Tag Archives: lonely

Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78 via video

Disappearing, invisibility, loneliness, depression, anxiety, being lost, trying to not be found, trying to find white space to invigorate… Sometimes these weave together, other times (perhaps) each remain exclusive.

Gord Downie, Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski and me all try to figure out the nuance in different ways atop Turkish street music, trains from Kerala and Moncton, and various ephemeral music snippets.

Note: Also available in audio-only via all normal podcast channels and elsewhere in this library.

Pondering the difference…

Pondering the difference
Between letting go and giving up
When I need something
to hold onto

Doing “self-care”
but
I get so wiped out
Waiting for the current
to drive me away

Check the expectations of others –
Where do I hide these feelings?
Why was she so mean?

So tired of being tired each day
Made a list of happy times
Things I’d like in past times
Is this useful or a trap?

So made a list of things to do
When feeling “this”
But find I’m bored
And reminisce simply that I’m blue

Acknowledgment of art and pain
Respect and fellowship
Simply to be loved and adored
“Is that too much to ask?”

“I’ve never been lonely…” – Charles Bukowski

Read in Postcards from Gravelly Beach Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78 podcast, and shared here to read-along (for educational purposes), note: original source unknown.

“I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude. It’s being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I’ll quote Ibsen, “The strongest men are the most alone.” I’ve never thought, “Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I’ll feel good.” No, that won’t help. You know the typical crowd, “Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?” Well, yeah. Because there’s nothing out there. It’s stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I’ve never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn’t want to hide in factories. That’s all. Sorry for all the millions, but I’ve never been lonely. I like myself. I’m the best form of entertainment I have. Let’s drink more wine!”

Charles Bukowski

Ease, Desired (Lie to Me) – poetry + pictogram

Lie to Me, please (typed) v. 2

Somebody, kindly lie to me
Tell me I am “going to be OK”
Soon, life will be like driving down Laurel Canyon in 1973
In a Galaxie 500
Top down, radio up
Nothing but possibilities
That I will rest easy…
like so many humans do with ease

Someone, kindly lie to me
Whisper I’ve done enough meditating, stretching, giving, therapies, effort
That soon, I will sleep (!) and wake up (!)
and every muscle, joint and nerve won’t be on fire
Please, kindly lie to me.
I promise to believe you (for now).

Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78

Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78
Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78

Disappearing, invisibility, loneliness, depression, anxiety, being lost, trying to not be found, trying to find white space to invigorate… Sometimes these weave together, other times (perhaps) each remain exclusive.

Gord Downie, Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski and me all try to figure out the nuance in different ways atop Turkish street music, trains from Kerala and Moncton, and various ephemeral music snippets.

Prepare to vanish with: Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78 (23MB, 16:25, 192k mp3, stereo)

Continue reading Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78

Mexican Loneliness – Jack Kerouac

Read in Postcards from Gravelly Beach Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78 podcast, and shared here to read-along (for educational purposes), note: original source unknown.

Mexican Loneliness

And I am an unhappy stranger
grooking in the streets of Mexico-
My friends have died on me, my
lovers disappeared, my whores banned,
my bed rocked and heaved by
earthquake – and no holy weed
to get high by candlelight
and dream – only fumes of buses,
dust storms, and maids peeking at me
thru a hole in the door
secretly drilled to watch
masturbators fuck pillows –
I am the Gargoyle
of Our Lady
dreaming in space
gray mist dreams —
My face is pointed towards Napoleon
—— I have no form ——
My address book is full of RIP’s
I have no value in the void,
at home without honor, –
My only friend is an old fag
without a typewriter
Who, if he’s my friend,
I’ll be buggered.
I have some mayonnaise left,
a whole unwanted bottle of oil,
peasants washing my sky light,
a nut clearing his throat
in the bathroom next to mine
a hundred times a day
sharing my common ceiling –
If I get drunk I get thirsty
– if I walk my foot breaks down
– if I smile my mask’s a farce
– if I cry I’m just a child –
– if I remember I’m a liar
– if I write the writing’s done –
– if I die the dying’s over –
– if I live the dying’s just begun –
– if I wait the waiting’s longer
– if I go the going’s gone
if I sleep the bliss is heavy
the bliss is heavy on my lids
– if I go to cheap movies
the bedbugs get me –
Expensive movies I can’t afford
– if I do nothing
nothing does

Jack Kerouac

Cold Water Flat (song)

Wonder Hotel

Words by Dave uncleweed Olson (written in Pokhara, Nepal) with additions by Mikael Lewis

Music, vocals, guitars by Mikael Lewis (recorded in Utah, USA)

##

Cold Water Flat

Landlady’s always angry
So I keep strangers hours
Meditate to TV static
Decorate only with the freshest flowers

Use the payphone down the stairs
Still has that old rotary dial
Instant coffee in electric kettle
Takeaway leftovers wrapped up in foil

I will wait in this cold water flat
Rent paid out 3 months in advance
It’s lonely, but I’m not alone
I’ve got memories of you… for to keep me warm

Registered under a fake name
Though I’ve really nothing to fear
Endearment terms are always wide open
And your affections are always quite near

Hot water register yawns and moans
Damn thing either freezes or it burns
Three tarnished coins run the washing machine
Dirt spins round and around as I yearn

I’ll wait in this cold water flat
Yes I’ve mailed you a dark scribbled map
It’s lonely here, but I’m never alone
I’ve got memories of you…to torture my soul

Gave up on the smokes and the booze
I like to think I’ve paid all my dues
Now my addictions are much more complex
I just torture myself with my memory of you

Auspicious day

9 years ago today, I presented “fuck stats make art” to a full house at SXSW, scored hash brownies and MDMA in Austin, drank whiskey backstage with the black angels. 11 years ago, signed up for Twitter. Also brother Bob’s birthday.

These days, a challenge to just get out of bed for a cup of tea… I’m really trying to “move on”, find “acceptance” and “close the book on old life” but it sure the fck ain’t easy with such wild & fulfilling actions in my past

#thanksforlistening #nosympathy #freehugs #trying

Beige unrelenting present…

 

Every day brings
An anniversary of something grand
So much promise and vigor
Graceful ambition, earnest yearning
“Don’t let the past affect the future”
Sound so easy
Until the beige unrelenting present
Brings another morning of pain

So many years now
Trying, climbing, sliding
Up the slides of a slippery well
Fighting, accepting, relenting
Leaves with only
Exhaustion from the inevitable slide

The shaggy dog comes to rest beside
Oddly purring softly, sedately
Sharpening his claws
Glancing up at me
Noted
I am left alone

I am left alone

Preserving the Wildflower – Postcard #69

pfgb-wildflower-sm

What becomes of the seemingly ephemeral creations we leave behind? Especially in the analog-days?

Consider these in the context of missing cassette tapes made by a now departed poet/activist/scholar Foster and guitar-ing Mikael, who recorded spontaneous youthful riffs in parent’s basement in Utah. In this postcard, Mikael  Lewis sings “Wildflower (for Foster)” written by Dave in a clinic in Nepal, then adds some more verses, spiels and a poem called “Occasionally Free” – with lightning, rainstorm and crickets chiming along.

Catch lightning with Preserving the Wildflower – Postcard #69
(25MB, 14:22, mp3, stereo)

Continue reading Preserving the Wildflower – Postcard #69