20:02 20/02 2002
(about the stroke of 8:02pm on 20th of Feb 2002)
at the second minute
of the twentieth hour
of this twentieth day
of the second month
in this two thousand
and second year
convergence and symmetry occur
interesting
but no different
than any other moment
labels
this type of thing
will never happen again
in our lifelimes
big deal
to be and knots of to be
to be or freaking
you know the rest
hamlet in soliloquy
willie wrote ham
crying out loud
mom doing the dirty
dad gone it
riding the pain
and wondering
what the freak
spilled his guts
to the walls
willie the shake
or the group
conspiritorily wrote
plagerized perhaps
from those greeks stole
stories of the early west
before that
became a trend
in entertainment
eeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnk
*chaaannnnnnnnnnel chaaaaaaaannnnge*
ROW me OH
ROW me OH
where ART thou
julie crooned
toonfully
balconied
families in feud
kept them crazy
tied and apart
except in death
remember that
comedy of death?
that led
to tragedy
of same?
to be or freaking
KNOTs
of B ing?
that is one heck
of a question
KnOt
waiting
to be
untied
chaos, sharks and quarks
(offkey selective history of the Russian River and
western Sonoma county in northern California)
sipping z chaos
watching the news
sharks hanging around
west edge beaches
waiting for unsuspecting swimmers
hoping swimmers suits are cotton
nylon is a pain
even for a shark
goofing off here without restraint
beyond sharkjaws of memory
thinking of similarities between guitar
and clicking keyboard
and how might not quite be understood
by some,
as one leans against an inside wall
deep in Santa Rosa
and the other clicks merrily beneath my fingers
connected to the world
digits delving down deep
filling CRT
juggled thoughts in light
KPFA public radio free america in the background
teasing me with Grateful Dead
as I think about the Further Festival
and the boys without Garcia
voices in the air
sharks out there somewhere
off this coast I like to hear falling all over itself
beyond those hills way over there
wind comes through bays and eucalyptus
hisses white noise
I drift
from way back there I remember
karmazov brothers juggling in minds eye
that time in the River Theater
long before
it was an art deco cabaret de babylon
in those mad seventies
before it was just another meat market
before it was just another microbrewery
before that new stark no character bridge
was right there beside the old one
I switch the radio to KCRB
(public radio Redwood Empire style)
and some DJ that I don't have a clue about
says that name
Kate Wolf
and mentions Wavy Gravy too
I see Kate smile that sunny way
her bells ring words
and something aches
and wonders
about Don Coffin
and that mandolin of his
that he caressed her voice with
their breezes
incoming tides of remembering
Collins and Levine
Mardel Mardeaux violinette electroluxa
Bristlecone and that insane drummer
and Silverado
and Country Joe and the fish
Barry Melton and Rick Duval and Ashbolt
and Randal and Tony Finestra "the shiek"
and David Bromberg and Jesse Colin Young
and those kids in the Cobra Band
drifting their music along Mays Canyon in the twilight
Tony G. and the boys
pounding a forest beat
5150's with 5150
True Slack and Michael F. and Sean and Ray
Hot Tuna and Jorma and Jack
and NORTON THE SNORTING BUFFALO
Jerry the G and Merle
that deep deep magic of the old River Theater
between the seasons of floods
slipping way back and sideways
the wild madness of the seventies
ridges covered with miniature christmas tree farms
helicopters making that slap slap like southeast asia
those nights at the Highland Dell
wearing the fever we all brought down
when we poured into town
from all those cabins hidden
in mountains and hills
nights when everybody cheated
at everything except backgammon and cards
live for today shining
in our eyes
the smoke was thick and sweet and everywhere
the river rose without the Lake Sonoma Dam
the county wasn't crowded yet
river road was empty almost all the time
eight months a year
Damn
we could do a hundred every day
eight months a year
fast winter sundays dripping
wild without the hint
of cherries chasing
(we slid sideways for months on river road)
between the times when those tourists
those beautiful freaking tourists
came and brought their daughters
who came too
entertainment for feral country boys
magic days between the summer bridges
that led to summer nights
on the shoulders of sweetwater
Mt Jackson held up and spilled
a full sparking bowl of stars
upside down all over us
revisiting
Maydays in Monte Rio
parades in Stumptown
free concerts in Rio Nido
canoes floating past the holes of Korbel
music in Cazadero
with the Fort Ross VFD
dancing at Negri's
gourmet slug cooking contests
those jumping salmon and steelhead
rising, dancing as they surface again and again
like a smile from Grant King
like a fly tying Shorty thing
like Fire Mountain all ablaze
like a river time machine
while these keys click
and my guitar waits
the Pacific calls
everytime the radio lulls
I'm slipping in and sipping the chaos
pondering past the sharks
a few heartbeats away
from where the river waits
never stopping, always leaving
but never really leaving
I am the dipping bucket
full of living well
splashing into electrons
clicking times to tell
sipping salty chaos
pondering past times sharks
playing in this random
symphony of quarks
