Lost dogs and missing pieces.

“Blue umbrella
Rests upon my shoulder
Hide the pain
While the rain
Makes up my mind
Well, my feet are wet
From thinking this thing over
And it’s been so long
Since I felt the warm sunshine
Just give me one good reason
And I promise I won’t ask you any more
Just give me one extra season
So I can figure out the other four.”

– John Prine –
John Prine is a singer/songwriter that you gotta go get you some of. See here’s why.  Because he can touch something inside so softly and make you cry. But then laugh out loud…Like your oldest friend or your sweetest lover.

He makes me go somewhere not much else does.

Sometimes I feel like I need to run. Just get up and go, forget all the crazy things I tie myself to. Like some tilted old dock on a stormy lake somewhere in the high middle of summer.

See, I just got choked up. Remembering an old dock, my dad and a lake. The sound of the rain on a roof somewhere in north Ontario.  The Loons would come after and sing. And I’d sleep out on the back deck. Like Neil Young sings in Helpless…It really does leave me helpless. There is something there man. Something sacred in those memories. Something that if you don’t treasure they just turn into snapshots, road maps and directions to places that don’t exist anymore.


I got these characters in my head. And in my heart. They tell me about themselves and I listen, I sometimes laugh and often I get sad for them. And I write them down. Mostly in secret for the past few years. But maybe I am ready to start letting the light into the house. Pull back the drapes so to speak.

See this one fellow has been telling me his story awful loud lately. And he wants me to tell others. To write it down. To share it. And maybe I will. Maybe not here. But could be? I don’t know. I have been asked for stuff for other projects. But I get scared you see. These people are all so scarred and gentle that if they aren’t treated right they might take a fall and pull me with them. They’re all so beautiful in their crazy faceted way. And in their voices and loves. I have notebooks and files full. They all tell stories of those that are alive if nowhere else in my heart.

Like lost dogs and missing pieces.

Geez man! Don’t I sound like a flaky full on ennui artiste!

I ain’t, I swear man. I’m just this guy….I got these things. And it don’t feel like many out there got the same. So I just throw darts in the dark and listen for the balloon pop. Like them old Midway games. I take the prize as it comes.

Guess that makes you all a giant comb.

Be well.


3 responses

  1. FUCK. Writer’s envy. I mean it. Really really mean it. But in a nice and very friendly non-competetive way. I want to buy your book already.

    March 1, 2010 at 8:30 pm

    • Thanks. It’s not really anything to be envious of.

      It’s telling stories that’s all.

      March 1, 2010 at 9:33 pm

  2. Aylan

    Yeah…that was a good one….

    March 4, 2010 at 10:59 pm

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