Monday, August 29, 2011


A phone call. I accept the offer and now question myself. Walking through the back halls, the lonely sound of my tambourin striking my guitar case echoes for miles with every step. I shouldn't be here. Looking out from the stage, I've stared for an hour now across a vast, empty room full of more chairs and tables than faces. I've played here before. I'll play here again tomorrow. Tomorrow they'll scream. But tonight; tonight's different. The few distant bodies across the room seem nearly as lifeless and apathetic as I. There might be a dozen patrons; all of which look near collapsing. It's smoky here. Few people are left but for some reason a tobacco lined heavy fog fills the room. I prod the hopeless crowd with as little expectancy as result. Nothing works. I laugh a little to myself and mutter faithlessly through a routine of whatever I desire. No one's listening. I'm fine with that. I'm exhausted; It's all slow songs from here, darlin'. I mutter thanks into a broken microphone and exit to an equally smoky downtown. I've had this lingering feeling of nothingness today. I want to be alone. I find a place I used to sleep. It's beautiful out here, beneath the pines. It's dark here. It's nowhere. I strum my guitar and play through the same few songs I'd played shortly before. Only this time they seem to matter more. Nothing matters here; that's what makes it flawless. Bats flutter from tree to tree while smoke from some ambiguous location fills the leaves. I can't seem to escape smoke tonight. I want a pipe right now. I feel restless. It's 12:15am and I want to stay here all night. Maybe I will. At some point I realize I'm hungry and leave the serenity for mouthfuls of MSG and emptiness. I'm killing myself. It's peaceful tonight. I'm apathetic to the world but at the same time everything is perfect. I collapse on my couch and pick a banjo until there's nothing left worth watching on a muted television. It's cold in here. I lay on the floor, finding patterns in the ceiling and wondering why I'm awake. Restlessness. A flash. Words pour like fountains across a notepad while fleeting melodies find their way to my guitar. I'm three songs deep now. I like nights like this. Empty soda cans rattle on the floor while I stomp the ground and mumble the words to my recently born creation. I found it. The TV flashes again. The Rangers won. I smile. Hamilton homered. I've been awake for days. It's beautiful here; being alive. I turn out the lights and noisily walk to my room. I won't sleep. It'll run through my head relentlessly and until I awake to everything I've dreamed I can't turn it off. I think awhile and laugh briefly at the vast array of suspenders hanging from my closet door. It's tomorrow now. It's been tomorrow. I wonder what joy awaits me...

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