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Fellow Felon Blog
What’s on the other side?
ok i need to go to work
but, damn kimbra can SING live
this performance is better than the album version. the weird little inflection she adds in the chorus just takes it to a new level
Ya!
Who thinks of dead birds in May?
the end of sidewalk dave
I used to get drunk and write. The whiskey laid it’s cool metallic blanket in my stomach. The bitter aftertaste, the loneliness, makes me look for a brother.
I am a lost human the same as I was six years ago. So long it was that I spent thinking about and plowing through days only to hope to arrive on the other side a grizzled, thoughtful man with a winking hand moving toward the hip— my fingers twitching for it’s trigger. Wisdom is the ability to call “draw” at the right time and it comes measured in a blink or two. Yet here I am, toiled and aching with a body sore from all the “fuck-it” moments a young man gathers in his arms— like endless gold nuggets in the shallow creek. All the while, thinking I might use them to buy my way to adulthood. Hardening and softening all at once until you care about the right things and don’t care about the wrong things. Years ago I would grow impatient over the smallest moments of lost control, now I grow impatient with my stalwart impatience. I’ll take the time do something, because that’s all we have to bargain with; time.
I still get drunk and write. I have an open beer and a glass of whiskey— straight. There is a type of man who exists now that is extremely sensitive, earnest, strong and also true to his feminine power. I am that man. The paradox always makes more sense as a memory, so I am always falling forward- if I’m falling into some paranoia that I actually don’t know anything about any of this except what has been taught me- then it is a paranoia of merit. Of course it’s true, but how does a young man distract himself from that truth? Easy. Find yourself on a journey and believe that there is some sort of clarity down the line. I am down the line. I’ve noticed it, and halted to look around the down-end of this line. I ache more, I know more happiness, but the equation is still balanced. I imagine that when death becomes a reality for me, whether through loved ones passing or when I know in a split second I am at the end, “this is it… oh my god”, I will have learned more and forgotten more and will be as balanced as I am now or was then.
I imagine that in the future I will get drunk and write. If there was anything to become except your own imagination, maybe that would be the kernel of truth that would pop me into manhood. I’m listening to my flaws and understanding that I am humbly helping to balance everything.
The rage I cherished inside of me as a younger man fueled the motivation to work so hard on a singular project. Since 2007 that project has been Sidewalk Dave. I am grateful to it, it is grateful to me for imagining it, and some of you have gratitude toward it and even me, and thus I am so utterly grateful to you for spending your time with me in so many ways. And for now, it is over— or better yet, it’s just reached a new form. It would not have grown and continued as long as it has without the support of the people I was lucky enough to share it with. Knowing something is knowing what it is not. Negation is the seed of reason and logic, and while I’m still lost in what is manhood I know to trust what it is to be human, and those two things are what make us so. Accepting that contradiction is beautiful. Thank you so very much. Sidewalk Dave is dead, but I am still the romantic behind him. Keep in touch, I’d love to hear if/what this all meant to you if you feel inclined.
Love,
David
Didn’t make it through the night
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