I love my liver when I eat my lover

Drinking beer in the morning in the kitchen cooking with a wife-beater and Tom Waits, finally found something the cat will eat that’s not decapitated, some calf’s liver in a yogurt sauce from a plastic packet mom adds olive oil to because it’s good for the cat’s gums, but hardens when she leaves the remains uneaten, draws the same flies that scatter when I lift the bag of potatoes to fry in butter and oil for breakfast, the whole town silent from the first night of the wine fest, broken glass between the cobble stones, “rain starting in nine minutes” it says on mom’s tablet, and like the trains, they’re usually right.

We’re making jokes with Benny about the German language and it should be no surprise, words like live, love and liver all sound so much alike — cracking dumb, drunk jokes about putting the church in the kitchen’s cherry, I must puke in the cake in the kitchen mit die Flamkuchen. Throw the cow over the fence some hay.

It’s no surprise we wind up with the five Americans from Minneapolis playing Boogie Woogie on a side stage in the centre of town, just up the road from my mom’s — they’re beating on an old piano, a stand-up bass, saxophone, drum kit, hats and hair flying everywhere, the singer pronounces it “Danke Shane,” is drinking something clear, definitely not water.

We watched our friend Uwe’s band play the market stage, the bigger billing, but after an hour we slipped out and gathered to watch Cadillac Kolstad, a band from the same town in Minnesota where Dylan came up, the bass player played with Prince — and I feel bad for leaving Uwe’s show early but rationalise it because they’re phoning it in, no other way to put it, 80s bar band covers, and I can’t understand how the Germans are so firmly fixed in American music from this era, what is it about this time they identify with, that far-off, plastic happy feeling you get listening to Phil Collins, “She’s…an ee—asy…lover.”

Uwe’s mom is rumoured a gay troll figure though by the guy who comes by late night, complains how she’s acting as a wedge between him and his husband, can’t understand why, how this fixation she has for Englebert Humperdinck seems to carry over into young, gay culture in some obsessive fashion no one can explain or understand, how our first time here in Germany her now dead husband Alan showed me the proper way to make a gravy from the turkey using the organs and the blood that’s gathered in the bag, smokes over the stove while he’s stirring, sometimes ashes in the pan.

Eberhard’s taking my mom and John’s friend Colin to a gig tonight that’s a couple hours away, and Colin can’t get places by himself anymore because he’s got COPD, health problems and no money, needs to keep playing to support himself but needs assisted oxygen now, won’t play for friends for free, says he only plays if he gets paid. And if that were true with me and what I write, well, I’d be writing product abstracts for Amazon and hating myself.

But I got up this morning like I said I would so Dawn and I could meet around the map of the UK and fill in the gaps in our itinerary, but didn’t get far turning the yellow Post-its green, colour coded to denote confirmed bookings for our three month stay there this winter — instead, it was me and three German men erecting the metal barricade from the Stadt outside mom’s house, to keep the young people out, the same ones I almost got in a fight with late night, ushering them away from mom’s barn, pissing.

Mom’s neighbour Bernd insisted on tying the metal wire with his pliers because I’m sure I wasn’t fixing it right; he came by and checked my connections like a project manager might check the logic in your schedule, the task relationships, standing back afterwards nodding, mumbling to one another in German.

My head hurts but I’m skipping a nap to shower and get ready to see the Boogie Woogie band again, tonight: we’ve worked out who’s got keys as we’re all splitting up and hoping we can remember not to lock one another out, later.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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13 Responses to I love my liver when I eat my lover

  1. kirizar says:

    Sounds like you’ll be hunting up the hair of the dog tonight.

    Like

  2. ksbeth says:

    i love all the music, the motion, the mayhem in this.

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  3. walt walker says:

    Mayhem indeed. Have a drink and clock another rowdy teen for me. Sorry about the Phil Collins. It’s a shame that no matter how far you travel, there he is.

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    • pinklightsabre says:

      Funny you say that, I was thinking about globalisation and the fact that somehow, Dawn met the only American in town who’s working for Microsoft here and so on, at the festival last night. And that they have those ads for Minions here in the little book store, in this medieval town. Like, you can’t get away from it. There he is. There you are. She’s an easy lover.

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      • walt walker says:

        Yeah. I was walking through a neighborhood of old Communist housing in Poland, heard Audioslave blasting out the window. The kids in the Internet cafe were always listening to Eninem. Was walking through the Jewish quarter in Jerusalem and heard someone listening to Metallica. Saw a lot of NFL gear over there too, oddly enough Europe, not Israel.) Are you anywhere near Wittenburg? The anniversary of Martin Luther nailing up his prosthesis is coming up next month. It was twenty years ago I was there, but they put on quite a celebration. Great opportunity for the kids’, if doable.

        Liked by 1 person

      • pinklightsabre says:

        God, I like any comment that starts that way: ‘walking through a neighbourhood in old Communist Poland.’ I’m just tired man. I don’t even work and I’m tired. It’s a rock-and-roll tired, now. Wore my Bavarian outfit today and had a glass of wine before noon, which is rare. Ears are ringing, had to come home. Have to get up and teach, go to German class, and so on. Pretend to like, I don’t know. I’ll stop. I did hear about that Martin Luther thing and I like the idea of that. Thanks for the prompt, it’s good. And to your point, about the NFL gear and what you saw, it’s funny that American (not English, American) fashion is so popular: so many shirts saying New York this and New York that, and California. I see a lot of it. But it was fun hanging out some with these American guys in this Boogie Woogie band, from Minnesota. Makes me realise how much I miss hanging out with my people, too.

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      • walt walker says:

        I like any comment that talks about wearing a Bavarian outfit and drinking wine before noon. That sounds like the beginning of a magnificent day. When I was teaching English over there, my school made us go to a recruiting event on a Saturday morning on the main drag. When it was over, a bunch of us went to one of the beer tents set up for the summer. We ended up staying till after dark. I think that might have been the day I fell in love with this girl Kasia. That was a magnificent day.

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      • pinklightsabre says:

        That does sound magnificent. It won’t be long until our dialogue and our features resemble those two old crotchety guys in The Muppets, who sat up in the balcony kibitzing, reminiscing, blogging about their salad days.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. When texting, I constantly mis-type “love” as “live.” I live you. All the time. Your cat eats better than a lot of full-blown adults.

    Is David Hasselhoff still a big deal out there? That says a lot. I can’t say I listen to a lot of Boogie Woogie at home, but if I’m going out to hear live music, it fits the bill nicely.

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    • pinklightsabre says:

      I don’t know about Hasselhoff. Things become big deals you wouldn’t think would. I mean, that’s why we’re here, is that my step-dad’s English take on American roots music (blues, ragtime) was so popular here. And it’s quite odd and marvellous to me, watching how this Boogie Woogie band is blowing everyone’s minds in a real authentic way; so nice to see it for this small band that plays dive bars in the same part of town Dylan came up, inspired his song “Positively 4th Street,” even. Not my normal thing either, but we’ve seen them play the last three nights in a row and I think we’re going back tonight for the last. And I feel quite a bit older, I have to say.

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