June 3rd, 2005



They're showing Mr Smith's "Community Service Commercials" again...
The "Buckle Up" ones...

I remember the days and days and days that he worked on them--
when we were happy and excited to be around each other...
And every little detail that he described having sweated out,
when he would get to my place, after work.

The one where the camera view drops off a building
to show how fast you are going at various speeds...
How he had to match the traffic at a normal speed
while the camera view changed speed...

I know I know I know...
Mind numbing.

Unless a boy-who-hung-the-moon
is telling you about how hard he struggled
to get them juuuuuuust right.

I can see every detail.
Remember every conversation.
Get the old butterflies
I used to get when I would CATCH the commercial.

Late Night Community Service Bits, that make you change the channel.

*kicks her TV*

The girl is still getting him out of her system.


Wait, it's only been two months and two weeks.....
(counts it over on her fingers)


Two and a half MONTHS?

Feels like 6 months.
A year even.

But I still miss him.

Tonight at work, I had to fight the urge to call him,
like it was a cigarette or a drink.

*lights a cigarette, swallows her drink*

I didn't call him.


I haven't called him, or talked with him, since he called me last.
I feel....
Well, I want to feel good about that.

At best, I can say.....I miss him.
But no longer ache for him.

It is dulling...
week after week.

I lapse, but I come back a little less drawn in.

Then one of those damn commercials comes on.
And my heart is a kosher-salt rolled lump, in my throat.

And I feel alone.

Left, Alone.

Plans shattered, laughter missing...
hopes destroyed.

Cassandra is full of music...he put into her.
Music he knew I would like.
1,200 songs.
He chose them for me from his VAST collection.

He was right.
I love these songs...from people I'd never even heard of before,
and people I adore.
Little Indie Pop songs in French, ragged Jazz, a dash of The Ramones,
Magnetic Fields and Bowie and Johnny Cash....

But each song is slightly poisoned.
And it is from THIS well that I draw, to fill my White Jewelry.
So it is a thin plastic albatross I wear around my neck
every day at the bus stop, on my breaks,
walking around Town...

Oh...it doesn't always feel like that...
But sometimes it does.

I need to find new music in my life.

Not the kind in machines.
Though that is an excellent........ crutch.

My House is untidy--and I am trying to get woodwhat here
from her work-visit to Dallas.
To her hopeful visit to Austin.

New Bride to one of my oldest and dearest Friends.
I have never met her.
I want to.

I am not focused enough.
I am wrapped up in this sticky mess of thin cloth.

And may miss something wonderful.

Because I cannot get my moments together.

I want to climb out from under all these blankets
and stop letting ONE loss.....
lead into
the next
and the next
and the next.

IT's over Ginger.
LET it be over.

Move on.
Be able to be happy.

Find your own Music.
Black Cat Burns

About the OASIS.....

I wrote as brief a statement as I did....
as it charred to the dirt, as it did...

I have never

liked it.

I, I hated it.

I felt guilty, as I watched it burn down on live TV....

My initial reaction had been a grin, curling nastily from my left cheek.

AWWWW........the MONEY is burning???

What a shame.

Struck by Lightening???

*covers here laughter with a hard hand over her mouth*

The people who mourned that spot, stood outside
down the hill....
and watched aghast as the wood ate itself...

Have big houses in the hills, or want one.

I remembered my Black Cat.

People have memories there.
At the OASIS.
People have plans to get married there.
People have LOVE for that place.

It made me feel dirty, and I stamped down...
the pleasure I felt
watching it BURN.

I couldn't say anything else.
Just note that it was happening.
I was embarrassed that I could feel that way.

My place full of memories,
is still a charred husk.
The space itself,
a missing tooth along 6th street.
The area boarded off.

It has been years now.

Every time I ever went to the OASIS,
I had nasty food at incredible price.
Watered down drinks, and poor service.
I was surrounded by people who's conversation made my skin crawl.

I wanted to bolt.

The sun set, the bell rang, people clapped,
and I would look
at my Date--

*we can go now, right? It's over???*

And something nice would happen, after we left.
(yes, Tiger, I'm talking mostly to You.)

We need not worry.........for the OASIS.
The owner, has offered up his near-by mansion to the couples
who had plans to get married there.
His place is even nicer, and has the same view.

The OASIS is being rebuilt as we speak.

There was a lovely spot on the News tonight on most local channels...
about how all of the 280 employees are coming together to get it going

Even I, had to turn out a small tear, for that.
boy says: yeah, I'm a bartender here, I need to get this place up
it's my living.

(THAT i can understand)

The bartenders and waiters and waitresses and bussers...
cutting planks
and nailing nails
in the News Bite.

*cynical smirk*

I hate that place.

I'm an ass.
Smack it.

Watching a bunch of West-Side kids who work there every summer
rebuild a place that would have been rebuilt by pro's without a blink,
Lend their sweat to a project that....

*shakes head*

No, I'm just a bitter bitter old lady.

We had the kids....who would have sweated.
I was one of them.

Our place.......
will never be rebuilt.

It only brought joy to a hundred or so in and out every night.
And ME every saturday.
Very few of us had homes in the hills or a shiny lifestyle.
(some of us DID.)

The man it belonged to, was dead....and the little girl who still ran it?
Had no resources to rebuild.

It was just as much an Icon.
It was no less, than the OASIS.

They watched the sun set.
We rang in Midnight with the Flame Trick Subs.

Plenty of arguments here, and I am not one to say I am rational
about mine.

But I didn't mind watching the OASIS burn down.

It seemed fitting.
I nodded to Zeus and his Thunderbolts.

It will be open for business this weekend, to about 200
instead of the regular 2,000.

Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
If the Money is right
We will do what we Must.

NO worries folks.
The OASIS is not lost.
  • Current Music
    Victory Lane (we call it 'Victory Drive' in these parts)