…a note from runway 33…

last night as i drove to pick up something from the store, i noticed that daylight was running a little low, a little earlier.
i felt pretty good about it. sorry, summer worshipers.
this morning, the cool grey overcast with threat of rain propelled me out the door with hiking boots and an insulated shirt.
i charged up my laptop computer.
it isn’t a big deal, i guess, though i’m sitting here, brimming with the excitement of a kid who’s camping out in his backyard for the first time.
my mac laptop crashed and burned quietly in my livingroom almost two years ago and my friend jason, techgeek extraordinaire’, wired me up a frankenstein mac G4 i-book and here i am.
the last time i had this opportunity, i was driving a different toyota camry and was sitting on the side of an interstate in north dakota writing something like, “i can’t believe i’m doing this…”
i had decided to take a drive and ended up in cody, wyoming.
that was about six years ago.
similar stirrings are brimming inside me.
i could feel it.
back then, maxx was being cared for by a roommate in my old apartment in the east village.
i wasn’t yet selling coffee and no one was doing anything on the stage at goodbye blue monday.
things were a little different.

that’s more “there” than here and currently, i’m here.

because i was unsure how much life was left in my EZ pass, i opted to find new avenues to explore in and around floyd bennett field rather than cross the bridge and go to the fort.
i never wrote anything from gateway national park, though i’ve repeatedly written about being here.
i once brought a notebook with me but it didn’t work out.
i remember jotting notes down.
when i got home i read the notes and wondered if i had smoked weed or something.
all i found was disjointed scrawl in search of a “huh?”

all the doors and windows are open and maxx is sitting behind me in the flat portion of the car behind the back seat. seeing him in the car makes me realize either of two things;
1 – how small my car really is, or;
2 – how huge maxx is.
there’s been a long, steady rain that let up a while ago replaced with a cool, off-shore breeze.
it’s around three-thirty in the afternoon and the notion of sleep is particularly seductive. the quiet out here is punctuated only by cars heading into or out of the park and the whistle of incoming and outgoing jets, but sleep trumps this.
i drifted for a while with my arms crossed on my chest and my laptop in, of all places, my lap. having a highly-protective, ninety-plus pound dog laying three feet from you offers a strong sense of security.
for the past couple of weeks i had gotten into the habit of writing to a person who was sleeping.
“sleeping” is a better word than unconscious.
besides, being “unconscious,” is a misnomer.
i recall things when i was “unconscious,” as does my friend.
hell, she met my mom when she “seemed” to just be lying there.
i think we’re busy as all get-out when we’re unconscious.
which, by the way, is different from “passed-out.”
celestial appointments are made and negotiations begun in slumber and in states of “altered consciousness.”
passed-out is passed-out. no business of any sort happens then.

i know this well. i was genetically engineered to pass-out, to be dreamless.
i did it for years and years.
for all i know, the guy in the photo above is my grandfather.

this past weekend, a few scrap bar friends appeared at goodbye blue monday. a number of them performed. they had become “experimental” music performers and have been doing this here for years.
funny how i felt as i wrote that last sentence.
it’s no longer “experimental” to me.
the people who do this stuff are pretty sure about what they’re doing and i’m pretty sure i know what i’m hearing.
for all i know, there’s a term for this stuff and i just don’t know what it is, but whatever it is, a lot of them have gotten it down pretty well.
i sat in the backyard space and struck up a conversation with yet another member of my scrap-past and found our conversation had little or nothing to do with “then.”
it centered on our common “now.”
she visits here fairly often; her guy was performing in the latter part of the festival and has also been playing here for years.

now is all i live for.
now i want to load up that car and roll west.


About stephen trimboli

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