Between the Covers

Sometimes time moves way too fast compared to how slow it's moving. I'm very happy that I'm only dealing with self-imposed deadlines at this point, because I've been missing them all.

I had planned on having the Devil's Jukebox ready to go on May 1st.
It's already about a week later.

The good news is that the book cover is done, and I'm so very pleased with it. Thanks to Sam Soto Design.
The problem is that there's work to be done (as in day job), and there's a couple of technical issues with the cover specs. First the file was too large, then the file was off a couple of minute millimetres. We're working on it. That's the hard part. So close - so far. Every change is a day's delay.

Part of me, the young Leo wanting to get out and roar, is just wanting to say "who cares-it's good enough-let's go!" The other part of me, the quiet patient part (who is showing unusual strength), is saying "just wait-you've waited years-a few more days won't hurt. let's just make this look as perfect as we can."

So now I'm shooting for June 1st.

Let's do this thing. 

The Girl At The Bottom Of The Glass

There is a space between completion and beginning. This space overflows with work, friends, time spent living. I've never been in this place before.

The book is finished, and there is emptiness.

Focus breaks. I have fragments of what i am currently calling "Book 2". not the most original title, but for now it works. I have a growing pile of Query letters waiting for the right addressess and contacts. I have a full-time job, a wife, and 4 dogs. I have a little space where I can go and play drums, but I'm not making music, I'm just releasing some noise. Noise with a beat.

and sometimes....
sometimes there's poetry.

The girl at the bottom of the glass

Memories fade through

Like torn photographs

Edges burnt

Always in black and white

She tilts her head

Closes her eyes

Sighs

And slightly smiles

He used to be there

Solid

Now it’s like music, fading

You know the song

… there’s a ghost…

She sits like static

Between cigarette smoke

And another pint

And she breathes

Slight ache

Missing the nearness he used to bring

But the absence holds strength

Like the reflection of an empty seat

Next to her

This is not loss

This is learning

This is not failure

This is future

This is movement

The DJ moves into another

Slow sad country song

     …I fall to pieces…

And her smile fades

Like a Polaroid

left in the sun

sometimes    more light

isn’t the answer

it only makes the shadows

harder to see

and she smiles again

against candle glow

and another pint

brushing red hair    out

of her eyes

feeling like it’s a little symbolic

an annoyance gone

and it was so easy

she stands up

holding a cigarette

to her lips

and she stumbles

alcoholic

across concrete floor

until the night

finds her

moving into the future

a crumpled photograph

left on the bar

forgotten

behind her