blood and fire \

Really the romance of alcoholism is underrated, I understand that nobody wants to hear my drug addled ramblings about bonsai manta rays but really what could be more interesting or entertaining than the ramblings of your neighborhood drunk especially if s/he has an interesting tale a tale of intrigue and perhaps woe, a tail of the dog or a tale of happiness but never a tale of shame because the universal implication is that alcohol is what unites sober with the drunk, this is why I’ve managed to fall off my bicycle twice this weekend and my hand is skinned to shreds and my elbows are not much better and as age increases so does the pain the pain of skinning and lack of skin, is it the realization that living for the moment is the most liberating concept ever the future be damned, except in the most collective of senses, that’s what it has come to, looking over the sea and seeing the sea and seizing the sea of apologies to Patti Smith who rocks eternally and why is there lavender in my pocket picked from plants along the way home sweet sweet lavender sweet sweet home, where the heart is, looking over the sea and the boats and the ferries, smelling the smoke of premature fires (yet too warm), fires of comfort, fires of hypnosis, fires of nostalgia, fires of blood and fire, and reggae, blood from my hand, and I can’t explain the hominess of it all from the terraces, the moon slung low and life going on and the pups and cats curled up zzzzing away and their consorts curled or up resting and enjoying, music dominates, art overwhelms, and the scene is seen, what does it all mean(?) incidental capital A bottle of cheap red wine has begat all of this and it is time to get you into my life I want to stay there ooooh and I suddenly see you, really what more is there but the stories that define and perhaps defame, the poetry of which leads to destinations unknown, Bennie with the quarter behind his ear and the Kennedy conspiracies, RIP, and stars which I have seen which I thought were concepts of injury and cartoons floating circular like about my head but there they were in glory.

11 Responses to “blood and fire \”

  • You sound very Ernest.

  • You had me until reggae.

    Perhaps you edited out a line about fried scallops?

  • I agree the ramble lost a lot of steam somewhere after the reggae line but reggae cannot be blamed (Niney’s “Blood and Fire” was playing on the iPod) but rather I blame the Beatles “Got to get you in to my Life” or iPod shuffle for playing that song at that moment and starting the spiral downwards.

    Though I really like that last line re: stars. I fell off my bike on Friday (this time sober and helmeted) and I actually had to sit down for a minute or two and watch those stars float around my head a la WB cartoons.

    And Mr. Bennie was an immaculately and stylishly dressed African American man that used to hang out at a bar that I would frequent and over the decade (!) he would tell gripping Kennedy conspiracy stories but he would never tell who was behind it all (for our own safety) no matter how much we begged. He claimed to have worked for ABC in Dallas at the time of the assassination. This was one of the greatest pleasures of drinking at the Hotel Congress during the late afternoon and the early evening before those darned kids took over the place later in the evening, Mr. Bennie and Mr. Tiger and the cast of characters, slow drinkers and story tellers, old in the sixties and seventies and eighties. Mr. Bennie is sadly gone but Tiger still tends bar.

  • I rather liked the reggae. I took a bike spill like that once, glad you’re økay.

  • My front wheel got caught in the grate of a curb drain while avoiding a pedestrian (jaywalking). Ass over tea kettle I went – head hit the ground and hands and elbows sacrificed to save face (literally and figuratively) – not sure if that was a good choice. Must buy bike gloves.

    I fell off my bike a lot as a kid. Why does it seem to hurt so much more now? Literally my whole body aches two days later. As a kid it would have just been shrugged off and forgotten after maybe a few tears.

  • Think of little kids playing tackle football with nary an ache and imagine doing so now. I can only imagine the orthopedic surgeons salivating at the twisted carnage.

  • I recommend good old-fashioned aspirin (as well as gloves).

  • The problem is: the song called “Blood and Fire” that I know is by the Indigo Girls. I don’t think it quite provides the mood you were intending…

  • Niney’s Blood and Fire is a great reggae song. Not familiar with the Indigo Girls song. But yes that’s probably a different mood entirely.

  • Sheesh, I read it thinking that I’d find out about a cool new AG shenanigan.

  • Woopsie! I think I’m defaulted on the AG Shenanigans category. Don’t know how that happened?!

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