022017

Off to the West was a searing bright line where a scrap of the day-long Victorian smoke dome had been sautered away.  The angle of the sun gilded the tops of trees, while leaving everything else in shadow.  It made me think of Maxfield Parrish--more specifically, the cover of the Dali's Car album, because I couldn't think of his name.  My brain was telling me "Max Frey", also an artist, but the sky was a bit short on giant sea creatures to hang the effect on him.
According to my list, I was leaving the house for a very few things:  a book on hold at the library, dog biscuits, lighter fluid, and beer.  Unfortunately, everyone else had left their houses, too, or were on the way home.  Earlier this month, I noticed my crowd anxiety had resurfaced some, and it was worse today.  I don't know why.  It's this weird amalgam of smiling & being courteous while inwardly flinching & almost hating people for being in my world.  Underlying that is a dread I've forgotten something, too many dangling plots, a "tomorrow is my Monday" depression.  The girl at the hardware store asked if I wanted to donate to the Children's Miracle Network.  I didn't know it involved a paper heart on the window, I signed "Jason C" and made my exit.  The fluid, after all, was for his Zippo, for lighting my incense.  When I walked into the liquor store I was accosted by some whiny song dragging Weezer's sunglass-wearing corpse around "in his Quiet Riot voice singing Cum On Feel the Noize"...  WTF?  (Edit:  Reliant K?)  I took it as an ill omen.  None of the beer sounded good, so I went with a Columbia Valley Gewurtztraminer.  If I can't live in Washington, then it can live in me.
Saturday night I managed to traverse the Rorschach roads that led into the dark, train-blasted factories-under-bridges part of Kansas City to have Robyn Hitchcock play One Long Pair of Eyes maybe fifteen feet in front of me & refer to pink wine as "lady petrol".  Santeria candles flickered in multi-paned steel frame windows open on a 60 degree Winter.  It was pretty much a pop-up show.  When I got there, I was one of four watching the soundcheck & maybe 50 arrived over all.  Part of me was screaming "Bucket Fucking List!!" and part of me was going, I know this guy...I've hung out with this guy...how is that possible?  In dreams?
This morning I had one of those dreams where I can't control my car.  I'm trying to brake but I'm stomping on the gas, the road is newly-laid asphalt in hairpin turns, I spin into a parking lot hoping to make it look like a James Bond parking in reverse stunt, my mom points out a cop, but it doesn't matter because nothing but waking up is stopping this car.  I do wake up.  And as soon as I close my eyes, I'm in the car again, but I'm in Heidelberg.
No--get up.  Let the dog out.  It's February, the windows are open & the house smells like rain.