Sakatoon and the long john monkey
Wondering to colder days, days long ago. It is hard to age, to age gracefully. I want to kick and scream the whole way. There was a time when the mantra was “hope I die before I get old” and here I am;old.
Putting on lights on the Christmas tree while the family is away at some Christmas Fair. Decorating, listening to the music that made me alive. Frankie, Love and Rockets and then I ask myself, where did the time go? Where did I go? Did I sell out? Did the dream die as the decade moved past, slowly?
Avenue P and liquid lsd. 5 Star and a girl by my side. Avenue P and punk rock Christmas trees. Punk rocked boots, tattooing the stairs that carried me away into the stratosphere. Tattooed cells, gray matter splattered. Knives on the stove, Clash on the stereo. I still need a million dollars to sit on mountain tops and I have always seen the work of sinners and the work of the saints.
I see fabric, pulled taught across hidden memories. I think often of secrets spoken so long ago. Whispers of love, a kiss that reached below. The long john monkey spoke to me about those times. spoke aloud, softly in my ear and I knew I was loved. I knew it was you.
Children of the wayward streets, clinging to warmth, to love, to fire. Clinging to what was noble, what was good. The wind blew us apart, but the dreams, the dreams fight on. They live to tell the tale to children of this new dawn. Terry O died 20 years ago yesterday. Old man, old. I got away from the city of lights. I got away from everyone I wanted to fight. I got away from hearts strange addiction.
Blessed beyond measure.