Friday, June 10, 2011

Bar of Broken Dreams...

Its been said that a Bar of Broken Dreams exist in an undisclosed location. Only at your lowest or weakest point in life  its' location is revealed.  It's where all the has-been, wanna be's and never will be's always hang out. They pour whiskey like misery on a cold winters day. The bartender as crude as the motor oil that makes his motorcycle run.  With a toothless grin he welcome all new patrons. Although he doesn't want to hear about your pathetic excuse for an existence. The only thing the bartender hopes for is a good drinker and an excellent tipper. Someone who can drink an entire bottle with out being a nuisance. 

The bar itself is like a desert. Dry, hot, and sticky during the day. At night its Colder than a bitches heart. Depending on the time of year, you might hear coyotes sing a cowboy song. Crying to the night of broken hearts. During the day The Vultures circle around all the weak critters. Some might have a chance at picking through the carcuss of an unfortunate soul. Lingering flesh from their rabid beaks. Staring at you with their beady eyes. Feeling your every step. Watching your every move intill you fall face down in the sand. Tired, poisoned from a rattle snake bite, lacking of water and food. That's where they getcha.

I myself am a shaker, a maker of hopes and dreams and this bar is the last place i need to be. No real music. no real dreams.  I've wonder many times 'how i did to get here?'  From where i sit, i can see there is nothing to help these people out. Poor souls looking for the exit sign.  pathetic patrons who climb the bar stools for that sole ideal of looking at life from the bottom of a glass in hopes that it might improve their perception.  Falling further lower than they were the hour before. 

Currently as I write this note, I see the woman sitting directly across from me grinning, with a glazed over look of "no ones home" in her eyes.  As she begins to cackle at absolutely nothing, I noticed teeth missing.  Her head bobs as her cackling grows louder. Patches of missing hair around her wrinkled scalp.  

Wondering to myself, 'how long have the majority of people been in this bar?'  
As if he was reading my mind the bartender pours my whiskey in to a dirty tumbler stained with a pink lipstick. "These people come and go, some never leave, and some just come for the day." 
I look at my glass of whiskey with disgust.  I can't bring it to myself to tell this bartender that the glass he gave me was dirtier than the toilets of an outhouse, I was pretty convinced those were actually cleaner. 

The bartender reached over and with the bottom of his shirt wiped the lipstick stain.  "You look like you don't belong here." He said with a look of approval for my lack of attendance. "People your age swing around here during their college years, when their careers fail, or they have a major heart break.  So which one of the three." 
I smiled and said, "none, i'm just on vacation."

Monday, March 29, 2010

Sitting Pretty..

Sitting pretty in Holland Park Notting Hill, London watching all the passerbyers taking on their phones looking at maps and wondering where they are headed to next.  I sit here alone.  With my music playing in my ear the small hint of San Diego that I brought with me.  In my iPod: The Dragons, Steve Poltz, Portugal The Man, Plan B, Zutons, Hotel St. George, Blackout Party and much much more.  

I decided to spend the whole day a waste in the beautiful park.  Staring at absolute nothing and all of everything. All the passer-byers that walk along the pavement with their cameras, maps, phones and everything you can think of to get them on their merry way.

Sipping on a breakfast tea.  Trying to read, but distracted on everyone around me.  Then with in the blink of an eye he passes by.

Ever wonder about your first crush?  I mean the first person that gave you the butterflies in the belly.  You sat there looking at them while they smiled and said something completely interesting (or so you would think?).

I think I saw him.  

When I was a little girl spending the summers in Scotland with my pops; I would play with the neighboring children or my older cousins.  All my cousins are about ten years older than I am.  I would rather play with the boys than with the children my age.  I guess not much has changed in life.  I still play with the older kids than those my age.  

There was a friend of the boys his name isn't as important as my memory of him.  He was a tall lad.  Slick brown hair, a tall slender figure with green eyes and porcelain skin.  He loved playing soccer with the boys. When he was over he would give me a slight sideways glance and a crooked smile to show slight mangled teeth.  

I got butterflies in the belly just from his look.  Thinking about him now gives me butterflies!

When I was 19, I moved back to Scotland for a year.  Thought I would help out my father in the restaurant and tavern.  I had my own place above the tavern.  

I remember him coming in and asking me a question about something that is not that important anymore.  I answered his question.  He gave me that crooked smile and turned and kissed me.  Again that crooked smile meant more than he thought.  Although at that time I was in one of the most serious relationships I probably will never get into again.  I always thought of him. That one kiss.  

I wonder today 7 years later, if he remembers me.  Did he really pass by me with that same tall slender figure and crooked smile to hide his mangled teeth?  Looking at me sitting pretty in the park trying to read a book that sits on my lap.  

I went to have dinner at Montgomery Place a nice little restaurant that served yank food as they mentioned on their menu.  I decided to eat properly since I was  not sleeping the way i should be. Still sleeping at 4 or 8 in the morning and waking up at noon and going on with my merry day.  

When I walked in and asked for a table for one.  The man I saw at the park, looked up and with that same crooked smile nodded and took me to my table.  Surprised was I to see him there.  I was highly recommended by my cousin to go there.  Since it was so close to the park I was sitting at in Notting Hill.  

Did my cousin really tell me to go to that restaurant knowing that the tall slender man would be there?  A way to just bring me back into a memory of what could have been and never will be.  

I ordered my food, Blackened Asparagus with toasted sesame seeds, plum & rum infusion as a starter.  and my main was honeyed duck glazed with organic honey on a bed of ginger infused wild rice. Of course I had to pair it with wine just as amazing as my meal.  I ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio, Vigneto Corvara Albino Armani.  The price was just right for me, £34.  No dessert for me, I was full.  

I sat there as my food digested and I sipped every so slowly on my wine while I read more of my book.  I noticed the tall slender man kept looking unto my direction.  He flashed me that crooked smile one more time before he can and dropped off my check.  I give him the check full of money to pay for my meal and wine.  He came back with the change and a little note.  

The note read:
"It has been so many years
I want to say I know you, 
 you are now a different woman from the young girl I remember.
That is the girl I have locked in my heart.
Come back again so I can fully be introduced to 
this new woman infront of my eyes.
The beauty that never changes
is locked for ever in your eyes
Hazel eyes, almost like running through
a forest after the trees have been 
washed with the spring rain.
Please come back."

I gazed at him.  It was a mischievous doing from my cousin to see the one person who gave me my first butterfly belly and a true kiss that will forever be locked in my memory.
I smiled and as I left I slipped him a note as well.  

That note read:
"It has been years for you,
however for me it was only yesterday.
I will never forget that kiss nor you.
The day I return will be the day I never leave"

I left the restaurant without giving him a single contact information from me.  I knew the day I came back to introduce myself properly, would be the day I would call this place home.  

Friday, March 26, 2010

Three days Inn

Siting down at this little cafe out side of Kingsland, London just off a train from Scotland. My travels seem all more like a dream. Everything seems to keep on meshing together. Sleeping during the day and waking up in a haze at night. I see the sun come up but never see it go down.
The bottle of whiskey at my side. I have a phone next to me that only receives text and picture mail. A laptop that is currently stealing internet from the cafe around the corner from my loft.

Was this what i was expecting from this trip a repeat of a lucid memory from three years ago. Drinking, smoking, writing, and never sleeping. It feels as though I have not slept in months. The bags under my eyes say it all. They tell stories of my travels. From Austin to this studio that holds a guitar, some recording equipment and a small desk enough to roll cigarettes and keep my computer hooked up. If I move it, I will lose the connection of the internet. Meaning I might loose connection from reality. From the people in my city that I have left to find myself once again. In order to regain myself from the insanity that i built for myself of working around the clock and seeing the one thing that keeps me alive. Live rockn roll.

My hermit mind is no long afraid of the dark since that is the only thing that guides me in this town. I am guided by the most obscure people i know, my crazy uncle Micky and my "I wont grow up" 35 year cousin Philip. Together we all sit around and talk about the good ole days while drinking whiskey and filling our bellies with good food. That is if we remember to eat for the day.

This is only the 3rd day. The rest of the trip might be a fiasco depending on who decides to call it quits first. Will it be me with a quick flight out of the UK, my uncle Mick due to work and family; or my cousin based on whether the bar needs him for the weekend. Could it be that meeting my 16 year old sister tomorrow night prior to our train ride might snap me out of my self destructive tendencies in a different country?

Only Time will Tell....