Monthly Archives: May 2013

Walk Slow For The Light

If I take the time
to collect my thoughts

There’s a zen
to the whole thing

As if the candle
in my library

Was walked slowly
and still lit

To the shelf
of other candles.

Brad Rochefort

dog day fever dream, 1987.

it’s quarter to noon on a wednesday in 1987 and i’m not in a car careening down olympic boulevard behind a cascade of beamers and lexii with california plates. no. i’m on a brick sidewalk, so i must be in harvard square, and i must be on my way to the taang! records store, or mystery train, or in your ear, or newbury comics. or maybe i’m leaving the square, headed down oxford street behind the harvard divinity school, looking for a sandwich shop between here and porter. either way, it’s 1987 and the song i’m hearing is “i burn today” by frank black. it won’t be written or recorded for another 15 years or so.

the $10 bill in my pocket is marked for disaster: after the record shops i’ll scour the basement at the harvard book store and later today i’ll have a beer at the middle east with mark sandman to try to convince him to start mixing in a saxophone with his doom-and-gloom bass lines. it’ll be midnight and the dog day heat of summer will be traded in for a sporadic nighttime breeze while i saunter in a barely perceptible zig-zag down mass ave.

i’ll be headed for inman square in the wrong direction but there’s a strong chance that i might keep on walking. through harvard. through porter. behind davis. down past ringe. arlington, dry town.

i might not stop until i reach lexington. it’ll be 2am. i’ll have to sleep here on the green until the sun rises on a forgiving thursday morning.

i won’t be able to call anyone to pick me up. there’s no such thing as a cell phone.


I got nothing. It captures your essence?
It takes you in like an orphan and years
later you find you’ve changed for the better
or not. Sometimes it ignores you, keeps you
off to the periphery, so no one
knows you were ever there, or really cares,
or ever will unless another takes
you in, and hopefully this time you won’t
be ignored, abhorred, almost aborted,
tossed on the cutting room floor. We can dream
our actions might be cherished for all of
eternity, but realistically,
everything you do will someday fade
yellow at the edges, warp and decay.

Valdez > Anchorage > Seattle > Boston


Huh? Wha? Where am I? What time is it? I don’t even *thunk*


Borrowed Nostalgia

In ninth grade I was in a production of Bye Bye Birdie and I was particularly
proud of the fact that the Pendleton plaid skirt I was wearing was my mother’s, a skirt she’d actually worn in the Fifties, and as I waited on the front steps, waited for her to take me to Opening Night, I thought:

What are people going to be wearing twenty years from now at 80s parties?

Pinstripe jeans, maybe. That’s as far as I got. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to dress like me.

She Was (Between August 1st and 10th, 2007)

Tall enough
Not too tall

Warm as the sun

Eyes that show

Soul that sings
From the heart

Tall enough
Not too tall


He is survived by his wife, two children,
and his millions of fans around the globe,
as if his life were intensely tragic,
a natural disaster that unfurled
upon an unsuspecting world, and all
his victims will be reeling from this mad
attack for the rest of their lives, until
they die, leaving their own survivors. It
is nice to know a man made an impact,
but one should feel as though the planet is
greater through a life well lived; don’t instead
sound like a massive crater, like the world
will never be the same because some great
meteor burned a hole in these poor souls.