifter sitting beside her on the piano top….
with my eyes closed, smoke from cigarettes twirl and cloud into the lounge-lamps where i never hear a cough or throat clearing, back where the suits never carry the foul aroma of last night’s marlboros and society was a state of mind let on in black and white and record grooves and big cars.
the recording ends.
while i’m wandering around, maybe it’s time to get back to the glossary of mind and memory…what the heck.
30 – Retrieval cue. A hint about where to “look” for a piece of information in long-term memory.
I haven’t got a clue where to find a retrieval cue, probably because at the moment, i’m not shopping for anything specific at the memory department store, but then again it might have something to do with the icon double-clicked earlier.
there, i used it in a sentence.
a fairly long-winded one.
….but the point of this note has more to do with “do” than all of my rememberatory recallaree, two words that aren’t words that should be words.
it has to do with the wide gulf i find myself treading at times here.
i wonder why i used the word gulf.
i suppose we’re all using that word a bit more often these days.
gulf is the new black or oil is the new black or the ocean is the new black or the the black-gulf-ocean is the new black.
i don’t shoot my mouth off very often on social networks, but i did a few days ago. this is what it said;
a BP ad says they’ve got three million feet of boom to combat the spill.
i used my calculator for the first time in forever and found that it translates into 568 miles of boom. then i learned the length of the gulf coast shoreline is -17,141 miles.
i repeat; 568 miles of boom.
goodbye blue monday! KV is howling like a banshee out there on the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension.
it was because i was eating lunch a couple of days ago and reading that heartfelt ad from british petroleum that mentioned “three million feet of boom” that set off the bullshit detector.
i love to use the word “that” relentlessly.
(ellipse – i love those too)….and yes, i’ve once again evaded my getting to the point. the one from a week ago. make that two weeks ago….
there was a drunk hippie-looking kid with a bad attitude doing an imitation of sean penn doing an imitation of a hippie with a hippie attitude in that film “fast time at ridgemont high” but it was now and not a movie and he started some shit with some kids who were performing in the backyard stage at goodbye blue monday which isn’t a movie either and i walked into this rukus.
i listened to verbal thumbnails from both sides of the issue and asked the bad-attitude hippie to please head out this way, my left hand gesturing the direction i was requesting which was out of the backyard stage area.
he stared at me and didn’t say anything.
“let’s go guy. please. this way,” my hand continuing to gesture.
he continued to stare, now half smiling, still not answering or moving.
there was a crush of other kids around and behind him, also sitting.
to my right were the other kids who was the other part of the original argument. they were at the base of the stage. there was a small aisle caused by me and the sound guy who was behind me.
i knew where this was going.
i could feel the moments of how many nights in how many bars and this same shit about to be coming down.
i paused, then said this.
“i want you to get the fuck out of here, now.”
and he paused and said this.
“and what if i don’t?”
all in one motion, i grabbed whatever material was covering his frame at the shoulders and dragged his ass out of the place.
i think he was unprepared for it.
i think his friends were unprepared for it and frankly, as i did it, i was unprepared for it.
we were all surprised.
i hated myself for having gotten physical with another human being for the first time since 1994 when a drunk irishman was accosting women at scrap bar at 4:15 in the morning.
i asked myself if there was another answer to “…and what if i don’t…?,” that i didn’t think of other than swift and blinding aggression.
my answer was, “no, not from where i come from.”
i came from a time when you were punched the fuck out or got your fingers bit off or something equally unappealing in answer to such high-spirited, youthful ignorance.
been there…..and learned that’s a perilous question.