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03 April, 2006

Memories of Albany in Autumn

Oh man was I ever foolish to promise that I'd make blog entries once a week. Certainly this will never last. For as you can see, as is fairly obvious to the most casual observer, I have not a thing to write.
Perhaps you would like to hear about my roommate's car, the one with the leak in the weather stripping. I sat in the drivers seat and emerged all wet-assed this morning outside McDonald's where each morning I drink coffee with the boys.
Or better still is the story of my pickle jar. I bought it at Woodman's and it's filled with a shit-load of pickles. The jar says it's more easy to handle than previous jars had been--it is. I can't tell you how many slippery jars of pickles I have watched fall to the dirt floor of my cabin only to crash and break on the box turtles that gather at my feet for warmth.
But what about the story of that guy, my former landlord, who I recently discovered is no longer with us? Well shit, it's just a blog. Were I to tell you about our epic Indian wrestling matches your eyes would grow tired from staring at the screen. When you grapple with a man for three straight hours taking only the occasional break to sip from a bucket of homemade brandy, the important details grow lengthy. This, my friends, is simply not the place.
But I can tell you about the old man's music. In the summer when the air would become thick and sleep therefore impossible, I'd lie awake on my canopy bed listening to that old man play his harp. An angelic sound all on it's own, his harp playing, nonetheless, was a distant second in tonal ecstasy to the sweet syrupy vocals that dripped like Hennessey from his chapped and bleeding lips. For what seemed like hours, I would fix my gaze upon the August moon and allow myself to float on the notes of his harp and the lilting cadence of his words...All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes.....Roseanna.....Roseanna...
He's gone now, but come summer when I again find sleep is out of reach, his words will surely come back to me. Perhaps they will come to you as well.

Posted by JP |

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Excellent. Did you save one of his dirty wifebeaters to sniff?!

Posted by Anonymous Heidi #  


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