Thursday, January 14, 2010
I'm guessing that what the individual wants out of life, how he wishes to spend his working hours and leisure hours counts for a lot. Without getting in to DOB land, i'd say that the people who have been educated at Elite schools and move in rarefied social circles, have an existential moment or two, where they realize, that indeed, "Is that All Their Is" is more than a Peggy Lee song.
After careful rumination, some of them go back to school at their Local Community College and study Beatnik Lit. Or Buddhism.
In other words, some realize they have taken the wrong path for them; and gotten lost on that Path to Boot. Others will never feel that heart pounding in the middle of the night I've wasted my life I should have joined Barbara Seagull in the tree house moment. They'll just go to work in the morning and summer at the Lake House with Cousin Edwards family. They'll ski at Vail. He'll die never knowing how much his wife actually, really did love him and what beautiful wonderful children he has left behind.
Others will be American cowboys; fiercely independent and proud, quite willing to sacrifice and delay satisfaction. He'll change his own oil and do his own brakes on his 6 year old American car. He'll be proud his wife holds an important job at the Hardware Store, even though she only went to the Community College for Upholstery. He'll attend his son's ball games and laugh and cry at all his heroics and miscues. He'll vote in every election and do his own taxes (wrong) explaining the importance of both actions to his disinterested family.
They'll spend a week down at the lake, the south side, with the slightly weedy, muddy and rocky beach. They'll ski on Fridays at the Kenwood Ski Tow.
He'll work overtime and his son will get into Boston University, a Jewel of a school, nestled in the Arms of Boston, surrounded by constant reminders of what made America, America. He'll hear 40 languages and find his love at an Abbott and Costello Revival at a small, bum laden theatre.
He'll go; probably the damn cigarettes his wife yelled at him about. He will be attended to by friends and family and possibly a shadow outline of Michael; a saintly presence during his entire
But - who knows - such is the fate of those of us who pursue pieces of paper.......
ah .....sunshine ....
... you Jewels, you.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Back in the '60's you learned when Harvey was getting the new Beatles album in. You'd get in line on Central Street outside of Harvey's Book Land and wait for him to open. When he did, you'd enter and pay his daughter. He preferred that you pay with 3 singles as the price was $2.50 + .15 for tax. Teresa was standing on the right, with a stack of dimes and quarters, accepting the folding stock and handing you back your change. She'd have a five on the counter, close to the edge, in case some rich kid from Chelmsford had rolled in to town. She'd say "Thank you" and you'd shuffle ahead and when it was your turn, you'd spy Harvey half hidden amongst the plain brown boxes. You'd hold out your hand and Harvey would hand over the sacramental vinyl and you'd make a left turn and walk out into the grit and chop of Central Street, Lowell, Mass not knowing Kerouac, the great Beat Angel himself would right then, be up Back Central at Nicky's Bar regaling the regulars with stories of Old Angel Midnight.
It would take years of friendship with Harvey, before he would acknowledge the times Jack would slip in the back way and watch his flock running their hands over the spines and edges of the holy goof book classics stacked in haphazard order. How they'd sip from a bottle of wine and marvel at the will of the people to read, desire, consume.
That's gone. Harvey now running with Jack and Poe; chasing Lucy down Merrimack Street, threatening to dip her pig tails into the universal ink.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Check out seanward.net for Beatles art, comics and general all around nice guy stuff.