Be here to love me.


I watched the documentary “Be Here To Love Me” last night, probably for the 2oth time. It’s about Townes Van Zandt. A great singer/songwriter who is no longer with us. He died in 1997. From what amounts to complications caused by alcoholism. And the documentary is a strange mix of sad, beautiful and sometimes ridiculous. It’s a great watch and anyone with interest in roots music or fringe writers would get a kick out it. There’s a memorable scene in which he’s being interviewed on the old Nashville Network and the interviewer asks about a pair of songs he wrote. Townes looks at him and says “I know that one song is mine, but I ain’t never heard the other” and it is one of his better more well-respected songs. But there’s great scenes and recollections from most of his contemporaries as well. Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Guy Clark, Emmy Lou Harris and Steve Earle. If you’re interested I have a link to a streaming copy of it online. Just leave a comment.

I am sort of unfocused today. So writing is more an exercise than a real attempt to say something. I want to write brilliant entries every time write here, but I guess you have to just bang out the ugly ones once in a while to clear the way for the beautiful. Writing works like that. Least I think so. For a good writer there is a dozen crappy pieces for every golden one. I figure the creative mind gets cluttered and has to be swept clean every now and again. And that’s where I am at. Least it feels like it. And I don’t want to write about the same stuff over and over. I am not sure you want to read either. See what I’m saying?

But I will say that today I feel lonely as all get out…I need to reach out somehow and connect. So I guess that I am doing it here. Just stretching my arm all the way out hoping my fingertips reach you, that you see me and know I am here. It’s the human need for someone to feel that they are not alone. An empty bed, an empty room or an empty chair can be the scariest thing in the world some days.

Be well, be love.

2 responses

  1. Justme

    don’t want to seem stalker-ish. I wandered into your blog a day or two ago because i just did. left a comment, and your blog emailed me to let me know that my comment was responded to. So i had to follow the link back to see what my gmail inbox was getting on about because i had forgotten the first comment.

    point is, i’m hopefully not sketching you out with random comments on consecutive entries.

    We’re reading The Catcher in the Rye in class. I assume you’ve read it — everyone has. Today, we read the part where Holden offers to pay a prostitute to stay with him and talk to him because he is so lost and lonely. I never realized before how lost and sad he is — i usually see Holden as a kid who needs a good swift kick.

    At any rate, the realization of how profoundly sad that is — that he couldn’t PAY someone to stay and talk with him, stopped me in my tracks.

    i wept.

    i’m the teacher.


    needless to say, serendipity brought me here to say that someone at least read what you have to say, lonely or not. i hope that the feeling passes. and i hope tomorrow is a better day. 🙂

    November 9, 2009 at 11:08 pm

    • Wow! What a story. It’s moving.

      I have friends. I do, but they’re newish…New because of a new life. And it takes me a long time to feel close to someone. Tonight I was at the home of a really cool couple and really enjoyed it.

      But the real me, the person that peeks out here. He’s not good in places like that. Or in church or in a bar for that matter. The real animal/machine can only seem to come out it secret places. Late night walks and park benches. Maybe laying in bed whispering so as not to scare of the dark.

      But back to your comment. Holden Caufield, I have always had an affinity for him. Not in the psycho killer way. But for the loneliness you talk about, the feeling of how people are phony and no one lives with their heart on their sleeve and with any bravery. It’s like they all tuck away their guts and their flags because it is too hard. Brave souls. And as a young tough I used to run off on my own at times too.

      Paying someone to talk, someone to be another heartbeat in the room. That makes sense sometimes. Because lonely is a monster. I think about the Simon and Garfunkle song The Boxer…”Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
      I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome, I took some comfort there.”

      The Boxer is spooky for how close to me it is.

      But then again. How many people pay a psychologist to talk with them because they can’t find no one in life to talk to them for the sake of friendship. We don’t love each other the right way.

      Now I am curious about you…Who you may be…I don’t think you’re a stalker. And even if I did it would be kind of neat. I usually get emails from people, well ones who know me about these entries. So I probably don’t know you…Email me if you wish.

      Crazy long response…Ah well!

      November 9, 2009 at 11:25 pm

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