Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic from his set at the Filmore West, April 26th 1970 is playing from my iPhone through the local establishment’s speakers as I help to close’er down, again. Not that it’s a habit, but it’s a great place to work when friends work the place. My new, old friend behind the bar says we’re moving to Vegas in the spring. Or Austin, too. But I think she might change her mind after we visit Minneapolis.
I should probably warn my cousins that we’re coming.
I hope she finds the right festival to work. And soon. When she’s ready. If she’s ever ready – which is inessential.
My new, old friend is brilliant, beautiful, paradoxical, shines in the light. And is still too close to the story for her to see that her canvus will be her next 8 months. These scribblings won’t make much for the nevermind but for the hope that I’m nearby the moment her past washes through her.
We should sell tickets for that upcoming exhibit. It’d pay for Vegas & Minneapolis. & Austin too.
What else sparkles in contrast is that I haven’t gotten past the thought that I might actually still be young enough to be that adventuresome, still. Again. All over again.
And together we will fold into the mystic.
Another season went by and the cobwebs are still on my books of blues. Other things are starting to grow, but at the cost of the dream – the reason for which I’m helping build everything else. I’m not feeling my age, but I’m watching the years slide by.
A couple other editors have volunteered to jump on board while Max learns to be a father for the first time. Lost another one to the domestic fold.
I hope it stones him to his soul.
As the concert finishes and the iPod changes over, the muse vacates this post and something new takes its place. Doctor Doug…good stuff.
The staff from a nearby establishment starts to pour into the place, pausing our travel planning till a morrow or so. As they do, I find myself starved, desparate, and afraid I’ll never get them books done and my gambles will be for nothing.
That should scare a few people.
I think I’m going to listen to the Van Morrison concert again while walking just to see where the ideas unfold.
And this caravan is on its way.
(Post title from Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic.”)
PS – Oh, look, my guitar.