August 22, 2005

SLOUCHING TOWARDS BAKERSFIELD

I was on lap two of the Silverlake Resevoir in the dim dawn, my pop at my side, unmistakenly Sunday morning in Los Angeles, lidded tight and lightless by the marine layer fog, and my pop, he said "It's just a confluence of things, Jessie. That's all it is."

And thus, a confluence of things has brought me home. I have a confluence to tend to, and so I flew home from tour, for no reason that had anything to do with my tour, and reasons that won out over the holyshit fact that I was touring playing on the kit that Joe Morello played on Dave Brubeck's Time Out (and later gave to Nedelle's dad). Left outta LAX, flew into Chicago at night and thought of the Liz Phair song about just that. Thought about the Spoon song about Chicago At Nite, and thought about the confluence. I thought about California and I thought about Didion's freak out detailed in Slouching . I thought about the spook of SF and the girl-hair golden of the hills lining the 5 South as I drove. I thought about Yeats and the part that does me in:

The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Oh, we are the worst, aren't we?

So now, home in Chicago, arms wide to it's bar crowds loud and spilling and it's smoke-everywhere policies and thunky potholes and the sweet sting of the pacifying familiar.

Posted by Jessica at August 22, 2005 12:07 AM | TrackBack