l i f e
dirt in the ground
contributions
christopher@30seconds.org
Well...I...don't. Not really. I mean I thought about the catalyst moment. The first time, and there is nothing. How disappointing. How utterly unexciting. Okay, I can do better.
All my memories with Mr. Waits seem to involve me, no one else, and usually a bottle. The bottom of a very large bottle. The fact that I work to the sound of Waits, or write to him playing in background doesn't matter. Those aren't really moments. I mean, not really. I suppose you could count the times I lean back in my swivel chair and smile at a particular sentence while glancing over my shoulder at the radio, at my only companion. I guess you could count that as a moment. I guess.
Or the awkward moment of silence between myself, artist, and a model who has never posed nude before as she drops the robe I gave her for the lens. The couple of seconds before Mr. Waits comes on. An expression that seems to say, "What's next..." And then, softly, but not too soft, "Dirt In The Ground". Maybe that was a moment to be counted, but it sounds weak and flushed out of my head. Forced I should say. It isn't a moment I would pick, it just happened. It should be noted the model asked if I had anything else, and it turned out Stereo Lab suited her much better.
And that's really it I think. No one I know really likes Waits. For me he has always been a very solitary treasure, and so those moments, I've not bothered keeping track of.
How about the times I'm sad and rolling a strong gin & tonic around in my mouth, feeling the alcohol seep into my bloodstream through my tongue and the roof of my mouth. When the enamel comes off my teeth from so much drinking as if I'd just eaten an entire bag of salt & vinegar chips? Does that count? Is that a Waits moment or just a look at how vulnerable I can be? Both?
There are of course a few times I remember singing Mr. Waits while walking the railroad tracks at night, kicking up ballast.
And there are the thunderstorms when I walk down the road for a beer and sit in the circle window with the screen door propped open and listen to the rain mix with Waits. Why is it Waits goes so damned well with the rain?
One things for certain. Waits, for me, has always involved solitude and more often than not some form of alcohol.
I guess if I had to pick one experience, one story I would have to stand by, it wouldn't be any of the drinking stories. None of the sadness. Not the television or New Orleans. It wouldn't be a moment of solitude. I would look for a moment that goes beyond. For me that requires looking no further than the first piece on this site. The piece that started it all. A response to a very good piece of advice.
goodnight 4.22.98
