Phil Spector high on coke, shoves
his gun at Leonard Cohen’s throat, says
“You know, I love you Leonard”
Cohen says, “I hope so!”
There are other great stories –
Charlie Watts putting on a suit and
punching Mick Jagger in the face
after the singer had told someone to
fetch his drummer.
“I am not your fucking drummer!”
Brian Wilson in the sandbox, his toes
feeling the grit as he tries to conjure the
beach; his dog has a giant toilet in the lounge
and Wilson is churning out turds instead of hits
What can I do with these stories now?
How have they served me in this life to date?
I’ve enjoyed them – shared them widely.
I know so many more that there was never going
to be a place to store any trigonometry,
and if I ever saw anything for knowing these
stories it’s gone now and with no hope of a return.
Your life is always going to be more than the
anecdotes you’ve collected – but I wake most days
now knowing I’ve neglected the basic plan of
future-proofing my employment. It’s the age of
the pivot now and I’ve no place to turn.
I’d look inward – but the view isn’t pleasant.
The pursuit of the trivial rattles deep,
sits hollow and cascades emptiness.
I fill my soul with my stories.
So, oh well,