lying in my bunk
half asleep
the bus goes on n on
moving thru the black rainy night
i hear ploogie laughing and talking to the driver
i hear muffled music
i smell dope smoke drifting down the corridor
i roll over and sleep on
i dream as always of things going wrong
guitar necks with too many frets
microphones that go all limp
sounds that are stifled and unable to manifest
i stand onstage stark naked plucking at my stringless bass
a phone rings in a motel room
the roadcrew snorting an eightball
the entrance has been barred
the exit has been alarmed
the load-in was hours ago
i’m walking down the street in some midwestern town
trying to find a veggie restaurant
my hair is dyed auburn
my earrings are 2 blue mexican crosses
a green suede jacket and green suede boots
i’m lost
ive taken the wrong turn
i’m out of my depth
i’m on my own
i’m not thinkin’ straight
i’m jet lagged and confused
ive been up all night asleep
my pockets are full of belgian francs and dutch black cats
i sit down at a table
someone sets down a glass of water
its starts to rain again
my room wont be ready for ages
i wonder where tom went
ive still got my dads ring on
i take it off
and try for the one thousandth time
to read the inscription or whatever it is
but
i cant
the rain beats down steadily
gee i really miss……
who do i miss…?
cant think of anybody just right now….
300 gigs
300 smokes
300 drinks
300 reviews
300 how do you dos
the road……
maybe i’m only pretending
i tried to make myself tougher
but i just ended up emptier
the restaurant is is dark n warm
candles burn on
is this the sanctuary then….?
all sanctuary is temporary
the continuous state is exposure
raw nerves exposed
headaches and stomach aches
nervousness
loneliness
intoxication
hangovers
bullying and being bullied
accusing and defending
hiding in some temporary haven
but you always find yourself
the people clap but you feel worse
actually youre not even that good
youre so so
and you sometimes really know
you nibble at the food
people in here
husbands n wives
colleagues
friends
all quietly eating
a low drone of muted conversation
people living the real lives here in this city
the drudgery
the constancy
the hovels
the palatial haciendas
the fishwives
the soulmates
the crab grass and washing machines
the soft summer nights in the gardens
do you pity or envy them?
as usual with you i s’pose its both
you can never just see things for what they are
nothings black n white…even black n white
living in the suburbs
oh it could be so good or so bad
the possibilities fork out before you
you take out that huge green notebook
oh you were writing a lot of stuff in those days
you walked around the back streets of oklahoma
you can still see it now
those gentle lanes on the edge of the city
a motel with a pool
you sat up all night
imagining the lives of these people
whose back gardens you glanced into
as the 4 of you drifted down this lane
a long long back alley
that connected up all the houses
lovely homes spaced well apart
on this afternoon
the 4 of you
the 4 of us
had smoked marijuana and walked down this lane
the motel backed right onto this lane
and you’d smoked and walked and talked
probably argued and bickered
or ganged up on someone
but i was drinking it in
and that night after the gig
i opened the book and the words fell out
about some imaginary woman who lived up the lane
and her bizarre life
and her white skin and her scarlet cocktail dress
and i wrote about the men in her life
i imagined them and imagined them..
sitting at the table of my motel room
on the outskirts of somewhere in oklahoma
in 1988
and their lives are realer to me than my own
where is that book now?
(the solid book we wrote cannot be found today)
i sold it to get money for schmack in the ‘orrible nineties
ha ha said the clown
meanwhile in a parallel universe
i’m sitting in cincinatti or pittsburgh or birmingham
or goulburn or somewhere
nibbling on some jap-mex yum cha
when
“steve?”
i look up
its this girl from arista whos been on tour with us
arranging things
things like meeting people
and meeting more people
and signing things and being polite
this is horrible to say
but i have never remembered this girls name
so i just call her arista
“arista…?”
shes tracked me down
after all that is her job
she tracks down rude and air headed ninnies like me
so that we may do interviews n shake peoples hands etc
we are sorta adversaries
her representing law
me representing chaos
after all theres no way they can MAKE you do an interview
so it falls to people like “arista”
who is actually a nice sweet person
its just that she represents schedules n work n all that
i’m trying to get my head around everything at once
be all fucking things to all people
and i gotta go n meet some retailers….
the retailers never like me…
who would…?
i wasnt s’posed to be liked…
you werent supposed to get up close to me and like me
i was an obnoxious git and i had freckles
see
the illusion was instantly shattered
under the glare of commercial introspection…
so
leave me here
in this sanctuary
the soft buzz of talk
the rainy day
the glow of a fireplace
nothing here alters or affects me
i can be neutral
i can rest
leave me here
then