Hey Everybody! Welcome to Part 6 of Road Trip! Hope you are enjoying the excerpts from my book!
My new album – Pass On The Love is finishing up nicely and I hope to have the finished playlist for you in my next post!
I am now on the Folk Music Alley Radio Program! There’s great folk music over there 24/7. I am proud to be a part of it! http://openmic.folkalley.com/BillMadison
Another link I’d like to post is Merle Burke’s page where he tells some pretty great stories from the woods of New Hampshire!
And if you enjoy fine poetry and great photos, you’ll love Linda Jacobs blogspot. She and I have collaborated on several songs and she is also my sister-in-law, and she didn’t ask me to do this – I’m doing it on my own!
Hope you have a great week! And without further ado, here is Road Trip Part 6. “Ahh takes me back…..”
I resurrected in that sunny hour of my birth, numb, stiff and bewildered. Suddenly there was a sign of life in my left foot’s little toe nail. It throbbed. Stubbed it I guess. My boots stood consumed in mud on top of one red square tile on my floor. My mouth felt like they looked and even worse. There was a noise now in the hall outside. I didn’t have to guess who it might be. I was as sure as the sun rising itself. I closed my eyes, pretended sleep, and by some stroke of luck hoped to avoid the issue entirely, when the door slammed open. He wanted to be a doctor before he started reading Ken Kesey’s stuff and he became “hip”. He’s the mind of a poet, the wit of an Elizabethan bard, and the women say he makes love like a prehistoric gorilla. This summer he and I would sit in our creative writing class and successfully put extra grooves in the craniums of idyllic virgins(?) in that class who were yearning to be “hip”. But, there he was, running into my room, smiling away, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. “GET UP!” he shouted. “THE DAY IS ABOUT OVER AND YOU ARE MISSING IT!” I cringed. All I could do was say f___ you in a groan and roll over. His thick eye glasses glared like two enormous chrome plated hubcaps, while he moved overly enthusiastic about the room. “Cool yourself, can’t you?” I said, “or I am going to perpetrate you with my smelly breath – so stay clear!” This I spoke from deep within the folds of my blanket as I attempted to rise. I stood there, my matted and tangled hair around my shoulders, wrapped up entirely in blue wool. His arm extended a paper cup steaming around the top. I drank hearty as he vividly and most accurately recreated every event from the night before. I heard whisps of comments about flag draped girls, virginal cries of anguish, sloshing wine, broken guitar strings, cold showers and a marijuana darkness draped in purple velvet that must have descended on me, according to him.
“That was pretty good stuff you had last night, I guess, either that or you’re always that way, which I know you’re not because you’re to serious and you tend to dream a lot, but I guess everyone is entitled to an escape every now and then, and man you really took one last night. You were shear poetry last night – every word you spoke! Hang ups, man – that’s where poetry comes from and you let yours have free reign! How does it feel to be void and free? Man, you had everybody in tears – even me and I don’t cry often. It was beautiful – complete self –reproach and nakedness!” was part of what he said. I said, “ It was only the wine…”
Spring came on strong that year; full of love, warmth and new discoveries. I felt I had a lot to say. The nights glistened like some medieval fantasy set under evening stars smiling through shadowed leaves moving in the breeze. My window was always open and the smell of my pipe and cigarettes mingled with the breath of spring. A dream fantasy that flowed continuously from a remembered kiss, a Tom Jones-like picnic, the rocks by the beach, a sonnet by the Bard, a coffee house crowded with songs that struck home, a revered record album. And as that spring began to fold into summer, it seemed to have to end.