He dragged himself out of bed and took a shower. Made some tea and tried to fully become - awake. It was Saturday, a day not unlike the past seven and not unlike the following infinity. He took his medicine, the stuff he takes when he is sick and fed the cat hers. Suited up in his black leather uniform, he ventured out onto the street, a place he feared like no other. Dodging the hoards of holiday shopping zombies, he ducked into the music store to pick up his guitar. Music store man was grumpy, but relinquished the newly set-up Danelctro, barn red and beautiful. On the way back home, people looked at him with that "you're a musician" look that people look at musicians with. He just stared straight ahead or at the sidewalk, since he really didn't like people or the way they looked at him very much. Not much went through his head anymore, just a wash of grey and white and black. Sometimes songs or melodies popped to mind, other people's, never his own, and he would hum a few notes and wonder where it came from. Where in the deep recesses of his memory were these useless things stored and what had triggered that song now. Like some celestial being dropping a quarter into a jukebox and selecting A67, John Doe's "Tragedy By Definition" one of the saddest songs ever recorded. He was not particularly sad and not that happy either. What was the diagnosis? Major depressive disorder, recurrent 296.31. Or something. Upon arriving home, he put the guitar case next to the garbage cans behind the gate and sat down on the stoop and lit a cigarette. It didn't taste good and made his stomach convulse ever so slightly. He was no musician. Hell, he was barely what you would call a smoker. He sat there for a good, long while and tried to think a productive thought. Looking down at his boots, he realized they were scuffed up a bit. Maybe he would go upstairs and shine them. Who was it, Bukowski, that said 'never trust a man with shiny shoes'? Maybe he would ask his neighbor to take a picture of him instead...
Cover Star: Not Bukowski
Headlining Band: John Doe
www.jamesmgraham.net
6 comments:
You're clearly happy in this event...
you look fucked up.
and not in that "I just drank a bottle of wine and smoked a J" sort of way, but in that, "I am helpless and confused and lonely" sort of way.
i think that quote was actually "if you're wearing a skirt, don't stand next to Uncle Lou when he's wearing shiny shoes"... or not.
"I have two rules. One is, never trust a man who smokes a pipe. The other is, never trust a man with shiny shoes."
- Charles Bukowski
sad. so sad.
I love John Doe. "lost" my cds sometime during the divorce. Damn him.
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