Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Chapter 5: The Night I Met Dennis Hopper


Chapter 5: The Night I Met Dennis Hopper


If You've Come This Far

Out there I found eyes that stay blue far into the dusk. Out there you can get lost and no one will ever bother to look for you.
Down the highway there was a gas station liquor store that said proudly on the outside,
"We Sell Maps and Liquor." The day we were there, they were out of both.
The guy at the counter said no one buys the maps anyway and there was a huge party
the night before at Dennis Hopper's place and he had bought out all the liquor.
I had met Hopper, one of the main reasons we were out there in the desert
in the first place, at a Neil Young show years before in San Francisco at the Boarding House.
So circumstances being often what they are, really just coincidences in life, we knew all
too well about the liquor. My head still hurt. As we walked out the door, I noticed a box
on the porch of the store, a label on the outside stating"Maps and Flags."
We drove off, heading north, got back on the highway toward Hopper's house,
and after maybe two minutes, we passed a road sign that said:
'If You Have Come This Far, No Point in Turning Back Now.'
I have always thought that Dennis had staked that out, maybe as a warning.
One we did not take too seriously, or so we hoped. With not a single car in sight,
we kept going, driving in the center of the highway splitting the double yellow line
down the middle as a razor might slice a sheet of paper like soft butter.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

the wall of insects


from the old farmhouse
I could see
the wall of insects
coming from across the fields
eating up the plains
like a mower plows through a grass field,
not a stalk was left
as they approached
a quarter of a mile away,
then the buzz saw sounds came in clear
the rattling and the racket,
sound effect crews
movie lights
Raider jackets
truck drivers with skull and roses t-shirts
standing around and laughing

go ask alice


she was like the fire
searing moments of electricity
carried in her purse
notes of the underground
writing scribbles in between the pages,
she knew the names of everyone she ever met
making small paintings on paper
swirling kaleidoscopes of thoughts and passion
the day always came when she left,
she took her heart on the road
met strangers
left donations
sat quietly on park benches
watching the days go slowly by,
very late in the day
she often thought she was Alice
loved to say
"go feed your head,"
loved to walk alone
in the forest
bringing back small animal skulls
she found along the way,
left the bones in her yard
drank Absinthe and sugar cubes
with a straw
smoked Cubans and blew smoke rings
out into the fog