My Riotgod Studio Odyssey.
My van is being looked at shall we say and I will leave it at that. I got a ride to the studio from DC, coming right from work fueled on RockStar sugar-free and some chocolate.
I am writing this while waiting at the tail-end of rush hour and a few busses have gone by but not the right ones STOP.
I am on the bus — $3.50 To get the fk home.
Bob quickly went over the songs for me, letting me in on the work he has done for them. The transformation is always pleasing, seeing the music almost “fully formed.”
Commuters and whiffs of alcohol as the brakes of the bus let out the unmistakable metallic tones. The shaking, the stops, pretty much my whole college commute when I lived at home or the commute to many a long ago band practice is re-discovered.
Yesterday when Bob asked me if I could come on Wednesday, I told him first about my van. A wee bit more stress on the Riotgod beamed scale…. All I all — I declared ” I will be there — there is no IF — I will be there.
The familiar landmarks, the strip malls, business signs a-light, the lurching coach and intermittant commuter aisle parade. Cell phones, iPhones, earphones, blonde with the workplace cleavage going on — with a hair style that looks windblown or “pre-makeover.”
Yes — I know this ride well over the years, this crummy deja vu. My phone battery on yellow level.
I think — of course. I think how fkn exhausted I am — there seems to be no shock absorbers on this craft — a daily dose of this would — at this stage of my existence — drive me further insane, without any doubt.
In retrospect I went through all this — for 4 newly recorded lines and a audio peek at the progress. Cue “What I did for Love.” In 3,2.
I rewrote a song I thought I had to — only to discover that the first version was fine. I somehow became confused about ( were we going with that version?) it.
Parking lots evenly spaced lamps >>> glance >>>> another stop approaches the lights come on again >>>> like some bar that has a staggered series of closing times for different shifts of people. I can’t say this sucks — it just is.
I think about this weekend when I will see the dears — Dash and Daisy. Courvoisier? No no. That does not happen and I am fine with that, really. I don’t know what the fk is up now and ride out the overall loneliness trepidatiously.
I cannot think about too much lately for I imagine me — like Jacob Singer on that gurney — to be rescued by my own Danny Aiello’s — all the while in reality dead from some long ago consequence of stupidity and over-indulgence, those time-share suicides. Oh look!
We are in Freehold already.
People have advised me in various ways as to how to handle stuff.
“Dude – you’re single.”
“Time for a new car.”
“What ever happened to that blond?”
“Her? Dude — that was ages ago. I’ll pass.”
The noise of the brakes sounds like an alien violin.
I ask the driver to let me off at the mouth of the development.
Home now. First time I did a walk that I’ve seen others do. The street dark. Cars red alarm indicator lights blink to each other like communicating insects.
I passed by a home decked out in lights — Indian family it seemed. I loved seeing this house all decorated for something in this cool evening, the other houses sleep, drab.
I start to think thoughts that make me fkn sick — I should go eat.
Felt good to be home earlier than expected. I have overall a thankful strong vibe for those who have understood me, and forgave me, and a fk off for others, a rich enunciated fk off — yeah ‘ had better eat.
