More Odds, Not So Many Ends

In the past two weeks, I have stayed up later than normal, been to more places for the first time, and realized it is not that hard to do an Elvis impression. Life has been entertaining, which usually is a cause for something to write about. To my surprise it is hard to articulate how great my last two weeks were and maybe for good reason. Some things are best left unrecorded and simply remembered and then perhaps forgotten. Needless to say, the attention span of mine that helps me render anything readable and writable is on the lam. I went to the Presidio library branch two weeks ago to feel closer to Richard Brautigan and found it the right amount of underwhelming. I thought I would leave inspired and with a library card, I came out empty handed in both regards. The urge to return is there, regardless I wrote whatever is under whatever it is that I am writing now.

1.

Maybe it is the thought that counts.

I wonder if the thought counts better or often enough as a bank teller or first grader.

Maybe certain thoughts count better than others, like liquor store bouquets and hand written notes.

But maybe all these thoughts that count actually have to do with all the many possible futures. 

 (and this could be one of them) 

There is a particular future that lives in the back of my mind that I think about in hushed tones.

It has to do with western facing windows and initials scarred in a tree somewhere.

This thought slips into my mind haphazardly when certain songs play and my gaze falls out a car window. 

I am not sure how much it is worth, but I have a feeling it is somewhere between one and one hundred.

2.

I left a note for myself that said:

A one night stand is just a thrift store hat.

It was above another wrote that said:
“Why are you in Malibu if you are going to be in a strip mall eating pizza?”

3.

I was walking uphill in the July feverish drizzle.

The skyline was hidden, my breath short. 

It struck me that there are different kinds of humidity.

The tropical island kind and the gloomy July stuck in a city kind. 

There is one that is obviously better than the other, depending who you ask.

4.

Dim lights plus beer plus a booth plus a jukebox plus good company when melted altogether make symphonic nights real. These nights are fleeting and have a quick turnaround to the expiration because of the flimsiness of it all. When the two words “last call” get hollered out and then when the lights come on, the trickle down effect of an impending two am begins to get played out. 

There is the wandering path home when it feels like you and the good company are the only ones out. The city is fast asleep, stores are empty, and stoplights change for no one. 

You splash into bed, having never been this comfortable ever in the history of being comfortable. You think about the last thing that made you laugh hard and then you fall asleep.

This is all to say that Tom Marioni’s FREE BEER (The Act of Drinking Beer with Friends Is the Highest Form of Art) means a lot to me.