A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || September 27, 2001 || 12:15 am

Man, he was the most beautiful thing, with his full lips and sleepy eyes. “Read to me,” he’d say, “Your voice makes everything alright.”

And I would read to him, all manner of things; short or long, poetic or raw, it didn’t matter…..all found their syntax as I went along, sometimes my voice not breaking for hours. Often I was parched after soothing him and I drank glass after glass of water.

I try not to think of him much as it always brings a sense of regret and loss that chokes me and makes me quite literally shake my head to clear it.

He’s thinking of me, perhaps even trying to find me, and here’s how I know:

This morning, I noticed the answering machine had come unplugged.The digital machine crapped out a couple of months ago and I finally got around to digging the old tape machine out. Hell, I liked it better anyway.

Anyhow, I plugged the machine in and it went through its’ little Loss Of Power Ritual, which is to fast-forward the tape to the end and then fully rewind. You then have to play back to clear it.

The first message punched me in the gut. It was a sign, for sure, because that message had been long recorded over. I KNOW it had. Hell, there were messages from this weekend right behind it.

A sign.

A sign that sucked all that has been building inside me for the last week or so right out.I wrapped my arms around myself and was inexplicably sad. I cried….

His voice (still tinged with east coast cocksureness thought he was transplanted to Cali while he was a young teen) brought him right back to me; it was as if he were standing here close enough for me to count the smattering of pale freckles that graced only his nose, close enough to tuck a stray strand of hair (we have the same unruly lock that likes to situate itself over the left eye) behind his ear, close enough to smell the chalkdust-and-paint scent that one who immerses himself in art always seems to carry.

His last message to me….the one he left as I was overhauling my life and making what I deemed as ’smart decisions’ (smart decisions that no longer seemed to include California and painters and picnics and passionate lovemaking on swingsets).

“Elizabeth, please answer the phone….it’s Cri-i-issss…. Hello? Please answer the phone if you’re home; I wanna talk to you more before you go — Oh man. *sigh* Barring that, I love you. Don’t you ever forget it. Can you tell how tired I am? I think I’m just gonna go back to sleep.

“I love you.”

His last message to me…why is it here now? What does this mean, Cris? Are you trying to locate me? Christ on a cracker, but how I’d love to talk to you.

This one’s for you:

here we go to another candle I know / all the girls there playin’ on a jelly roll

time to take a ride – time to take it in a midnite eye / and if you wanna go – get on below / pinking out the day – dreaming out the crazy way / finger on the love – it’s all above

everywhere it’s six-sex-six by luck / a satellite wish will make it just enough / you’ll be making out with a witch in a coffee truck

time to rock the road – and tell the story of the jelly rollin’ / dirty boots are on – hi di ho / pinking out the black – dreaming in a crack / Satan got her tongue – now it’s undone

I got some dirty boots – yeah dirty boots / I got some dirty boots – baby / dirty boots

// Sonic Youth, “Dirty Boots”

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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