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I believe in artichokes

Italy did ruin me. After that first trip I came back disgusted by bodega coffee, which now smelled of old socks. Before, it was just fine. I rolled my eyes at red sauce joints, detouring old standbys like a stranger. If eating can be seen as a religious or spiritual experience I had been to the mountain. In time I would return on pilgrimages, always holding the simple pleasures in my thoughts.  An artichoke, methodically fried in good olive oil, with some salt. Black truffles, good butter and fresh pasta twisting around the back of a fork. A very cold and tiny glass of porto bianco sipped in a Genoa bar, with my friend Federico. A man cleaning sardines on a block of wood in the street. A woman selling green figs that she wraps into a newspaper cone. I have thousands of these memories, these artifacts. But I live in Moscow, where there has been an embargo for years now, and there is no population that expects perfect mounds of fresh cheese. They ship powdered palm oil here, that gets …

i'm just learning how to crawl

Another Sunday night concert has come and gone, this one punctuated by the cry of an infant. The song was new, a mess of good intentions - about an Appaloosa with no name, about E's drawings that hang on the fridge, about everything. Playing live music is a sort of roller-coaster ride/balancing act that I am deeply attracted to. Sometimes the plates all crash to the floor, sometimes there is an exhilarating near miss. Sometimes you come up with the brass ring and wonder how they hell you had the impulse to grab it.

I'll leave it to you decide what may have happened.

Watching these videos the next day I see the train wreck, the naked ideas. I also see the will to continue, when things go wrong. In truth, this is me learning to crawl.

N is there in the darkness of the audience, her face like a moon, someone to focus on, someone to sing to. Someone to sing about. China to Arkansas is for her.


Playing solitaire on a hotel bed
Some shitty coffee
and some room service eggs.
It ain’t living.
It's just making do.
And I’m on the next train to you.
And I’m coming on the next train to you. 

when she comes through the door.
leaves all her things on the floor.
brown eyes so big.
in her dirt you dig.
all the way to china
and arkansas

china to arkansas from marco North on Vimeo.
">china to arkansas from marco North on Vimeo.



And this song - Black on Black - is about my past. 

Comments

Annie said…
Marco, my computer won't let the song play smoothly enough for me to get the words. Could you put the Black on Black lyrics in?
Rabbit blogger said…
here you go, annie -

BLACK ON BLACK

lay your bones down johnny
lay your bones down
kiss that black on black heart girl johnny
kiss that black on black heart girl
ain't no pirates up in heaven
ain;t no pirates in this world

lay me down
lay me down
lay me down

you can;t cross the ocean
standing on dry land
if you drink this potion
do you think you'll understand?
these are your stars
there was no plan
lay me down
lay me down
lay me down

betty, veronica, eve, sasha, sarah and sarah
(more names)
You black on black heart girls
do you think I understand?
these are your stars
there was no plan
lay me down
lay me down
lay me down
Annie said…
Thanks! Sure seems like you are living the life you are meant to live. I envy you having the chance to exercise your creativity in so many ways.

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