Monday, January 28, 2008

Distant Voices: Rod McKuen

I have to walk at night and be with many,
and give myself to many strangers.
I don't know why.
I only know that people smile sometimes,
and I must smile back.
A certain eye, a smile, the way somebody walks,
I need mostly love.
Everything else must find it's place.
I need the warm touch, the unfamiliar smile,
the umbrella when it rains.
The head against the shoulder when thunder comes.
The unfamiliar touch, the knowing that someone loves me,
even for a little while.
You'll like my house.
The music's okay, the lights are nice
and I'm warm, you'll see.

Can you still go home with me knowing the way I am at morning,
might make you sorry that you did?
I mean, it's different for me in the mornings,
I'm not afraid of yellow sunlight,
or suspicious of rooms without music and atmosphere,
but things work best for me after 5 o'clock.
It's been like this always.
And you must believe I'll be good to you,
for me to work the best. I will, you know.
I will try so hard, for it's been so long since I had a woman
or a special friend.
So turn the corner with me.
Stay close.
Don't be afraid.
For there is no one else but me,
and I am warm, you'll see.

- Rod McKuen "Eros" Queer Noises 1961-1978: From the Closet to the Charts

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Part Faif-Tree

I know a man whose name is Hermes Brighton. Some don't call him much of a man, they laugh behind his back and call him names. Never in his face though, he's too much of a storyteller for that. An he's kind. Not that his stories are elaborate tales, mostly just little titbits of information that promise a fascinating life. He's always involved with different people, doing different things, travelling to wherever he wants to, stories you could envy if you wanted to. Most people don't though, because behind these little tales they easily see how he really is; lost, confused, unhappy, without a goal, cliché.

I know a man whose name is Hermes Brighton. He is smart, fun, well-dressed and knows just what to say and when to say it. Behind his cool façade, people think there's a little boy desperate for reassurance. Those people are right, but they don't know the little boy inside is a mean little fucker who would stab your mother in the back just for a piece of candy. That little boy is a passive-aggressive whore.

I know a man whose name is Hermes Brighton. He has a lot of cool friends but no personality of his own. A social chameleon who just goes with the trends and sells out at every corner he passes. If you were to put him in a room by himself, he would simply stare at a wall. A man who thinks everything is fine. A man without an opinion. A man without initiative. A man without a soul.

I know a man whose name is Hermes Brighton. Sarcastic, twisted sense of humour. A man you want standing by your side if you want to feel better than others. A mystery of a man he is, a closed book. A man who pops up when you don't expect it and make your night feel just a little more dark. A venomous spider who spreads just the right amount of poison to make you feel buzzed. A man you wouldn't introduce to your mother because you know he will be bored and hate you, and maybe your mother might cry a little.

I know a man whose name is Hermes Brighton. He's just like the rest of us. He farts and has bad hair days. And he gets it. No bullshit, no pretending. A man who wears comfortable clothes on weekdays, orders pizza and watches bad reality shows. A man who can't straighten his own tie. An ordinary guy, doing ordinary things. A man you'd like but would never call.

I know a man whose name is Hermes Brighton. I haven't quite figured him out.