i'm not here

Saturday morning, white light through white shutters, i'm listening to Stars and i'm not here.

In Casablanca, one song is definitive of time place world--"Play it once, Sam, for old-times sake." Sam sings As Time Goes By and Rick and Ilsa are in France looking out the hotel window, are at the station, silver-eyes, the train leaves, We'll always have Paris--

Life was supposed to be a film.

The album In Our Bedroom After The War takes me to Cardiff; i'll be there for the rest of the day week year, reading On The Road and listening to Stars, remembering bad cartoons with writers and film makers who died three times before opening a packet of Splenda.

You can't make art without dying a little every time you open a packet of Splenda.

Fig 1: a bad cartoon. "And here we have what seems to be some sort of robotic Garfield."

They were always talking like that, with the sensitive seems and somes that were later removed for better dialogue.

The music changes; There is a house by the sea, and a distance between it and me--

The song is House by the Sea by Iron and Wine, the place the Welsh Country side, the time half past my second death, the poet Dylan Thomas.

Time Held Me Green and Dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea

Standing there (here), air and bones and blue, i turn(ed) at the cough of a motorcycle. Already the music's changing, so--

Excuse me as i kiss the sky