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Loneliness is a term most associated with prison. It’s hard to imagine with all the noise, the people. You’d think loneliness wouldn’t exist. Sure you can talk – walk – eat & engage but here social interaction is as difficult as giving a turpentined wildcat a whirl pool bath. Sometimes dressing a horse as a loved one ain’t going to get you into the prom. I like Rick, George & Frankenstein & a few others because they don’t lecture, get hung up on bravado. They know we are criminals. Broken. We’re not monsters. But that need to hold, caress, whisper in an ear – overwhelms & I retreat to silence.
“What’s wrong John” repeated time after time. I get tired. I get worn. I get defeated. I don’t bitch & moan about the man – my girl – the fuckin judge. I seek beauty in an asphalt jungle – in a sow’s ear purse & I crave music – Lucinda Williams, Townes Van Zandt – The Pixies – Sonic Youth - Highlonesome – Velvet Underground. A head to hold. A spine to bend. A mouth to rescue and a world to twist. Prison is an answer to the wrong question. A velvet rain coat. A blind assassin. At the cliff that signifies wit’s end, I teeter. My organs quake, beg relief. Some significance. I apologize. I was wrong. I broke the law. I sit & contemplate Li-Po’s Legend. Wonder why I never made into that suicidal bathtub. Kelly claims I once said that I bought the ticket & I’ll wait to see the end of the movie. Loneliness my muse. An elaborate precaution to a world tipped its end. Wavering. Do I continue to move horizontal or change direction? Do I choose love or silence. My heart or my brain. My fists or my poetry. My kingdom for a horse.

So my loneliness is not one of lacking company. I’m Custer. I’m surrounded. But it’s lack of community, or intimacy. As those words form & fall to page I receive 2 letters. One from an old friend, Julie R. & one from Mr. Lopez. Well I haven’t talked with Julie since the ‘90s and I’m thinking - Holy Fuck – can this world get any smaller – stranger?
She wasn’t looking for me but Stacy, you know Stacy S. So of course here I am hunkered over my bed scrawling the Old Blog - getting this amazing letter & tears waltz down my cheeks. Come on John! This is not behavior fitting a con so to make matters worse, my internal CD cranks up “Sweet Old World” – Lucinda W. Come on universe – where is my Robert DeNiro. The letter is everything you dream of locked in the way we are. Just like Kelly’s saying hello. Not to be indulgent, but rather explanatory, I’d love for Kelly to share with you. Obviously certain information would be withheld. Not just a letter for a prisoner – a letter for a friend. A dear friend you thought lost. I thank you Julie for your thoughts, your humanity & for making my points on loneliness really mute. To make matters worse, Frankenstein just tossed me a cherry tomato fresh from the garden. Who can say we’re not God’s children?
Later.