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“SOMEONE LEFT A CAKE OUT IN THE RAIN, AND I DONT THINK THAT I CAN TAKE IT BECAUSE IT TOOK SO LONG TO BAKE IT, AND ILL NEVER HAVE THAT RECIPE AGAIN….OH NO.”

Trending higher prior to melting in the rain

 “And the rain came down like a river from the sky

And the ground opened up and swallowed me inside

I went down down down to the river of Hades

There I met the Devil

And he made his way into my heart”

So began a song I wrote many years ago. I recycled part of it in The Judys song A Town Called Hell.

I am reminded of this lyric as I wake at 4:30 to the ringtone of duh-dum, the Law and Order segue, and I look at the weather app, and I see rain in our forecast for the next 14 days, and I am reminded of the “Summer” we had a few years back where it rained for 40 days and 40 nights, and some guy built an ark and we gathered up all the animals, one by one, two by two, from anteater to zebra, and the feeling of endless rain and my girls have gone on vacation, leaving me with the snoring dog and my own thoughts , which truth be told could drown me if I let them.

“ The world of right is black and white

So says the blonde known as Miss Grey

Remembering a rendezvous

She had that day a déjà vu

What a way to live.

She would stare into the air

Looking into some internal mirror

Trying to adjust her hair

For someone who wasn’t even there

She would look into her lap 

At some kind I’d hidden map

All roads lead to scars, schoolyards and Smokey bars…

And everyone they talk about her

And everyone just walks around her

And  thoughts, her thoughts 

her thoughts surround her

And yesterday they tried to drown her…

What a way to live.”

“He struggled to keep his head above water. When I say water, I don’t mean the vast liquids that cover the planet, or the intimate moisture that is the body.  

When I say water, I really mean time, and memory. 

He has these moments, where putting one foot in front of another is simply not enough.  He is haunted by remnants, shrapnel, shards of song that bubble up from the morass that is his mind. 

Like the smother of mother, farther and father, stretching the lie. 

Or this one: it was overcast. They led them in, the shadowmen, one by one by one, get two, get too blasted in the past. Blast them, blast them, cast them in plastic. 

The math morticians are smiling.

Dead to the world. 

Gulls screaming.

Rats the size of cats scurry, on the hunt for leftovers. 

He pulls over to the side of the road.

It was overcast. “

Endless lyrics run through my mind, my pre-dawn mind.

I need to start my exercises, start my day, Friday, end of the week, that last squeeze before one wipes and flushes. Hours fly by in the dawn, in the time before light fills the sky.

Not like the hours between 8 and 4:30, which grind, bone against bone, metal on metal, there is a danger of sparks leading to combustion, in flames, inflaming just by naming the clock watching, by giving it a name and letting it breathe, we call it depression, because as the fingers press into the yielding flesh they leave a mark, an impression. It will bounce back, it is not scarring, but flexible, human, a celebration really of plasticity, of the opportunity to remake, remodel, a lump of clay.

Are we ready for my closeup, Mr. D. Mills?