Wednesday, March 02, 2005

As I tune in

As I tune in
by Christopher J. Bradley
As I tune in
The globe arrives
in my ears
all of the drumming and strumming
and saxaphone strains
of the world view
are boiled down
like a Bourbon St. Gumbo
I hear the cries
for free speech
in Botswana
I hear the sell off of reality television
I know that New Orleans is sinking
But I kind of want to swim.
Zion is opening the
Digital Subscriber Line Service
And I'm still trying to unlock my mind
and figure out why I'm dreaming of surplus TV's
and wars with forks.
And somewhere God is here too
and I know that those aren't pale voices down the corridor
but impressions he is making on me.
I hear the musicology of Bob Dylan and Warren Zevon
and Eric Clapton and The Beatles
I hear the Sound of Silence
on my girl's car stereo
while snapping photos of winter trees.
I scroll past Gibson with Neo Anderson
in my Corner Window
And Bruce Lee stands like a Dragon
In Sun's Anteroom in Louisiana.
       I keep wishing Jesus would come and judge the living and the dead for us so we could tell who was really who. I find myself expecting wisdom of the ages from the Bible and the words haven't grasped me of late.
       I feel like a fish on a lure being drawn into conformity, and even my psychiatrist is saying I'm doing well even though I feel split between two homes. My housing co-ordinator gave me the official drug and alcohol quiz and I answered it decisively. Not that its' anyone's business but mine to begin with.
       One of my friends keeps insisting that we have Chinese for Lunch in the middle of the week this week which I have explained is a difficulty because of the program of things I am involved in. In any case, that will be straightened out Tomorrow afternoon.
        To be truthful, although I know it matters little to anyone else I am doing my best not to be confrontational with anyone, my housemates included. Even at their worst though I think I can sleep through them.
        Right now in the coldness of the 3AM smoking lounge, I am writing to you by overhead soft white lights and listening to the icicles melt and filter out of the gutters. The noise is calming and reassuring that the sun will rise on the Canal tomorrow and that it will sparkle on the water like Princess Crystal Above a flame.
         The ides of march are coming and the lioness will not have this Zebra. I know for a fact that as she consumes her prey she will be feasting on a Capricorn. I am no Astrologer, merely speaking in riddles. I've always preferred the story of the Exodus to any other than that of the rainbow in the Old Testament and I'll tell you why. Those slaves were commissioned to build the likes of the Sphinx.
         I'm going to break for a minute and say a little about my passport friend, my link from Egypt to New York in rich Kodachrome. I remember the Neon palace of Time's square and while I've never been to Carnegie Deli it seems we have our own little version here in Buffalo. My friend the Gaslight poet and carpenter has told me many times to recycle.
         I am beginning to believe him. I have almost all the tools necessary to build not only a photo processing shop, but also a recording studio and I know what I need to do it. This is largely because I have not thrown anything away. I have old technology, new tech, and last year's technology which is all pretty powerful stuff.
         It is thanks in large part to having a reasonable adult figure to talk to rather than drink with on Friday and Saturday nights. He tells jokes and helps me to appraise the things I should be looking for and I very much appreciate it.

Christopher J. Bradley
Noisecontrol Publishing
All the Grog That's Fit To Blog!


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