Not me

Bella is a ten year old girl that runs the restaurant I work at. She is the daughter of Manel, a friend of ours. Manel will come in and hang out while Bella serves gelato or runs the register. She gets mad at me if I try to step in and you know, do my job. Bella is occasionally useful when understaffed and busy. Its like having half an employee. In exchange she is supplied with all the pepperoni she wants.

The other day I was sitting down for a minute before my shift started. Bella wanted to know what was in my big messenger bag. I started to tell her but soon became easier to open it up. Along with deodorant, cologne, iPod, digital sound recorder, magazines, extra shirt, bike pump and tools was my sketch pad. A big one I just bought the day before, it only had one sketch in it. Just the beginnings of an idea. She wanted to see it. I said no. I dont like to show people anything unfinished. I feel awkward enough trying to communicate on a daily basis with the usual series of syllables that is my every day speech, much less visual interpretations of random ideas plucked from my own synapses. She began to whine. I mean literally whine, like a puppy. So I showed her. It is a rough sketch of an idea I want to do a photo of then translate to a woodcut. She looked at it and said, "hmm.....I....no, it's good ....it's just....not for...me.

Without a doubt the most honest and accurate judgment of my work I have ever received.

The only thing I ever wrote that I liked.

I wrote this the morning they took my dementia infested Grandmother, my father's mother, to the nursing home. The last day I would see her alive. This happened just weeks after returning home from three weeks on the road with Midstates and the American Princes. Up until now whaich was maybe the happiest three weeks of my life. At that point she had been at my house for about a year. No longer able to care for, feed or trusted to do anything herself. Maybe I was just that happy to be away that long. She had been alone since my grandfather divorced her in 1982. I wrote him a letter in January telling him about my travels and the robbery/shooting. I explained I had a great girl and was really happy and wanted to talk to him more often than the once-a-decade family reunions. I havent heard back yet.


Mon, Jun. 12th, 2006, 07:11 am
Where is the V in ne’er-do-well?
6:04am

The screaming started again
Right on schedule

It is cold in my room
Cool for this time of year
The window needs more effort than I want to give
In order to get it to compromise itself by closing all the way

She howls like a spoiled girl
Til I hear her head hit the floor
Above me

Silence

I had never wished someone would die before
Of my own family
An ever further thought
Till today

I was disappointed
When I heard her start talking again
Slightly quieter than before

My dad

Said something yesterday
He said it twice

He yelled back
He pushed her down
He may have punched her
I didn’t want to ask

They are coming
I can hear it
She is calmer with strangers

He meant it

She said she hated us
She meant it

She said it twice
As they helped her down the stairs
She walks slowly
I think there is something wrong with her foot

Another man at the door
At this moment
She called him Jack and yelled at him

The look on his face was kinda funny

But if I would have laughed then
I would have lost it

I did anyway
After what my aunt said
She said she would rather have cancer
She said it twice

I believe it is the only time in human history
That phrase was uttered
With sincerity

I had to return to my room

With the open window
To cry alone

I wondered why I could not cry with my family
With my dad
It seemed like he would see it
As a weakness

He thought I was weak
Or at least gay
I wanted to be there, for him

But that just isn’t the way it is

The ambulance, fire and police wait
Till the end of the street
To turn their sirens back on

Yesterday
As he was coming up the stairs

After picking her up
After dragging her inside
After she threw herself on the ground

He said
If I ever get like that
Shoot me
Shoot me

He said it twice.

Seven Months

Words have eluded me for a while now. December 16th was my last post. What has happened? Nothing to speak of, I suppose. A relationship entered and exited. Justice was served. Friendships forged. Businesses created. Songs written. Drinks drunk.

A couple weeks ago, a Sunday, I had to get my bike from the practice space. I needed to get to work that evening. So I walked. I cant get over how much I love walking long distances. Images immediately enter of monks with walking sticks from those old Japanese woodcuts. Walking and meditating. Its the only activity that really lets my mind wander. Yet it takes a certain amount of steps before I get past the "thinking about thinking" stage and really let loose. That Sunday I had my headphones on and thought the most apropos soundtrack for my hot summer Arkansas walk was Ride the Lightning. I could be seen walking past the capitol laughing to myself marching to 'Fight Fire with Fire.' It just so happens that most of the songs on that record match the beats per minute of my natural walking tempo. So it became easy to step along with Lars.

Yesterday I met a group of 21 cyclists headed from New York to California on a 52 day ride across the states. These people were amazing. Allison was so inspiring. She was the first into town and happened to find me at the Station. I fed her and we started talking. I gave her a list of bike shops and bars to hit. We all hung out that night. I wanted to take a week or two off and hit the road the next day at 5am with her.

Today I could not wait to ride. After work I fixed up the Bianchi and headed to Argenta to see Marcus and Michael do a set on the street. It was great. They rocked out some real blues while Marcus and Dede's two kids ran around banging pipes and the ground with their drum sticks. As the sun went down their set ended. I took the river trail down to the Big Dam Bridge. In the sections where the trees blocked out the moonlight my eyes could hardly adjust to find the road. I began to get thoughts of being jumped and robbed out there alone under the cover of darkness. The low light allowed my mind to hallucinate men trying to jump out at me from the trees. I rode fast hoping to trace the winding narrow road. Begging for light I finally emerged in to the well lit bridge entrance. I managed to take the entire trip so far and the entire length of the bridge with out shifting from high gear. I am getting stronger. It wasnt until I made my way to Cantrell and up Cedar Hill Rd that I finally shifted down. Hard ride up. Its so preferable to take a difficult ride when you have no idea what is around the next turn. There is nothing to dread. It is truly living in the moment. There is no turning around only dealing with that which is immediately confronting me. No thinking just moving. Muscles screaming. Finally, thank you, I found Kavanaugh. I headed downhill towards home. One final sprint. This bike is so fast, I must have been doing 30-32mph.

In front of my house I slow to a stop. My left foot gets stuck in the cage. Halfway to the ground, it was too fast to smile but upon reflection and in slow motion I let go and enjoyed the breeze before I hit the ground.