In 1994, Bukowski died at 73. It’s hard to imagine we have so many days until we don’t. He said don’t die before you’re dead, hold your head under the water, play the violin. Plant tulips in the rain. But don’t write poetry.
How thick the spring felt
when we got home,
the milky night sky implied
a moon, the crickets’
invisible weave
a force field,
‘ode to crackling
grass.’
And in the morning we got up and came down to the den to make coffee. We got under the blankets and lay there with the dog and the cat, the four of us flattened by a knife, the icing on the cake, the tic tock of the clock wafting in and out, the starting of the neighbor’s car, the same low rumble as ours.
And on the way to the lake, the last hanging on of winter, the force of March, crows picking at rubbish, spring birds coming out from the dark…it’s like the aftermath of some riot or looting where it’s unclear what’s happened or who’s in charge, the taking over of songs strung together like tinsel through the trees…the turning of the clocks and the colors so slow, from gray to green, and back to gray, they go.
And the way the rain fell was like it would never stop. No amount of incense I could burn or beer I could drink would make it end. For as much as I tried, it just kept falling.
” into every life some rain must fall…” can’t remember who said this, but your post made this come to mind. hope it stops soon –
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That reminds me of a line from a Led Zeppelin song, they’re probably pulling from somewhere else too, maybe the same place you’re thinking. Thanks Beth, we are all ready for a break.
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Ok. Just figured it out–you are a magician! This post has magic in it! 🙂
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Thank Akuokuo! Happy my phone auto fills your name now, that’s good. Magic. 🙏
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Getting up to make coffee and going back under the blankets is the best feeling ever.
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No doubt, total punk rock (sort of).
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They were a bit punk weren’t they? I loved them at the time.
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It always feels like you’ve been rummaging around my bookshelves. Or inside my head.
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Nice, good place to be…thanks Mark.
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It’s raining again
Oh no, my love’s at an end.
Oh no, it’s raining again
And you know it’s hard to pretend.
Oh no, it’s raining again
Too bad I’m losing a friend.
Oh no, it’s raining again
Oh will my heart ever mend.
Oh no, it’s raining again
You’re old enough some people say
To read the signs and walk away
It’s only time that heals the pain
And makes the sun come out again
It’s raining again
Oh no, my love’s at an end.
Oh no, it’s raining again
Too bad I’m losing a friend.
C’mon you little fighter
No need to get uptighter
C’mon you little fighter
And get back up again
Oh get back up again
Fill your heart again…
Written by Richard Davies, Roger Hodgson • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group
A little Supertramp flashback for your ed-ification.
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I love Supertramp…wonder if that Richard Davies was any relation to Dave Davies or Ray Davies? Or am I totally losing my mind here, probably. Always welcome those snatches of good songs, thanks for sharing. My throat is dry for song, with all this rain. No tunes left. Kind of freaking really tired of it and BUMMED OUT. Doing my best to bleat it out with an old Dylan album now and a beer.
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