AS THOUGH IT MADE SENSE

I really have no business writing anything at this time as I have not really gotten that sequence into any presentable shape. I have plenty of notes, though. 

Besides listening to several versions several times of For Everyman, I answered email, two to yoga teachers who are mentoring me on the sidelines. But listen to this version of For Everyman. It is more melancholy than the one I previously posted from The Bread and Roses Show. And after you listen to Jackson a few dozen tries, check out this version of Suite: Judy Blue-Eyes. I cannot number the times I listened to this in this very house. Puts me right back to high school.

[Part 1]
[Verse 1]
It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore
I am sorry
Sometimes it hurts so badly, I must cry out loud
"I am lonely"

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
You make it hard

[Verse 2]
Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other
Oh babe, have mercy
Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now
I am not dreaming

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
You make it hard

[Instrumental Bridge]

[Verse 3]
Tearing yourself away from me now--you are free
And I am crying
This does not mean I don't love you--I do, that's forever
Yes and for always

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
You make it hard

[Verse 4]
Something inside is telling me that I've got your secret
Are you still listening?
Fear is the lock and laughter the key to your heart
And I love you

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
And you make it hard
And you make it hard
And you make it hard
And you make it hard

[Part 2]
[Chorus]
Friday evening, Sunday in the afternoon
What have you got to lose?
Tuesday morning, please be gone, I'm tired of you
What have you got to lose?

Can I tell it like it is?
(help me, I'm suffering)
Listen to me, baby
It's my heart that's suffering, it's a-dying
 (help me, I'm suffering)
And that's what I have to lose

[Chorus]
I've got an answer
I'm going to fly away
What have I got to lose?
Will you come see me Thursdays and Saturdays?
What have you got to lose?[Instrumental Bridge]

[Part 3]
[Verse]
Chestnut brown canary
Ruby throated sparrow
Sing a song, don't be long
Thrill me to the marrow
Voices of the angels
Ring around the moonlight
Asking me, said she's so free
How can you catch the sparrow?
Lacy, lilting lyrics
Losing love, lamenting
Change my life, make it right
Be my lady

[Outro]
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
¡Que linda!
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-
la traiga a Cuba
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
La reina de la Mar Caribe
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Quiero sólo visitarla allí
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Y que triste que no puedo. ¡Vaya!
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
O Va! O Va!
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do

So before I return to watering my newly planted roses and cherry tree, 

I am going to take five days off from writing.

Now

May 7th

This week has been short on writing but long on what I might call breaking on through to the other side. I don't think The Doors really thought about the pain and frustration that might be involved in such an endeavor.

BREAK ON THROUGH

Densmore/Kriger/Morrison

You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

We chased our pleasures here
Dug our treasures there
But can you still recall
The time we cried
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

Everybody loves my baby
Everybody loves my baby
She gets, she gets
She gets, she gets

I found an island in your arms
A country in your eyes
Arms that chain us
Eyes that lied
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

Made the scene from week to week
Day to day, hour to hour
The gate is straight
Deep and wide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through, break on through
Break on through, break on through
Yeah, yeah, yeah,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, ...

Not meaning to turn this into a nostalgia fest or anything, but I find it interesting to look at these song and lyrics as freshly as I can. Great music here. Ugh on most of the lyrics. I am talking about Break On Through here. Suite: Judy Blue Eyes is beautiful.

Normal People is a short series streaming on Hulu. I didn't exactly binge watch it as much as I was in thrall to it. The series is intense and intimate to the point of making, at least this viewer, utterly vulnerable. Having had a relationship that was singular in the connection and intensity that is portrayed in the series made this exponentially more real and sad and poignant. Maybe everyone has had this. Not many discuss it. I don't even discuss it.

So, on that level, it has been an emotional and vulnerable week.This is in no way a bad thing, but it is a different thing. 

In the midst of this was the project undertaken with my excellent cousin Shelly to clean out the garage and the patio. The project was necessitated by the presence of a possum digging around and some gnarly smells coming from my belongings which had been ruined on our leaky patio. They smell so bad that it is traumatic to get near them. I keep hoping they will dry out in this heat, but so far, not happening.

The garage has not been cleaned or organized since my father died in 2003, since my brother died in 2009, since my mom shoveled her shit out there to not deal with it. And my extra layer of belongings I moved from Berkeley and New York. I don't think the thesaurus has a good synonym for clusterfuck. Of stuff. Of memories. Of whatever you might add to the mix.

Shelly is a champeen organizer and has the right amount of discipline and indulgence to deal with me when it comes to throwing things away. She is an amazingly hard worker She loves soul music and the blues, so we are quite work compatible. She can herd sheep or cats, as needed. 

N.B. My other cousins are no less awesome, just that they are not helping me with this project. 

So, some order is coming into these areas, but it is not the project of a couple of days. The driveway looks like Green Acres. 

One of my YTT classmates is a big believer in sustainability. Shelly will throw away anything. My tendency (understatement) is to try to save, recycle, reuse. I do see Shelly's point in needing to, metaphorically speaking, scrape that shit off your shoes and move on. It's a dilemma for me. This is the echo of the 1930s depression resounding, I am sure.

But things are all shook up. I had to go through my deceased brother Carl's letters yesterday. It was difficult to not read each and every one, nor to save them, to try to unravel the mystery that he was to his siblings. Romances that never reached the family acknowledgement level; are there clues to my own  romantic and commitment life? I won't know because I chose to throw most of them away without deep scrutiny. You know, I would be in there reading like a novel if I thought it would serve me.

And then there is the constant presence of my father. This garage is a 1950's hobbyist dream. He was a machinist so there are not end of books about that subject, about guns, about war, about taking girly pictures. All there. Most of it leaves me cold, but I don't have it in me to throw away Popular Mechanics and Popular Science Magazines from the 1920s and '30s.The art is so good.

In the far up reaches of the garage, Patrick and Shelly found a box tightly bound. Upon opening it, we found my father's US Navy uniforms that must go back to the 1930s. He joined in 1932 when he was 16. He was so tiny. But it is all so beautiful and well kept. That was another strike at my vulnerability. I found some tendresse there.

I don't find dictionary meanings have the same feeling I have when I think of tenderness. It is beyond just kindness and caring, tenderness means vulnerability as well, although I don't see that spoken of. To be tender, there needs be openness and acceptance. Kindness and caring can be accomplished without much of this.

Not surprisingly, Aretha nails one of my favorite versions. You might not like the strings in place of her more nuanced funk, but her vocal does it all. 

Strawberry jam hand pocket pastry courtesy of Shelly who is here working on the project from hell.

Last night in our YTT discussion, we talked about saucha, which is all about kinds of cleanliness. I didn't share what an armageddon of crap, belongings, dreams, and schemes litter my life. On the other hand, I had been practicing this yama earlier this week with Shelly.

Okay, I need to be working on this week's sequence as I only have until 11:00 when it is yoga time for Mom and I have to give up the computer.

FORGETTING

Forgetting takes space.
Forgotten matters displace
as much as anything else as
anything else. We must
skirt unlabeled crates
as though it made sense
and take them when we go
to other states.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010

And try a little tenderness.