A Quick Musical Interlude
"This bar is a prison. These people are not your friends." Perhaps the greatest two lines ever written, as applied to song. That's Postal Service, a band destined to be utterly forgotten, though highly relevant now. Can't you see it? The grammas and grampas of the future imparting their wisdom, derived from this small collection of songs that made so much sense to them, then?
I've just been down to My Fuckin' Pal. Present this eve were The Babbler and The Baseball Cap Enthusiast. The Babbler, under two minutes of my paying attention to her, was still trying to interest me in her own personal psychodrama: "Even though you never talk to me, I still love you, and..." And I left her there, after freeing my hand from her grasp. This is a person, I might add, who I no longer talk to, as she recently felt some reason to explain to me, with fantastic psych-while-U-bop reasoning, that if you have a problem with someone else's behavior or words expended upon you, it's Your Problem, and has nothing to do with the action or words employed by the other person. So I no longer waste any words on her, when she feels all drunk and serious, and would like the attention, as always, placed upon Her.
I also was walking away from The Baseball Cap Enthusiast, who I had greeted earlier, but had remained engaged by the conversation at my own table, and had not felt the need to join his. He, of course, interpreted this as a horrible personal affront, and he chose to deal with it this way:
I'm at the front door of the bar, and he screams across the room; "Hey Rich! Thanks for saying hello!" In a way as to say, oh, I'm not good enough for you to leave another conversation for? To drop what you're doing and run immediately to my side, as you know all too well how emotionally needy I am, and how much I need taking care of, as we all know You like to do?
I said, "Of course!", when what I really meant was, "hey, maybe you should think of what an embarrassment and liability you've been, every time we've been in public together, for the last two years. Maybe it's time that you just fucking admitted that you're gay, instead of starting meaningless fights with men and pointless drama with women. Maybe you should get used to the idea that I'm no longer there, when you get sloppy. That's why scenarios like last Friday transpire: we walk into The Angry at 2:30, I leave circa Six, at which point you guilt the living hell out of me for actually leaving. I lie, and say that I need a nap, though really I just need to leave, the way any sane human gets out of the way of a train with busted brakes. Twelve hours after our initial arrival, The Iranian Goddess is pointing out how big your tab is, as you've been indulging your horrible, childish neediness on every stranger in sight, buying them drinks in the hope that maybe they'll be your friend, and not a Bastard, like your Daddy. So now you realize, through your haze, how much you've spent, and you try to argue, at bar close, or "kick out time", as she calls it talking to me, the next day. Sap. You are your own death, and I'm not taking that ride.
right now, I'm listening to a tape I made in high school, like I have on several occasions before whilst bloggin'. At the moment, it's The Swans' cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart": 'There's a taste in my mouth as desperation takes hold; that something so good just can't function no more.' Yup.
Earlier, it had been Sinead O'Connor's "Just Call Me Joe", my favorite song by her pretentious ass: "Listen to what I'm not saying." And most poignantly, Joy Division's "The Eternal". That song has just killed me, as long as I've known it. Especially the line, "Cry like a child, those these years make me older. With children my time is so wastefully spent..."
(Hey. What's your point?)
"That the world is a wound in the body of Christ/ and that God is a sadist/ and that He knows it"-Coil
(No. What's your point; not these other people. Not your friends the Majickal elves who live within the stereo.)
"And the box office is drooling, and the bar stools are on fire, and the newspapers were fooling, and the ashtrays have retired, and the piano has been drinking, not me."-Tom Waits
(Hey. Me over here. The Other, though not The Exact Opposite. You come and talk to me, when yer like this, remember? What-)
"I had to move, I really had to move. That's why if you please, I am on my bended knees, Bertha don't you come around here. Any more."
(Rich?)
I've just been down to My Fuckin' Pal. Present this eve were The Babbler and The Baseball Cap Enthusiast. The Babbler, under two minutes of my paying attention to her, was still trying to interest me in her own personal psychodrama: "Even though you never talk to me, I still love you, and..." And I left her there, after freeing my hand from her grasp. This is a person, I might add, who I no longer talk to, as she recently felt some reason to explain to me, with fantastic psych-while-U-bop reasoning, that if you have a problem with someone else's behavior or words expended upon you, it's Your Problem, and has nothing to do with the action or words employed by the other person. So I no longer waste any words on her, when she feels all drunk and serious, and would like the attention, as always, placed upon Her.
I also was walking away from The Baseball Cap Enthusiast, who I had greeted earlier, but had remained engaged by the conversation at my own table, and had not felt the need to join his. He, of course, interpreted this as a horrible personal affront, and he chose to deal with it this way:
I'm at the front door of the bar, and he screams across the room; "Hey Rich! Thanks for saying hello!" In a way as to say, oh, I'm not good enough for you to leave another conversation for? To drop what you're doing and run immediately to my side, as you know all too well how emotionally needy I am, and how much I need taking care of, as we all know You like to do?
I said, "Of course!", when what I really meant was, "hey, maybe you should think of what an embarrassment and liability you've been, every time we've been in public together, for the last two years. Maybe it's time that you just fucking admitted that you're gay, instead of starting meaningless fights with men and pointless drama with women. Maybe you should get used to the idea that I'm no longer there, when you get sloppy. That's why scenarios like last Friday transpire: we walk into The Angry at 2:30, I leave circa Six, at which point you guilt the living hell out of me for actually leaving. I lie, and say that I need a nap, though really I just need to leave, the way any sane human gets out of the way of a train with busted brakes. Twelve hours after our initial arrival, The Iranian Goddess is pointing out how big your tab is, as you've been indulging your horrible, childish neediness on every stranger in sight, buying them drinks in the hope that maybe they'll be your friend, and not a Bastard, like your Daddy. So now you realize, through your haze, how much you've spent, and you try to argue, at bar close, or "kick out time", as she calls it talking to me, the next day. Sap. You are your own death, and I'm not taking that ride.
right now, I'm listening to a tape I made in high school, like I have on several occasions before whilst bloggin'. At the moment, it's The Swans' cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart": 'There's a taste in my mouth as desperation takes hold; that something so good just can't function no more.' Yup.
Earlier, it had been Sinead O'Connor's "Just Call Me Joe", my favorite song by her pretentious ass: "Listen to what I'm not saying." And most poignantly, Joy Division's "The Eternal". That song has just killed me, as long as I've known it. Especially the line, "Cry like a child, those these years make me older. With children my time is so wastefully spent..."
(Hey. What's your point?)
"That the world is a wound in the body of Christ/ and that God is a sadist/ and that He knows it"-Coil
(No. What's your point; not these other people. Not your friends the Majickal elves who live within the stereo.)
"And the box office is drooling, and the bar stools are on fire, and the newspapers were fooling, and the ashtrays have retired, and the piano has been drinking, not me."-Tom Waits
(Hey. Me over here. The Other, though not The Exact Opposite. You come and talk to me, when yer like this, remember? What-)
"I had to move, I really had to move. That's why if you please, I am on my bended knees, Bertha don't you come around here. Any more."
(Rich?)
Labels: my personals
posted by rich bachelor | 2:46 AM
3 Comments:
That last one, of course, was the Dreadful Greats, or whatever the hell that band's name was. Made a lot of money, toured for some thirty-odd years. Their fans referred to it, sometimes, as "following the fat man". Those guys.
http://photos1.blogger.com/img/149/2057/1024/untitled2.jpg
Fourth stage.
And I know this template ain't the best. There will be a new and fantastically better one up next month.
Winnipeg is quite lovely. The weather is magnificent, and as such, spirits are high. Over the course of a winter, it's so easy to forget what it's like to be in a happy city.
How is... Olympia? Portland? That place, where you live?
my favorute line from that particular P.S. song is, "what does it take to get a drink around here"
. and as a side note, my favorite P.S. lyric ever is, "Everything will change you." so simple but so true. that line has been running in my head like a mantra these past few weeks, as i 'm sure you can imagine given the circumstances. nice blog, well done.
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