Skip to main content

August 9, 1995


August 9, 1995

I'm not exactly sure what I was doing, but I know I wasn't happy.
My first long term relationship was winding down and I was restless,
unsure of the promise that it once held,
and ignoring plaintive appeals from my muse to write more,
get involved in something larger than myself
and lonely.

There were moments that held a clarity for me,
that shifted me off whatever path I'd been on,
and hearing the chorus to "Fire on the Mountain" from outside the amphitheater in Kansas
sparked some weird cognizance in my LSD addled brain and I had to get back in.
The security guard did not agree.
After getting pummeled we came to some measure of understanding
and I passed the rest of that concert --July 4th, 1991--on my own.

This was a turning point for me Jerry,
and however clichè it may sound I became a "Deadhead," a hippy,
jumping into some other way of being that I still struggle to define.
What I was melted away as my consciousness slowly returned in Bonner Springs.
Being in Boulder didn't matter and we relocated to Albuquerque a year later,
made one last trip to see the Dead in Colorado
and just got on with our life.

And then you died.
I remember hearing the news in the morning from some friend calling me from Colorado
as we roasted in a small duplex in the War Zone.
The prime spot for listening was somewhere between the floor and the rocking chair
in the middle of the room and I hung out with the dogs on the floor
sorting through my small collection of bootlegs,
and a few studio CDs that just didn't quite capture what I'd experienced.
As day rolled into night, I moved up into the wooden wicker rocker
and just let the music wash over me,
and cried.
We'd already decided we were going to make another show,
no matter how far away,
and I was so terribly sad.

I like to think you'd approve of how my life has unfolded.
I write, perform, think about my impact and how I treat the ones I care about.
I'm just some fan, Jerry, some random guy from Colorado,
who just wanted to understand what all the fuss was about
and just couldn't possibly understand why so many people that I respected
were drawn to your admittedly bad voice, unpolished compositions,
and a catalog that seemed to meander across genres,
never quite fitting in any of them easily.

I still don't get it, but I miss you.
Miss what you said to me, though I'm not exactly sure what that is.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"That's Scaughtland for ya!"

The United Kingdom Up at the top of that map, basically the top half, is a tiny nation with a big footprint.  With roughly the same population as Minnesota, Scotland has a land mass the size of South Carolina, yet there are more people in the United States that have Scottish and/or Scotch-Irish ancestry than live in Scotland. My family is one of those. In the course of growing up, I was indoctrinated to celebrate my Scottish ancestry (primarily by my grandmother but we'll talk about that later).      So a year ago, my wife took a trip with her mother to Japan.  I looked at the pictures that she posted, and when I'd talk to her on the phone, I noticed something.  She was happy.  This is not to say she's always unhappy, but this was different.  She was having a good time, engaged in the world, curious, and happy-like no matter what the challenge.  And traveling to Japan with her mother posed some interesting challenge...
Post a Comment
Read more

Keith Jarrett: The Koln Concert and What it says about Creativity

Life is about listening.   Sometimes what life is saying comes at you in in strange ways.   On Friday, I was reading this story on Salon.com and it mentioned that few jazz musicians have the same clout as they once did.  Of the few who still draw considerable audiences, it mentioned Keith Jarrett .   I don't know Keith Jarrett, but I've been trying to school myself on jazz for the better part of a year now.   Since I'm relatively new to this jazz thing, I want to make sure I'm really listening to what people think of as "great."   With that in mind, I bought a book:   The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings .   Under Keith Jarrett they mention the album,  The Koln Concert as his best album (part of any enthusiasts' "Core Collection").   So, when I saw the album while perusing Mecca Records in ABQ, I knew I had to buy it.   Life was talking. The Koln Concert  (So, go ahead and ...
2 comments
Read more

The Day the War Began

Originally written shortly after the protest in 2003, an audio of this was broadcast on KUNM on the year anniversary of the war's inception. Hopefully, reasons for writing about this will become fewer and fewer. The Day the War Began.             Three deep and two dozen across, the Albuquerque police department blocked eastbound Central Avenue. They wore Army fatigues, gas masks and helmets, held black batons, yet had no badges or name tags that identified each as a person, an individual. Judging from the surrounding army of police cars and police horses, and the four cruisers that closed Central further to the east, their function was clear. Not only do the authorities want to silence dissent, but they want to keep those not politically vocal from becoming aware of dissent at all.             One of the cops held what looked like a toy water cannon and swung it back and fo...
Post a Comment
Read more