So Dig This Big Crux

Month: January, 2016

Pictures in a Book

bacon3

This woman’s got a screaming kid, strapped in a stroller, rolling through the Francis Bacon exhibit at MoMA. They’re getting a lot of fuck you and your rotten kid looks. She’s taking her time with the paintings though, which is admirable, considering the crying, and the insane amount of people at the show. Mom doesn’t seem like your typical art tourist — selfies in front of The Starry Night, gunning for the gift shop and poster — but you think her pace would speed up a bit. Gauging by the freak out level, you think she’d hightail it over to the Water Lilies. Maybe she’s a Bacon fan, though she looks more like a Jeff Koons person to me. Fucking balloon dogs. Either way, she’s giving Bacon’s work the time it deserves, even if the kid is a rage of bloody murder. Makes you wonder what kind of mom brings a kid to a deal like this. 

But I think she knows exactly what she’s doing. Get that kid in front of a Francis Bacon painting as soon as possible, make him realize life’s just one big scary shit show.

The earlier the better.

Memory Hotel

americana

She said she had a Bowie story.

It was ’76. Her friends were going to the show at the War Memorial, did she wanna go? Of course she wanted to go, Bowie was everything. Mom wasn’t cool with it, thought she’d be kidnapped or drugged, or both. So she runs away, just for the night.

Show’s great, best ever she says. Bowie’s a white-light blur and he’s beautiful. After the show, she tries getting backstage, but it’s no go. Out in the parking lot some guy comes up, says he’s part of Bowie’s road crew, maybe she wants to party with the band back at the hotel?

They drive to the Americana, a place she knows cause her dad used to live there. She’d visit, they’d go swimming, eat chips, drink Coke. Sometimes they’d just sit there in the room together.

So the lobby’s filled with cops, everybody’s yelling. Crew guy tells her she’s gotta split, there’s no party, not tonight. She tries telling him she’s got no car, but he’s already gone.

It’s 3 in the morning, everybody’s gone, she’s alone in the parking lot. Then there’s Bowie, standing right there, right next to the vending machine, eating a bag of chips.

True fucking story.

There’s Home, and There’s Everywhere Else

home

We’re buying beer. I want the Rainier sixer cause it’s cheap, she says don’t worry, she’s been copying twenties at work. So I buy the twelver.

I’m supposed to show up at midnight, says she can run off a few then. Why twenties? The old ones, they’re the easiest, she says. I get there at midnight, says she can’t do it, come back later.

I’m over at Dots. Bartender looks rough, says he didn’t see the inside of his bed sheets last night.

Back at the copy place, says she’s running the thing we talked about, tells me to go back to Dots.

Bartender looks worse than before. I ask about his bed. I say something like Wouldn’t it be I haven’t seen the inside of my bed, or something like that?

He doesn’t look too sure.

Leeway

leeway

Sometimes he’d drive the hearse around town, even when it was empty, just go for a drive. Onetime, somebody left a hat on the passenger side, so he figured he’d ride the hearse over, return the hat and that’d be it. But something happened on the drive; at red lights people would look over, give him a nod – “It’s ok, I understand you’re haulin’ round a dead body, that’s pretty fucked up, so go ahead friend, this one’s on me.” He felt he was given license to move, move around freely.

So he drove that hearse all over town, any chance he got.

Dancing With The Devil

dancing

Sixty minutes in a holding cell
She asks, “Are we in Hell?”
I guess it could be wore than that
To be in the cold flat on your back
Well it takes time to realize
That we live outside the flow of time
And when the dark comes over me
I’ll already be there waiting in line

Dancing with the devil
On a moonlit night

As he walks through my dreams
Crazy as that might seem
Have you ever felt caught in life
In the middle of a frozen stream
In hotel bars with washed up stars
He talks trash with a Spanish guitar
She can’t get going in the morning
He can’t stop his past from catching up

Dancing with the devil
On a moonlit night

So of the few things I think I know
What’s clear is the pain of fear
So I’m going where life don’t mean so much
Down below the conscious flow
And like an old train on the wrong side
Look at the canyon, the world is on it’s side

Dancing with the devil
On a moonlit night