LOVE GOES

"People so seldom say I love you, And then it's either too late or love goes. So when I tell you I love you, It doesn't mean I know you'll never go, Only that I wish you didn't have to."
On a poster given to me by a girlfriend in the 9th grade. I always figured she was way ahead of her time.

GOOD LUCK CHARM

Last weekend I got together with an old buddy.
I’ve had his number for a while, just waiting for a time to get together.
Bubba Dial.
No one has seen Bubba for 25 years, including me.

Anyway, I went over Saturday morning, we went and had breakfast and talked about the good old days when we ran by night, we lived it and breathed it, always in a bit of danger, but mostly just in pursuit of chicks ya know?
Bubba, he was a real ladies man.

That guy could pick up chicks like nobody’s business. He would flare his nostrils like some kind of stallion, and they just flew into his lap. These days Bubba doesn’t flare his nostrils so much…that’s hard to do when you have to carry an oxygen tank around every where you go. Hard livin’ eventually catches up to you, you know.
Anyway, we had breakfast, and talked for some time, and then I realized…BuddyWhittington was doing a show that night at a theater in Mansfield. Bubba hadn’t seen Buddy in 25 years.
So I got us a couple tickets and we went.

Now one reason I had been waiting to see Bubba was that I didn’t want to just sit around and relive the glory days, I wanted to really do something fun with my old friend.
At the Buddy Show they were having a raffle.

I bought 10 tickets.

First Prize was 100 bucks.
They had other prizes too, like Buddy Whittington CD’s.

Of course, the conditions were perfect for me to win the 100 bucks. That’s what I told Bubba. He was my little good luck charm.

So after they pulled the first number, and I collected the 100 bucks, I got back to my seat and handed Bubba my tickets.

“Here, man, you are going to win a CD”

And sure enough, he did!

THE LEMONADE STAND

WITH SWINGING 60'S TABLECLOTH


Detroit Michigan, somewhere around 1966 I would guess. I was nuthin' but knock-knees and black frame glasses. That's my house obscured behind me. If you look close in the driveway you can see dad's rusted 1958 Oldsmobile. Mom said we got a lot of anonymous neighborhood hate mail about that car, and also the fact that dad liked to leave the garage door open a lot.
Serving the lemonade up is Harry Jr., my buddy Greg's little brother. Apparently, Harry Jr. wore the shit out of those boots, and liked them so much his daddy had  them bronzed for him, so those boots live on. They will outlast us all. Greg sent me the picture last weekend.
I would never have expected to be in contact with Greg again, it had been 45 years since I left Detroit and we never wrote. But the world is smaller place these days, much smaller. Here's a great story about the gang Greg and I formed up with our other pal, Dave.
"The Blue Raiders" (click here)

SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT (I'll give you)

My father used to give me licks with his belt.
It was always a very formal affair,
 like going into the managers office
and getting written up.
There was no emotion,
he just reviewed the infraction with me,
(throwing tomatoes at cars ect.)
indicated this was going to hurt him worse than I,
then told me to grab my ankles.

I learned that if I started to cry
on about the 3rd lick or so,
he would stop and put his belt back on..
Then one day I decided not to cry.
The licks went on for some time,
but  I didn't cry.
It wasn't a display of courage.
It was  an act of defiance.
Rebellion, grabbing its ankles.
Without a whimper I quit the program.


When he had finally had enough
and the belt came to rest at his side
I stood straight up and turned to look him in the eye.
My father was crying.
And that was the last time
my father ever gave me licks with his belt.

bulletholes, 3/2013

When Summer Ends

Been watching Ken Burns "Lewis and Clark; the Journey and the Corps of Discovery " this week. If the story Burns weaves were not enough, there is this jewel from the score that is played to great effect throughout.
Really nice. You have two minutes, right?


Phil Cunningham, Composer

My Old Aunts Play Canasta in a Snow Storm

I ride along in the backseat; the aunt who can drive
picks up each sister at her door, keeps the Pontiac
chugging in each driveway while one or the other
slips into her overshoes and steps out,
closing her door with a click, the wind

lifting the fringe of her white cotton scarf
as she comes down the sidewalk, still pulling on her
new polyester Christmas-stocking mittens.
We have no business to be out in such a storm,
she says, no business at all.

The wind takes her voice and swirls it
like snow across the windshield.
We're on to the next house, the next aunt,
the heater blowing to beat the band.

At the last house, we play canasta,
the deuces wild even as they were in childhood,
the wind blowing through the empty apple trees,
through the shadows of bumper crops. The cards

line up under my aunts' finger bones; eights and nines and aces
straggle and fall into place like well-behaved children.
My aunts shuffle and meld; they laugh like banshees,
as they did in that other kitchen in the 30's that
day Margaret draped a dishtowel over her face
to answer the door. We put her up to it, they say,
laughing; we pushed her. The man—whoever he was—
drove off in a huff while they laughed 'til they hiccupped,

laughing still—I'm one of the girls laughing him down the sidewalk
and into his car, we're rascals sure as farmyard dogs,
we're wild card-players; the snow thickens,
the coffee boils and perks, the wind is a red trey
because, as one or the other says,

We are getting up there in the years; we'll
have to quit sometime. But today,
today,
deal, sister, deal.
 by Marjorie Saiser


Poem gathered at Garrison Keillors "Writers Almanac". Garrison has a weekly radio show, "A Prairie Home Companion". Two hours every week, described as  "a good time that won't wear you out" that I find so soothing to listen to.
Soothing, as is Garrisons voice, so expressive, and he reads so well. He knows exactly when to pause,  when to lower his voice to a whisper, and just when to click his tongue. Sometimes when I am writing a story, his voice will get stuck in my head, and it seems to improve the story, having channeled his wonderful breathing and impeccable timing into into the story.
You can listen to his Writers Almanac entries as well as read them. Today's poem picks up at the 2:10  mark.
I don't know why I've never shared this before.



My friend Susan @ Assorted, she likes it when I do my impression of Maurice from the Cafe Boeuf, a regular sponsor of "Prairie Home Companion",though I don't suppose she has ever actually heard him.

BACK TO WORK

Why am I the only one in the office whose phone cord is twisted all to hell all the time? 

What am I doing wrong?
Is there some trick to this?
By the end of the day when I answer the phone, I have to have my head right next to it, even though the cord is 10 feet long. That’s why I have to shout all the time- I can’t get my face any closer than 6 inches to the receiver.

 I got my start in office work as A Kelly Girl. I was probably the best Kelly girl ever.

The Kelly Girl manager lady was always impressed that I had been a chef, (I think maybe she was hot for me) and told me one time it was too bad I couldn't come cook for her because "it was against the rules". I took her by the arm, pulled her to me real slow, and whispered in her ear:
 “And there would be some rule breaking going on, wouldn't there?”
She turned about ten shades of red.
She quit a few weeks later, didn't even say goodbye, and Ex-Mrs Bullets told me “You were moving too slow”
I said
“What do you mean "moving too slow"? I wasn't “moving” at all”
“Well,” she said “that’s too slow.”
Man, she really knows how to stick it to me.

Except for the twisted phone cord, I've gotten pretty good at this office stuff. Especially the office politics.
Take our persnickety Office Secretary.  She don’t miss much.
I told the boss one day “I think some days she’s gunnin’ for me”
Know what he said?
“I think some days she’s gunnin’ for me too!”

TATTOOED EVERYTHING

The theme this week seems to have been on ink...




Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did.
All five horizons revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn

Ooh, and all I taught her was everything
Ooh, I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything.
Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...

I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear?
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I'm spinning, oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can drop away

And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything?
All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...

All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I'll be... yeah...
Uh huh... uh huh... ooh...

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,
I know you'll be a sun in somebody else's sky, but why
Why, why can't it be, can't it be mine

From the first side of their debut album...one of the best sides in rock if you ask me.

I posted a poem that I hadn't intended to share on Facebook, because it reflected on too many people that I know, and I didn't want to hurt any feelings. But I came across this picture, and changed the first line and posted to FB anyway.
"Too Late Already" has been well received.

TATTOOED EVERYTHING

SONG FOR A DECK HANDS DAUGHTER

Some new Mcmurtry on youtube...




"Time sure flies when you're having fun
Wasnt it just yesterday you turned twenty-one
Does it still matter what you might have done
had you tried"

Then there is this, also from his debut album. check out the instrumental break at 2:10.


"And if his suitcase wasn't standing in the hall
He might not be coming home at all
And all the sides of him you never knew before
Would be drifting down the river to another back door

Still your mama called him daddy..."

TOO LATE ALREADY

Down at my NA group we see a lot of Tattoos.
See a lot on young girls especially,
and they have colored themselves up all over
with laundry lists of forgotten lovers
skulls with rosette eyes
hooka-smoking caterpillars
and its going to be a long long life.

Sometimes they'll talk ink
and one of them
(that still has a few square inches of peachy flesh left)
tells about what she is going to put there,
on the last remaining patch of herself
that doesn't resemble something not her.
I just want to shake them and scream
NN-OOOO!
But its too late already.
bulletholes, 3/2013



Thanks Red, for the inspire....But this one is nice, doncha think? She was totally there in '68.

"You'll find no me beneath the skin"

No one presents misery as beautifully as Richard thompson.

Only a misdirected dart
At an unprotected heart
I'm sure it happens every day
Just a passing interlude
A fresh face to change the mood
I'll find my feet again you say

What rock I had you rolled
What rock I had you rolled away

But I live as best I can
Meet the uninhabited man
Please read the sign and walk away
What an old dry shell I am
The uninhabited man
I'll find my feet again you say

No doubt they'll pull me down
No doubt they'll pull me down someday

Who's been sleeping in my bed
Who's been sleeping in my bed

Who's been sitting in my chair
Who's been licking in my bowl
Who's been sleeping in my bed

A romantic ruin am I
Funny how I catch the eye
The vacuum slowly sucks you in
I'm left no skill, no art
To meet you heart to heart
You'll find no me beneath the skin
And if there's no me then there's no
And if there's no me then there's no sin

Who's been sleeping in my bed
Who's been sleeping in my bed

And who's been sitting in my chair
Who's been licking in my bowl
Who's been sleeping in my bed





Thompson will be in Dallas April 13 with his "Electric Trio". It will be my fourth time to see him. I'd really like to see one of his solo show's some day.
Ah, one more shall we?
For my good friend at Assorted.