Saturday, December 4, 2010

Jesus, you'll have to wait

Not sure yet if it is a good thing that the wind has scared me inside today on my 47th birthday, but I am panning through odds and ends in the stream that is the internet.
Poem For My 43rd Birthday
by Charles Bukowski
To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
and glad to have
the room. the morning
they're out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
from "All's Normal Here"

Oh! Ain't it the truth. Bukowski knew the importance of claiming time for yourself.
"I don't have time!" they say. Take it! Make it yours!

I stood behind the bar last night with time to think, but not enough time to do much but serve and maximize the income. Stackin' the cheeze.
"Why is this not pleasurable?" I thought. Around the bar and in the dining room, seemingly EVERYONE else was cussing and discussing something as I stood momentarily idle. Listening in, I again realized that I did not want to be included in any of their "conversations". Soon enough, I would be free to have my own inner conversations in my own time.
You know what though? I never did.
I came home to do some administrative work to try to wrestle the St. Louis public from their couches and barstools; their keypads and screens. I escaped for a bit for a brisk walk around the neighborhood and returned to have some drinks with a friend and later hit South Grand for a pint, a couple jiggers and a crazy-good Cuban at the City Diner. A good night. A very good night, all things considered, but I didn't quite free myself. No epiphanies.
Oh, the poor, fucking prima donna! Ha!
Crashed soon after in the safety of my bed and awoke to send the thickening schedule of the future to various heads. When I finish this bit of jibber-jabber, I will claim my time. A book, a nap, and another walk. If nothing else, the wind today will scare the life back into me.
Enough of this existential pseudo-angst.
Time for some time time time....
Look what's coming up in 2011!
All of this at the Schlafly Tap Room:

January 7th:

Tight Pants Syndrome


Hum Drum

January 8th:

The Cruel Cuts

Warm Jets U.S.A.

Paper Dolls

January 14th:

This City of Takers

The Transatlantic

The Otto Modes

January 21st:


The Smiling Thief


January 22nd:

Beth Bombara

Jes Kramer

January 28th:

Black James

Pelvic Girdles

Last to Show, First to Go

January 29th

The UltraViolents


Death of Yeti

Thursday, February 3rd: Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three all night!

February 5th:

Mil Effect

Kuan (pay Bret Nagafuchi)

R6 Implant (members of Fragile Porcelain Mice, Yowie and Sine Nomine) (pay Shawn O’Connor)

March 11th:

NIGHTY NIGHT (from Carbondale)

March 12th:


March 19th:


This City of Takers

April 2nd:
The Transatlantic
Barefoot Jones

April 8th
Zevious (from Philadelphia)

Spelling Bee (Joseph Hess and Mabel Suen from KDHX' WRONG DIVISION)


April 9th:
Prairie Rehab

Corey Saathoff and the Trophy Mule

Trigger 5

April 22nd:

Tory Starbuck Project

Pat Sajak Assassins

April 29th:
Red Squad


Paper Dolls

April 30th:

THE KYLE SOWASHES (Columbus, Ohio)

Black James

May 14th:
Franklin Felix



As I sit and watch and listen to these acts, I wonder if I am in-FUCKING-sane to expect the public to grasp this array. Maybe I would be more successful if there were more scatter-brained, lazy poets with expendable time and cash to come to these shows.
Please tell me I'm wrong...or don't.

Oh, yeah...other folks born on this date:
Rainier Maria Rilke
Crazy Horse
John Cale
Jeff Bridges

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