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A Little Night Rambling

bukowski bond barfly

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well i ain't "billy the barfly" and as a matter of a fact i'm 17 years without a drink on account that i wasn't very good at it...and after all that time i have found how much i enjoy sitting on a bar stool drinking soda water and watching a crowd get slap happy, when sloppy arrives about midnight i find the back door...music is my passion and bars have the best music,especially when the music isn't for money..i hate corporate greed and know the day if step off of the wine press will be the best day of my life so far...

last night on my way home i drove past a sagey old sage brush field and saw two cowboys with dirty, dusty black cowboy hats on sitting in the dirt...it was a scruffy field with about 20 cows scrounging around for a new blade of grass ripe enough to feed there 3 growling bellies...both cowboys were sitting in the dirt....i saw one of them pick up a rock and throw it at nothing...the rock bounced in the dry field and a little puff of dust blew off...i had to turn around and go back...as soon as i stopped my pickup they both stood up...the skinny one said "can i help you"??? and i said "yea, i just saw you two sitting in the dirt and one of you threw a rock and i was wondering if you were hiring, cuz i can dern sure throw rocks"....the skinny guy said "ahh, heck we ain't just throwing rocks, we're snaring gophers"....the big guy proudly held up to show me his orange bail string with a hondo in the end...that was my que to ask "how's hunting"...the big guy said "been slow this afternoon"...as i climbed back into my truck i hollered out the window "if you get a big one eat him, and be kind to your neighbors"

now i ain't right sure what Sazerac is, if it's a drink i'm a sprudle water man....a twist of lime, or two limes if i'm drinking heavy...however, in the matter of charles bukowski i once heard he said that he hoped he had his last drink in his hand when he recieted his last poem, man oh man...what a goal, sorta like i hope the last check i write before i die bounces....

you know i probably ain't your guy to go bar hopping and write about it..you see boise is young and i ain't...but i once worked for a blacksmith that was 84 and he said he still had 18 year old thoughts in his mind....born in lewiston , idaho...quit school in the 9th grade in pocatello with three goals in my mind, drive a big truck, get a black leather vest and smoke swisher sweet cigars because they looked cool sticking high out of your pocket...by the time i was 17 i'd been in the blackfoot jail, the american falls jail, the pocatello jail, and salt lake city's juvenielle detention center where i was scolded for saying "shit"...hard time i reckon...after starving to death in pocatello for 32 years i went to school to become a horseback therapist using horses to do physical therapy...but after three years of begging for money i allmost had to eat my horse or my daughter and chose to leave idaho...pocatello to pocomoke city maryland where i saw the chesepeake bay and great big ships...skipjacks, the last fleet of working sailing vessells on earth, powered only by the wind.. my goals reached new height's when i watch the skipjack races and learned i could ride in a skipjack during the labor day races...didn't do it though because nashville tennessee called me...come on john isreal cash they said.....

now nashville is music city with honky tonks, and printers alley...a cobblestone block full of whores, and deep southern blues...they ryman autitorium where i saw allison krauss, and bela fleck...day gone...grampa jones was there and a squillion before him, my name sake kicked the lights out and never went back....but dern if he didn't leave his mark on the place...nashville left it's mark on me..street musicians in nashville are better than the best your money can buy...everyone looking for a deal,and nobody getting nothing except the magazine faces...no pocky faced wanta be on our lable..now i ain't a musician but i do love a lyric..spent most of my life looking for the perfect lyric and have only come close three times, bob marley's redemtion song, john lennon's working class hero and well well well and all 3000 woody guthrie songs 2800 that i ain't heard yet...

take a trip with me in 1913, to calumet michigan in the copper country........the children that died there were 73, see what your greed for money has done.....man oh man, who could tell a story better, noone in my book....woody the great...

next stop for me was 2 years in seattle...the fremont troll and jimi hendrix guitar at the EMP... can you imigine having a collection of treasures like paul allen from microsoft fame has,....well allthough he did buy cool stuff with his wealth like jimi's guitar and mitch's drums but at the same time my bet's not on what you can buy...do you actually think jimi would give a dern about paul allen's wealth...i doubt it, jimi probably got more out of the guy at the taco time that bought the statue of lenin in fremont and put it up cause he could..or the guy that built the statue of the aboriginies under the bus stop rain cover...

heck's puppies, next week i turn 50, and don't 50 have a ring to it...i'm half way to 100 and so mean...i'm still the space cowboy that left pocatello at 18 in a big truck looking for the heart of saturday night...and when i finally found the heart it was the cry of a new born child, a cry for something nobody could identify, a cry for warmth, cold, dark, light, food, mama, ...i found the heart in a biggo chair, and a navajo rug...and the thought of one day finding hoss cartwright's cowboy hat for 10 dollars on e bay....shoot yea, when tex ritter wrote "billy the barfly" he probably didn't know boise idaho, 2400 miles from waxahachie texas would look for the some nut that had the need to feed his fingers by scribbling across paper the people he saw acting like this was there last night, before tomorrow night....because it was...

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