Still Alive In The Western Lands
March 16, 2009
Sitting in La Café Cave or La Cave Café listening to Johnny Cash, a demi and McCarthy novel on the wooden table in front of me feeling life to be so painfully sweet and familiar so far from home, those I love most, precious time, I think about the impulse moments, “Meet at the Bean?” “What are you up to-want to meet?” R, L, sisters, lover, friends, the state of things impermanent—that particular constellation of person time and space so fleeting and me over here lonely for them all and it, yes if I were there lonely for this? But who? P, S, N, B and N, the only ones I don’t have to hunt down for company but still—only these, while in NY there are countless places I can go to see countless people who know my name my face even if they care very little, though some are glad to see me even if in my neurotic way I still wonder—no matter where I am—like here—where some generic rock is playing, quasi-Rolling Stones, and no one’s brought the free popcorn to my table—maybe if I have a second beer and on and on and on…but what I really wanted to say was that the exquisite pleasure of life, these perfect moments of beer and music and book among the voices, soft in conversation, rising and falling the sound of a chair pulled along the floor, the tattooed waiter with the rock t-shirt loving his American look, now Echo and the Bunnymen, maybe, la la la la, and human creation has made all this meaningless beauty like the smell of warm popcorn and beer and the velvet voice speaking French to the woman sitting across from him, smiling back, her cheek resting on her knuckled fist, perfect white teeth, as the street corner ignites with the reflected light of pink sunset and green neon pharmacy cross above—I don’t know where I am in this bar of American music and little French dogs, Belgian beer and gloves made in China, but no loud Ha ha ha like on the LES, the tones more intimate and tremulous, there used to be a pinball machine in the corner where the couple sits and the guy knew how I liked my coffee and there were usually only 2 or 3 people in here at this hour but now the bar is almost full and the old men are gone—where? I keep trying to go west as the day progresses, follow the sun, that’s my mantra, makes the day last longer.