Friday, August 21, 2009
FENWAY LOVE: BY THE TIME I GET TO ARIZONA
It was upon old haunts we came upon again and again, the foliage in full flush, breathtaking scenery not quite captured in a hush.
Familiar jaunts down memory lane, beside the burning bush and exquistely manicured lawns stretching for what seemed like miles... weary eyes staring back through dotted window frames. Blank and scattered, hurried, lost in mileage backing up the physical form. Present but not accounted for. One hurling mass darting glances at irridescent flashes from message machines that light the skies. We pass by pigeons pecking the ground; ever on watch, picking at crumbs...vigilance a common dependent of surivival...hunger.
Creative power points to projections of clear consciousness and communication without hesitation.
What is this non physical form?
Certainly not to have and hold, but rather to cultivate and coax. It was the eve of McCartney @ Fenway; internal soil oils bubbling liquid overflow...when news came down from the wire...
Call me. Think you have good news coming....
Whatever could this mean?(Sox were in the Bronx...which proved to be the end of the Smoltz experiment...in Boston.)
Like the precious jewel, hidden and long since hoarded, was about to be
revealed. Had synergism, or the joint action of agents grabbed hold of reason? Or worse still...blind emotion run amuck? With a little luck...we Could all be ridding toxins along a disjointed way...
Snake eyes! That's it! This could be a disguise. Tread lightly...
What would he want me to do? Thinking of course, the set of skills would be sharpened and ready for most anything a night in the city ken bring a sailor of these 7 seas...including, but not limited to a midget pleading for assistance at the bottom of a barstool, the characters in no condition...
"...ah...little help here!"
This same wingman on a road full of kicks...tricks run like Prince at the Palladium: The Tiny Purple Dot. We managed to rustle balcony seats in the last row behind all the beautiful people so the chipped ceiling was well within pickin' reach, though we did manage to keep a pre-show appointment with a friendly pharmacist, who turned out, afterall, to be a friend...before exciting post haste.
"Ya gut 30 minutes...if that! On your way boys."
Then it was at Dylan in the same city of Woosta tolerating rampart jabberwackey inside the parking lot jamboree...from a man/boy, ________, the not so closet Dylan freak.
"Those are the exact socks he wore in Hartford!"
Peak into the eye of the animal and an element of surprise may be duly attained by the observer within a shadow of a doubt.
Many mouths dropped open in surprise at that one but by now I had grown past the point of eager...ready was willing to be informed as citizen to justly determine what this here hullabaloo was all about.
I yearned for what had yet to be revealed and decided to take a stroll.
Outside the sun was shining and there was music in every direction. Birds were singing in trees with no leaves barely concealed. "It Aint Easy" blaring from a Chevy. The original "Signs", coming from the postman's trolley truck saddled by the side of the curb.
I passed a neon coloured kite held captive in a naked tree. The tails of the kite, a bright yellow and lime green, tangled and torn...left to bake in the sun (aging as we go in the know)fallen leaves appear to be nothing more than a kite contained, restrained, not allowed to fly...only to wonder why dreams do die...knowing all the while it comes from the smile.
...but where did it go? By the time I get to Arizona...I'll havata buy a new hat!
I'd need more than that...it was time to go back. Returning to the funny farm it came to be the mind was wide open so I made the necessary adjustments.
What was hombre gunna say?
Yes, this is a bit south of sanity, maybe even casually corrupt, but if only to interrupt a mania mind of mazes frying in the desert.
"You sure you don't know? I thought-"
"With the prelude building by the moment, I'm sure I don't know Frantastic!"
Wait...strike that! We've run amuck once or twice...
Once fuss and reflectivity came to be, it was determined 4 brothers were to be duly engaged in harmony at the aformentioned Fenway for sunday night baseball against the Yanks in addition to Paul McCartney the following evening. Could this be true?
Less than one hour later:
1. The McCartney countdown had begun
2. Reality was beginning to settle.
3. Two Fenway treks
a. with a band of brothers.
b. Mom, Pops, Jr.
The voicemail eye turns red. It was my blood brother Lenny (not his real name!). No really. Everyone has called him Lenny since about 8 or 10, being a pet project of a relative on my creative side...though we do digress....
It seems by his message, Lenny is packing free airfare and a ticket with his big brother's name on it to the USC/ASU game in November. Keep in mind I have never been to Arizona; hence the mantra, By The Time I Get Arizona! (He has lived out there for 8 years).
Each experience, McCartney (Aug 6th, the Sox/Yanks , and finally, Arizona to see his condo and meet the black lab in person, have come strictly through goodwill. By the time I get to Arizona, I may need to rethink my stance on scorpions! Forget counting your change...always check your shoes!
Most people say enough for tons of men. Then again, there are those who don't say much...looking...listening...learning....deep in touch with the sands of faraway lands. Perhaps that one understands strife and struggle, borrowing the physical form to be considered lucky.
RIP, NASCAR, Part 3
1 week ago