Road Trip Part 5 and Some Other Stuff!

Hi – Before we get to Part 5 of Road Trip, I want to remind you of my webcam performance on Glogegig Radio this coming Thursday, Feb. 21st at 3pm. I’m looking forward to this and I’m told by Ken Foster at Aurovine that this is the first time they’ve tried doing this type of broadcast. We’re hoping there will be no technological glitches. I’m planning on performing at least 4 songs – maybe more if things go good!

So that’s http://www.globegigradio.com  and click on the webcam tab. 

My new album – Pass On The Love – is just about finished and next time I’ll provide some details about it. Now here’s  Part 5 of Road Trip! Please give me more feedback about the book. I’m very interested in what you all think. Thanks for reading and more importantly – enjoy it!

I was supposed to meet her at seven; here…or was it eight…she left me in a drowsy sleep, and when I awoke she was gone. I dimly remembered her leaving and she told me to meet her here…HERE…RIGHT HERE. I inhaled my cigarette deeply and watched the smoke fall around the donut container on the counter. It rolled down around my cup uniting with the steam from my coffee. The tinkling of her bell, a small camel’s bell she hung around her neck became the triumphant entrance call as the door swung open and her smile entered. I glanced at the clock for some reason – 7:38 it said. She was next to me, all resilient and warm, saying things about coming here and missing the train, stopping to adjust her sandals  and seeing the sun rise when she left me, thinking about me, and polishing her bell. I smiled, ordered another coffee and one for her.  After awhile, we walked out, hand in hand to find the day and what it might bring. The streets were newly alive and we became a couple of many; asking one another, “What shall we do today?” We parted later that afternoon, and as was the custom in those days sometimes, I never saw her again.

                

Café Innisfree – University of Rhode Island –  Summer 1965

 

That particular morning, I arose like I had never been awake before. I felt as if I was sliding out of some hot sticky womb. There was fog and mist and my head was swelling like one of those huge paisley balloons being pumped up by helium. The taste of wine lingered more in my stomach and bowels than in my mouth, which at the time was totally inoperable. The night before was like some grotesque farewell party given for me before I left that some-other-land to be born again. Girls running around with American flags draped around them screaming – “Get him out of here!!!” to my black-caped friend who was trying to do just that – get me out of there. The deep burgundy slosh seemed to belch out of the clear glass gallon jug which kept it imprisoned, and I was its only means of escape. The thick wine longed for the eternal bliss to be found within my innards, where its new found freedom would take it reeling through my veins – eventually carrying me off with it. Needless to say, both the wine and I succeeded. I freed it from its glass prison and in turn it freed me to explore the very limits of my inhibitions. Together we flew to that hanging abyss called the morning after where we were branded as outlaws and confined to a death-like state of nothingness. But the night before was truly ours! I wailed harshly on the guitar and my voice sounded like it was a bubbling caldron of witch’s brew – purple, as nearly coagulated blood. A white light over the stairway grew whiter and brighter, while my eyes gave sharp signals to my brain that they might just stop functioning. My friend Simon with the baret and others carried me up the stairs to the charming tune of unpleasant female screams. I remember, she really pissed me off. She would never understand me and really didn’t care to, as long as she could follow in my boot steps as the alluring playmate of the “hip, folky singer of romantic ballads that seemed to make even the most frigid female quiver with desire”  But at that moment, my boots staggered over the impossible stairs that led me to the showers.  Clothes were torn off me every step of the way. “On to Golgotha” I heard someone say. The nails of crucifixion couldn’t hurt half as much as my pride hurt, as I stumbled naked under the cold spray. The laughing voices of my friendly executioners moved me spiritually, so I forgave them – they knew what they were doing. I could still hear the virginal cries of anguish downstairs. I thought for sure they were deflowering her or carrying her away in grief at the final moment of her “hip, folk singer savior’s departure from this place. But my illusion broke as the mirror reflected  the brightness of my room, as someone threw open the door. My sarcophacal cot awaited in all its gray and yellow dinginess, and I tripped over a cigarette butt right into it.

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About Bill Madison

Bill Madison – Singer/Songwriter/Guitarist My musical career spans more than 40 years; from the Folk Music venues of Boston, New York City and Montreal during the 1960’s, to the ski resorts and honky tonks of Northern New England from the 1970’s to the 1990’s. In 1973, I released my first album called “Sunday Mornin’ Hayride”. That album has been re-released by Riverman Records and Yoga Records and was voted in the top ten retro re-issues for 2009 by the Acid Archives. In 1974, I formed Them Fargo Brothers which became New England’s Premier Country Rock Band, and I toured with the band until 1990. I am currently writing and recording in my studio and marketing my CD’s through my web site and have downloads available across the web. I am also seeking to license my music to films, etc. And I am a Featured Artist on IMRadio.com.
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3 Responses to Road Trip Part 5 and Some Other Stuff!

  1. Cliff Wilson says:

    Bob, I’m liking it, but I am a bit confused. We started off in 1966. We left off with you referring to a 1968 song and “Perhaps he heard it as I walked in and then again, maybe he heard it before or maybe his mother sang it to him. I thought it was a catchy tune and maybe it would stick, providing I didn’t forget it.” and we pick up with “I was supposed to meet her at seven;” Her who? Or does it matter? Is this a new chapter? Then we go to Rhode Island in 1965. Is this a memory occurring on the 1966 Bus Trip? I always give the author the benefit of the doubt and would usually wait until the end to see if these mysteries are resolved, but you did ask for feedback during the process. Keep going. I await Part 6.

  2. Cliff Wilson says:

    Sorry Bill, I meant Bill, not Bob. Why does this not have a delete when you need it.

    • Bill Madison says:

      Hey Cliff – Ah “her who” I’ll never forget what’s her name…LOL!! And it’s true and I can’t remember her name now either. And yes, we do have a flashback – and what happens there has somewhat of an effect on what happened later. What do you mean by a delete – where?
      Can you not delete the e-mail? Oh, I think I get it – you can’t delete the comment once typed. I’ll look into that.
      Have a great weekend!
      Bill

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