acoustic recollections like pouring colour onto spun wheels whose speed determines the results years end winter tones--clouds--heavy dark -- but hope lingers in the recesses of every childhood dream in primary hues --untainted perchance to breathe.
the pour is always slow and easy "Welcome to town" she said as she slid into the room lit by one dim bulb and sat at a table in a dark corner with a glass of water and matches and a burning cigarette waiting, on the walls written questions never answered by someone not there in a time never spoken and on a map not seen. she looked up and said "I do not believe you" I replied as I had done before, "Makes no difference, you're still going, you're so going you're already gone"
---behind dark cloaks it was easier not to be seen depth of scars dying colour crowns that excess weight time brings on in them dark corners she'd arrive early to assure her place neither one to the left nor right and no one behind to take her by surprise some might call it hyper-vigilance she called it secure--prudent or maybe she just liked watching all the soles walk in-- never thinking she too was being watched- especially during her invisible phase. she was always ready to start a fire just for the pure satisfactions of and putting it out. she liked creating illusions she masked gin in tall water glasses and the presence of smoke with rolled up wood chips she liked creating a staged set circa 1955 --or maybe it was 1943--- didn't matter---keep it black and white and make it real. - visitors approach most bored her she dined alone intentionally to watch to eat--to taste to think to believe to read those definitive writings she knew were too real to be denied. call her mad as she exited to scroll on the peace tanks already defiled surface-- 'this too will end.' 'the greatest peace--comes with release--having held on too long.' * encrypted tongues --kept their tangled lingo cha cha cha naaaaaa mambo--- 'dont think twice... its alright..' and though gone-- long before she arrived--- their glasses clicked she 'drinking fine water-with the aroma of 17 herbs and spices.' and he with indifference... knowing tales are twirled like Hollywood signs transient at best.
when the smoke clears and the water clears and the calm becomes normal and the reflections start you can just wait for someone to ruin the moment, someone who just does not get it paid by the man who pays the ones in the background
what you write reminds me of a Jackson browne classic Stay:
'Now the seats are all empty Let the roadies take the stage Pack it up and tear it down They're the first to come and the last to leave Working for that minimum wage They'll set it up in another town Tonight the people were so fine They waited there in line And when they got up on their feet, They made the show, and that was sweet, But I can hear the sound of slamming doors and folding chairs and that's a sound they'll never know' * so true... the unseen... the invisible. well--at least to those without eye. hmmmmthat would be the majority.
not much of a fan of Jackson Browne, with an E ha , but can see that in the song never heard it i do not think funny maybe 6 years ago, JB was standing on my dad's property down in Venice with a neighbor (Ed) who I knew well. He records/produces lps and live shows and was working on a JB album.
I walked over and Ed introduced me to JB. Once he heard my name he said, "Ohh your Anders's son?" We had a nice chat.
Turns out my dad knows Jackson Brown, but not really as a musician, just a nice guy around Venice. And the final funny thing is JB was trying to buy my dad's house and my dad turned him down.
so true unseen invisible and the one i do know they were running on empty