Wednesday, May 18, 2016

MAKE NOTE OF ALL GOOD WISHES

And brave the storm to come
For it surely looks like rain

Oops! Dropped In to a Grateful Dead quote there.

The last few days have been quite overcast and storm threatenin' (my very life today...) for the last couple of days. I do hope my current mood is based, at least in part, of the lack of light. 

My bed this morning looked as if I had had the time of my life with covers every which way, but alas, the only tussling was with the dementors. I know that I had another nightmare and that I, once again, called out or yelled in my sleep.

Saturday, May 14.

While I am not really sure when I started this post, it was probably within the last week. The gloom was lifted somewhat, so there has been some light. The new garden bed gets quite a bit of late afternoon light, damn near blinding when I finally got around to starting to plant the new bed on the side of the house. 


Among the depressives out there reading this, do any of you wake up from a sleep in utter despair, not wanting to face any consciousness, only to get up, wander about in dismal existence, a vague dread, slow-beating panic, until you get some caffeine in you?

Tuesday, May 17

Time do fly.  We all said goodbye to Guy Clark today. 

Pack up all your dishes.
Make note of all good wishes.
Say goodbye to the landlord for me.
That son of a bitch has always bored me.
Throw out them LA papers
And that moldy box of vanilla wafers.
Adios to all this concrete.
Gonna get me some dirt road back street

If I can just get off of this LA freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I'd be down that road in a cloud of smoke
For some land that I ain't bought bought bought

Here's to you old skinny Dennis
Only one I think I will miss
I can hear that old bass singing
Sweet and low like a gift you're bringing
Play it for me just one more time now
Got to give it all we can now
I believe everything your saying
Just keep on, keep on playing

If I can just get off of this LA freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I'd be down that road in a cloud of smoke
For some land that I ain't bought bought bought

And you put the pink card in the mailbox
Leave the key in the old front door lock
They will find it likely as not
I'm sure there's something we have forgot
Oh Susanna, don't you cry, babe
Love's a gift that's surely handmade
We've got something to believe in
Don't you think it's time we're leaving

If I can just get off of this LA freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I'd be down that road in a cloud of smoke
For some land that I ain't bought bought bought.

Pack up all your dishes.
Make note of all good wishes.
Say goodbye to the landlord for me.

That son of a bitch has always bored me.

I bought that first Guy Clark album although I have no idea how I knew about it. I can remember listening to it my sweet Berkeley apartment on Virginia Street. I particularly liked Texas, 1947. 

Maybe this one is leveling me because I am here in Los Angeles on a road that doesn't end anywhere great. My mother will die and I will be ... well, I don't know where I'll be. And that, my friends, is a very scary place to ponder. 



No comments:

Post a Comment