I spend most of my life thinking that there is something terribly wrong with me. What's left of my life, I spend convinced.
I sit here sometimes, pondering the keys & alphabet that comprise this keyboard, as though there is a code I've yet to figure out. Sometimes I feel like an old black jazzman, dropping ashes sideways and picking words like music notes, thinking "yeah, I'll keep that" and typing as if I were taking notation. I miss my glass of Johnny Black. I miss the guys in the band. I wish I knew how to play piano.
I saw David yesterday, though it wasn't something I planned. I'd gone to bring some things to the house I'm moving to, and while I was there, I thought I'd walk a bit. So I walked to the corner drug store to buy myself a new face (cosmetics--half off) and on the way, I saw his wife. Um, his ex wife. OR? His fiance'? As soon as he gets divorced from his second wife, he'll re-marry the first--that's if he gets custody of the baby, which shouldn't be a problem since she's facing charges of attempted murder--er, she wanted, tried, but failed to kill David. The second wife. The first wife had long been cleared of those charges. And they were in love again.
I asked David once, very casually, "Tell me, Dave, are they like this when you meet them, or do ya drive them nuts?"
"I guess I drive them nuts."
"It's okay," I smiled and hugged him. "George makes me walk."
his wife (once removed) walked with me, and just for the occasion, I bought a six pack of Beck's. (Oh shaddup, I was going for the beer anyway, but it was a fine excuse.) So we walked back to his house then, and she let me in, enjoying showing me around.
It looked like David. A lot of the necessary standard rooms, but? he had a huge back room, filled with sound equipment, and the walls were half-tacked with carpet.
He was starting his studio. That made me happy. He's a gifted musician and a better writer--I just wish...wince. Well, we argue over method alot.
I saw the mix board, NOT being utilized--and grinned noting the computer mix set up he boasted in there. I told him he would.
His wife was talking but I didn't hear a word she said as I just drank it all in.
I spied on some half written notes on the keyboard and she didn't miss a beat as she shut it, still talking about wife #2.
The back wall was jalosey windows, and I saw a stool and an ashtray, so I took my cue and sat. I cranked the windows open, and put my feet up, lighting a cigarette.
"How did you know that's where Dave always sits?" wifie asked.
"I'm psychic." I grinned, blowing my infamous smoke.
She shook her head and said "yer a trip" as we both heard Dave come through the door.
Dave always looks good, even though he doesn't think so. He began going bald at 24, but bless him, he had the sense not to comb over, much less forward--and he cut his ponytail lest he be termed a "bennie franklin."
I love David, but for an artist? He's just a tad too serious, and I tell him this often too. I told him once, after he'd played a striking set of Rick Wakeman ala YES, that he was 'technically correct', but next time how about having some [expletive] fun?
You'd think he would quit asking me for my musical opinion by now. But? NO.
"I wrote a new song," he told me, happily. He put the groceries down on the counter.
"Give me a hug first," I teased.
He looked dismayed.
So he did, cringing.
(He is like that.)
Wifie was laughing.
"come give it a listen," he said.
"Dave...?" I was warning him. "You know we can't do this..."
"I'm completely confident this time." He beamed at me.
He let 'er rip.
Not bad at all.
This had a very distinctive tone, the beats sounded like a mix of something african and the, "what was that?" an accordian almost, with like this reggae flavor too.
I raised my eyebrows and nodded, listening.
Interesting jump there--from 4/4 to 4/6 and sifted softly back to 4/4 and then a dramatic drop to 3/4 rhythms....wow.
"Very nice 'intro' Dave!" I was so relieved that it was good. "I can't wait to hear the rest!"
He was scowling.
"That was it."
"Well, how come?" I was honestly surprised. "You have the facilities now--not like you're paying by the minute."
"That's it because--that is it."
Damn I did it again. I swear to you all I try, I really do, to say nothing but the positive to David, but it seems like everytime...sigh.
(Do you have someone like this in your life?)
It leaves me feeling so socially inept and just damned lonely.
"So what are you doing in our neck of the woods?" he changed the subject glumly.
"I'm moving in." I smiled brightly.
I winced noticing him wince--only I hid mine better.
There goes the neighborhood...
But "wifie" hugged me.
* * *
I can hardly wait.