Well, God bless your crooked little heart St. Louis got the best of me
I miss your broken-china voice
How I wish you were still here with me
Well, you build it up, you wreck it down
You burn your mansion to the ground
When there's nothing left to keep you here, when
You're falling behind in this
Big blue world
Oh you got to
Hold on, hold on
You got to hold on
Take my hand, I'm standing right here
You got to hold on
Tom Waits: "Hold On"
Sitting here at Mark's apartment, listening to The Wire, which is Norman's college music station which is played only on cable tv, it reminds me of a time two years ago... nearly three now... living 817A Biloxi Dr... right here in Norman. It reminds me of weekly bottles of Weller and wine, and nights when I would sing to the cat. Tom Waits and The Cure were always playing. We had a park that I would like to walk in while I was drunk at night behind our apartment. Weekly scrambling to write something new to read at Galileo each week. Even though I was selling plasma to make it through week to week, I was strangely happy. There was nobody in the world to worry about except myself... I had yet to make the kind of ties that would bind me from across the nation. Not that these are bad things, but they add a whole new dimension of worry to my life. I tend not to worry about the people who I care about who are close geographically, because I can always be physically there for them no matter what I can actually do... but over thousands of miles, it becomes very difficult to comfort them. That's all I'm really going to say right now before I dig myself a deeper hole.
