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What are you waiting for?
RUNNING
The people all out, not being out.
Going places and not being there.
I don't understand it.
If you are unconscious
then I am invisible to you.
And I hate us both for it.,
but only for as long as it takes
to think it.
Fuck thought anyway.
Gives me a headache.
Everbody running running running
always running like its a
duel to the death session
of Beat the Clock.
Running where? Running why?
From what to what,
away from or towards.
Is it a who or a them?
Maybe it's you.
Is it me?
Running looking, always looking.
Give me serendipity and a tequilla sunset.
Give me moon madness on a ship at sea
Give me a joy that has no opposite
Please Give Me A Fucking Break
I am empty and need everything
I can't find it by looking for it
It either happens, or does not
I am either a beggar for love
or I am love itself.
Or maybe i'm nothing.
I am always being nothing and
everything and nothing.
All at the same time.
Whether I know it or not.
I am alien in the marlbled hallways of the rich.
I am alien to you in your bubble.
Alien always to your system.
The universal injustice system.
Where reptiles in thousand dollar suits
play with war as if there were no
death, no blood, no loss.
Anything to keep us running
where there is no getting away
anything it takes
to keep us going out without
being out
keep us going places
and not being there
*************************************************
Money Money No Money No
Money money no money money no
Money money no money money no;
can't buy me love
can't get me out of town
I accept it the way I would accept a looming typhoon
or surgery
Everybody out of the dating pool!
It's the broke guy.
97% of the women vanish
The other 3 ignore me.
I may have no coin in this realm
My charming emanations worthless
in your world of things
But I didn't get into this whole
poetry writing story telling thing
for the money.
That'd just be crazy
Sure, I hear the echo of wolf-steps
in the background any time
If I listen too much my priorities get discombobulated.
Distracted from the much more important business
of my creative and spiritual works in progress.
That and a million dollars would make me virtually
irresistable.
int. apartment-early morning
He is smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. These are his last two addictions and he is unrepentent about them. He has rethought his career change, from writer to jewel thief and figured that because he's the one that always gets caught it'd be a bad move.
He would rather be an actor anyway. If only for the socialability of it. He has spent decades of his life alone in rooms writing. This reduces to moments of pure bliss, when the writing gods are smiling and/or an isolative madness with solitary confinement.
HE
The world is still sleeping. Soon they
will begin to stir, their lives ready to
step into. The morning rituals; the love
made or lost, endearments or arguements.
Then off they go to trade their time for the
almighty dollar. As for me, I'm taking a
break until I find a happier life to step into.
Probably sometime between the sunrise and a free mindless moment.
Current Events
Becalmed, bedeviled, be bop
be cool, be hot, get a tune up at the shop
give me drugs and give me money
give me sex and ports a sunny
knockouts, knockdowns,may-lays, dark ways
shanghais, blue eyes, red skies,strange days
Broken hearts, false starts, shipwrecks
bad checks, epic treks, stacked decks
Betrayed, underplayed, way-laid gone astray
lost and found and lost my way
and said and said again
what there is I have to say
Aoelius, God of the Wind
I need your breath once more at my back
I have been blessed and I have sinned
I have been strong but I can still crack
The currents vie for their power to engage
20 fathoms deep behind my eyes
The arctic caldera of smoldering rage
The tropical heat of loves sweet sighs
He is waiting to board, talking on the phone to his agent.
AGENT
It's all done. All you have to do is sign.
HE
What's the final figure?
AGENT
One point 5 gazzilion.
He
What's my net after everybody gets their cut?
AGENT
$99.95
HE
Plus a plane ticket.
AGENT
One way to St. Barts. You can pick it
up at my office when you sign the contract.
HE
Okay.By the way, you're fired.
CUT TO:
EXT.ST.BARTS-DAY
He is drinking a huge frozen Daquirii and smoking a cigarette. An expensive blond
slinks into the empty chaise next to him.
BLOND
Business or pleasure?
HE
Is that a question or an offer?
BLOND
Just making conversation.
HE
A little bit of both.
What he doesn't say is that he's decieded to give up writing and realize his childhood ambition of becoming a jewel thief.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT.APT.-DAY
He is not well. He is not necessarily ill, but he's getting there. He has had the 24 hour flu for 5 days and he has been living on chocolate and chicken soup It is so cold outside that he is thinking about writing a story about an island in the south pacific.
He is sitting at this kitchen table talking on the phone to his agent. He does not hate his agent, but he's getting there.
AGENT
They want you do rewrite the first 30 pages again.
HE
Tell them I'd rather have brain surgery.
AGENT
They're not going to be happy.
HE
Then tell them to have brain surgery. Tell them
that if I even look at those pages again my head
is going to explode. Then nobody makes any
money. Besides, they wouldn't know what a
creative thought was if it ate them.
SMASH CUT TO:
FADE IN:
INT.APARTMENT-EARLY MORNING
A man in his underwear sits at his desk, looking out the window. He is drinking a cup of coffee and smoking
a cigarette. He is older than he ever expected at 64. He has a strong, lived in face, tempered by trysts, betrayals,
madness wanderlust and a lifetime of adventures. He cleans up pretty good, although at the moment he is wearing his
just got up and not really awake face. Bed head and a days stubble, his smile still soaking in it's
cup in the bathroom. He continues his ongoing conversation with himself.
HE
I'll have to get out of the house today. Get a cup
of coffee someplace. It's about all I can afford.. Got
to have an excuse to take a shower and shave. But I
want to now that I can walk again without all the pain.
I never know what's going to happen anymore. I live the best
I can, riding the moment and depending on sychoricity for
the rest
DISSOLVE TO:
.
The Off Port Cruise
At sea
for Mac
Moonlight was reclining on a coiled line on the bow. Three days out to sea, out of range of man-made haze the stars could be seen in their undiluted magnificence.
The sea was calm with just the light break of the bow wave slapping back from the beam. The full moon light was strong enough for surgery.
“ You'll catch a case of moon madness, Albion”, Mac said.
“ Don't believe in it. It's just an old sailors myth”.
Mac was throwing bottles over the rail. Each bottle was capped with a cork, and inside a tiny scroll. On each an inspirational message of hope translated into 6 languages.
“ I'll bet I've got a cork for any bottle ever made”, Mac boasted. “There's a place in Singapore keeps me stocked up”.
Mac kept cardboard boxes marked BOTTLES out of the way near some busy intersections in the crew's quarters. Most had no idea why they were wanted, much less about how they would be used, or where they might end up. They just put them in because it was easy.
“ I'd think you'd have to. How many bottles like these do you think you've thrown over the side?”
“ Oh, thousands. Tens, hundreds of thousands. I have no idea. I've been doing it for 30 years”.
Moonlight rose, stretched ,lit a cigarette and walked over to lean on the rail, to Mac's right, with a cardboard box full of bottles ready for throwing between them. He grabbed one in each hand, tossed the first, then held up the other to examine it in the light. The scrolls were 6”x6” squares of beige heavy rolled bond paper, each tied with a small red silk bow. He tossed it over to his right throwing hand and heavied it out to the belly of the ocean.
“ You ever hear from anybody that found one?” Moonlight asked.
Mac paused, not so much to remember but to review it in his mind before he spoke.
“ One time”, he began.” Must have been about 15 years ago. Some guy wrote an article about me. Got sent all over, one of those Sunday supplement things that go out with the papers. Parade, I think it was”.
Four dolphins were riding the bow wake, the phosphorus rich water spraying them with gold sparkles. Mac watched them for a while with the patience of an old sailor and a serene smile on his face.
Show me a man who could not smile at the appearance of these angels of the sea and I will show you a dead man, or one who'd be better off that way. The totality of the beauty was overwhelming, humbling and wondrous beyond description. It smelled of salty freedom and infinity. This awesome expanding coverlet that we ignore or slough off or forget.
“ About 7,8 years after that,” he continued, “this guy wrote to Parade and enclosed a letter for me. Of course he didn't know it was me, but somebody at the magazine remembered, and they sent it along.”
The air in mid ocean is pure. Intoxicating. Moonlight took a deep breath, smiled down at the dolphins for a second.
“ So this guy the bottle found, he was in a sorry state. He was no bum, an American, believe it or not. Picked it up in Andros, you know, in the Bahamas. Used to be a big pirate getaway.”
“Arg,”, Moonlight grunted. ”We're a mixed up species, don't you think?”
“ I wouldn't argue that”, Mac said. “Never said what he was doing there. Something about money. He'd been going through one of those times where everything turns to shit. Some poor souls never lose the yoke of their bottom sorrow. Darkness like that can kill a man, if he lets it. Doesn't matter if he's got money or not. If hope goes, it's the end. Inevitable as the tides.”
Mac had lived long hard years at sea, but he had a kindness untouched by the rough elements that come of men living without women, in close quarters. A sailors lot can get ugly sometimes. He fought his battles when he had to but nothing could ever sour his innate sweetness and turn him mean.
“ A man's a fool if he thinks he knows what he wants, he continued, ” Too many think too much about if only. Be it romance, money or a life of leisure. If only this, or that. But those things can never fill, were never made to fill the emptiness, the God awful loneliness of a soul in deep despair. When people get what they think they wanted and it doesn't work, well, if they don't take that into consideration, they're doomed.”
“ Anyway, this fellow got himself as drunk as he could, all screwed up with false courage and started to take a long walk off a short pier.”. Mac thought that was a good one, but he didn't seem to care that Moonlight seemed to missed it.
“ So there he goes, wading out to deep six himself, when one of my bottle floats up, he was about thigh deep when it came right to him. He told me that at first he didn't pay it any mind, thought it was just another piece of flotsam. But then he noticed the scroll.
Held it up to the light, like you did before.”
“ A man can only deny so much serendipity,' Moonlight said.
“ That's exactly what happened,” Mac agreed.” He said it stopped his mind in mid thought. He grabbed the bottle and walked back to the beach. Uncorked it and shook out the scroll. He read some, but he said the message really wasn't the thing. It was just the miracle of it coming to him at that particular moment in time that amazed him back into wanting to live.”
They stood there for awhile in the easy, patient way sailors sometimes get when they are far out to sea. As if they took comfort in knowing their place, so small and insignificant against the vastness of sea and sky, but full of the best parts of themselves at the same time.
“ That's one helluva story, Mac. I don't think I'll ever forget it.”
Mac bent over to shield the wind and relit his pipe.
“ Most likely you won't. But thanks. I mean, what's the point of going to sea, if you can't get a pile of good stories out of it.”
Moonlight laughed, knowing he felt the same way. “ I've got some good ones, but so far nothin' that can top that.”
Mac's blue eyes sparkled when he smiled. “ It's not a contest, Albion. You've got a life you're living full in. That's what matters. Just keep havin' as much fun as you can, every time you get the chance. And if you don't get the chance, have some anyway.”
The sky and sea enveloped them. It was all much too large to think about.
“ Might as well,” Moonlight agreed. “ We're probably all fucked anyway.”,
Mac laughed in innocent joy. “ Maybe, ultimately. But right now, we're not.”
Moonlight lit a cigarette and he and Mac stood there happy and unafraid, puffing smoke into the big bad Universe.
The Off Port Cruise *
Part I**
Wellington, New Zealand
When the Monterey dropped anchor in Wellington, it was big news. It wasn't part of the main shipping
route, and the liners always went to Auckland or Chirstchurch. So we left a Gullverian footprint there
among the Lilliputian fishing boats and trawlers.
Albion Moonlight*** was on a mission; some folks he'd met in Hobart, Tasmania had friends in
Wellington and asked him to deliver something to them. It was a beautifully carved mahogany music
box. Trusting souls, those Tasmanians, or maybe he just had that kind of face. Just to be on the safe
side he searched it thoroughly before taking it aboard. Feeling around under the velvet and checking
for hidden compartments. It was clean and played a lovely tinkly Viennese waltz.
In Wellington steep cliffs rose from the sea, topped by plateau that overlooked the harbor and the
channel out to open water.
He stopped in a cafe, ordered a quadruple espresso . While the barrista was pulling levers and
making great clouds of steam appear he asked her for directions to the address he had for the box. “
Just keep walking up Shepard Street. First left when you walk out the door. All the way to the top. Big
house with bay windows. You can't miss it.”.
The street was a winding cobblestone pathway, as steep as any San Francisco hill. The town had a
European feel to it, old world architecture with lots of international travelers and a slower pace of life that made it feel like a step back in time.
The house was as advertised, unmissable. He knocked on the door and a cute, fearless little girl
about 5 years old opened the door. He crouched down to eye level with her and opened the lid of the
music box. She broke into a beaming smile, clapped her hands and jumped up and down twice.
“ Is this yours?”, he asked.
“Actually it's mine, but she thinks it's hers”. This from a fine looking dark haired woman coming down the stairs “ You must be Albion. We''ve been expecting you. Please, come in.”
“Thea, say hello to Mr. Moonlight”.
“ That's a funny name”.
“What? Moonlight's not funny. Thea**** is funny.”
“No silly. Moonlight's funny”.
“ Thea..don't be rude”, mom warned.
“ Hello Mr. Moonlight. Thank you for bringing my music box”,Thea said.
“ You're welcome, little m'aam.”
She had no idea what this meant but laughed anyway. Moonlight was used to this, and smiled as he
followed Thea's mom into the living room. She introduced herself as Julip. Moonlight said nice to
meet you. He didn't have time for any more name questioning. He had a ship to catch.
The windows offered a spectacualar view of the harbor and beyond it the sea. The Monterey was the
talk of the town.
Julip asked, “ Did you go to the casino in Hobart?”
“Matter of fact I did”, Moonlight replied. “Craziest game I ever saw. They give you these big paddles
and you flip coins way up into the air”.
“That sounds like fun”, Thea chimed. “Mommy, can we go to Tasmania and flip coins?”
“We'll see, sweatheart”.
“Do they really have Tasmanian devils there, Mr. Moonlight?”
“There is a differing of opinons on that one. Some claim they're real, some say they're just cartoons. Never saw one myself, but I heard they're nasty.”
“Nasty how?” Thea asked.
“ Devilish.”
“ Like with big fangs and red eyes?”
“Pretty much”.
Julip said, “ Enough questions. Can I offer you a drink, Albion? I just made some hot spiced cider”.
Moonlight accepted and she came back with two steaming mugs which they sipped while looking
down at the harbor
“Can you stay for dinner?”
“ I'd love to, but I can't. Ship sails at 5 this afternoon.”
“ Where are you going?”
“
I'm not sure. Tonga, I think”.
“ I heard the King of Tonga weighs 500 pounds”, Thea said.
“
I heard it was 350”.
“ A big fat king. Why do they have a king anyway? Nobody has a king anymore.”
“ I don't know. It's a pretty small island. Not much of a kingdom.”
“ Maybe he's king because he ate everybody”.
Moonlight and Julip laughed and drank more cider. He was thinking how nice it would be if he didn't
have to go. He felt good with them there, it felt like a safe and happy place. But he had his ride to get
back to and he tried to not miss what he didn't have. A wife, a child, a house on a hill, or a wanderer of
oceans chasing visions. There was always a trade-off, he thought, no matter what you do.
He got up to go and Julip and Thea walked him to the door and waved goodbye as he walked down t
he steep cobblestone hill back to the ship.
(to be continued)
* Title change to; The Off Port Cruise-(when a passenger ship passes up the usual ports of call for
less traveled places. Melborne, Austrailia instead of Sydney, Riatia instead of Tahita, etc.)
** Part I; because I forgot what part it's supposed to be.
*** Inspired by The Journal of Albion Moonlight by Kenneth Patchen.
****for Thea Juniper Taylor, the cutest little m'aam I ever met.
The Off Port Cruise
Part II
Wellington, New Zealand
Moonlight was on the fantail with Jan and Patrick as the ship came out of the channel. Feeling the familiar vibration from the huge diesels through the steel hull while the screws churned the water white in its wake.
The plateau above the harbor was lined by townspeople like a curious army observing enemy maneuvers.
“ We're gonna be on the news”, Patrick said, pointing to a camera crew running out with the ship on a fast, open 20 foot outboard.
Moonlight thought about Julip and Thea and wondered if they were among the people on the plateau.
Then suddenly the ship came to a shocking stop after the deafening screech of steel colliding into something sharp and immovable. The engines roared full-ahead and the stabilizer were deployed but the ship stayed trapped in the harbor, angled slightly in towards a shear rock wall and away from the channel.
“Sonuvabitch captain screwed the pooch”, Patrick said.
“ In front of the world and everybody”, Moonlight added.
“ You know if they can't get us ungrounded they have to pay us for the rest of the trip and fly everybody back to San Fransisco”, Jan informed us. We were all for that possibility.
A short while later 3 seagoing tugboats came out of the channel and took positions around the helpless Monterey. Tugboat deckhands threw heaving lines attached to ¾ inch steel cables which were hauled aboard and secured to large chocks, 1 on the bow and 2 on the seaside port stern.
They watched the scene play out from the safety of Moonlight's bench. The tension on the cables was at maximum. If it snapped it could cut a man in half.
“ There's an AB I work with who lost a leg to one of those things”, Patrick commented.
Moonlight didn't really care about the outcome, other than escaping with all his limbs still attached, but he was curious about the poundage of the King of Tonga.
After close to an hour of tugging the Monterey finally floated free. Divers were dispatched to assess the damage and pronounced it minor with no impact on the integrity of the hull. The tab for the tugs was probably close to $200,000 and deep shit for the captain.
And so finally we made our inglorius way out of Wellington, on to the next off-port of call.
