Of late, I’ve wanted to expel the dizzy unrest I’ve felt.
I want to explain it to myself, to remove it or extrapolate and let it stand outside my being in order to pull out the hurt and bump up my frailty. I suppose it’s an okay thing to do. It’s human enough to shift blame. To reason out the why’s of an action. It’s …natural, I guess.
And I am guessing because… because though I wrote my angst and felt , oh so much more on top of things, at that moment anyway….I’m thinking more and more about what has not been said, the things I’ve not been able to explain, either to you , or more importantly, to myself..
And it’s not going to come easy or quick. I can tell.
That seems to be the most likely way to let truth surface.
i dreamed of old friends last night. Dead guitar players, playing with me in hell holes for pennies….. for 9 euro… that’s what Ponytail Pete told me. And we were playing in a basement on the side of a cliff or a mud slide… it was gruesome but…what I can I say, it felt cool.
Ah Pete..you don’t need to play for me anymore… you shouldn’t play for nothing. Not any more Playing…just the thing of playing .. of turning out…..no…. you don’t have to do those gigs ….setting up in a hell….singing for slave wages….we don’t have to do that anymore.
ah Pete……..thanks telling me that. Thanks for showing me the raw… the unloved….the pity…
I had been thinking about the gigs to come in 2015 and here you show me what might be… what could be…what once was…….
Pete… go find my brother John
He knew something of dark.. like you did.
Go find my Captian Dermot….he knew the dark as well
Go find my dog… she loved you too.
Pete … cheers… my guitar player… cheers… one of a few men who sat beside me and sank into the groove…..You…..Jimmy Faye of course… he was first… the first guitar player… the first to go as well…. but you… you don’t need to play the caves or the mines with me… not any more.