Post of self-indulgence

I'm not that stupid. I can fool you, but really, I'm fairly bright. Just thought I'd bring that up.


This post is fairly self-indulgent. I found a bunch of old stuff from (mostly) April of 1980. I did a little re-work as apparently my sense of meter was even more out of whack back then than it is now. But I mostly left the stuff unmolested.


For background, in April of 1980 I was 20 years and 4 months old. I would have been in the navy for about 7 or 8 months, which would put me in one of my basic electronics schools. Which would also explain why there was also a hand drawn, 4 diode bridge rectifier circuit and the definitions of zener diodes, static bias, and (as vulgar as it sounds, it is on the up and up) monostable multivibrators mixed in with these poems.


So what did I know about living? Not that much. Not that the lack of knowing what I was talking about particularly put me off from doing it. A lot of thoughts and words spilled out of me back then and I didn't much try to stop them. Why would I?


Anyway, there was tendency to pontificate. And self-medicate. Often, it would seem, simultaenously. The references are both glaring and vague. The shiny ribbon upon which I am tugging does tend to change from stanza to stanza. Sometimes even line to line. But I was young. And writing fast to keep up. And, most importantly, easily distracted. Still am. Still am what? Nevermind.


This is, like I say, pretty. Pretty self-indulgent. If you don't like the poems I write... and who could really blame you... then you're done here. See you next post. Brave and foolish people may continue.

Yhatzee game ends in shooting, out

Ramblin' Ed

(untitled) (1980 sometime)

When the sun doesn't shine

it's like a good friend of mine

didn't make it out of bed

didn't want to face the day

When the sun doesn't shine

it makes me wonder why

I come home to think about it

and then it makes me smile

I pick a patch of grass

I find a shady tree
then I lay there on my back

I count the bumbles and the bees

When the sun doesn't shine

bad luck is all mine

but when the sun's in the sky

thank you, Lord, I'm alive

Ed

(probably California)

The Sure Bet Mainliner 6 April, 1980

I went ridinng through the canyons

of multi-colored steels

The railway tracks, they wailed

while falling prey unto our wheels

The captian, he smiled grimly

then he had to turn away

"Let 'er rip," I sighed most softly,

"We're delivered up today"

-

When we passed beside the rivers

of red koolaid and cheap vodka

The engineer, he cracked up

Started thinking he was Spock

I cried, "Lord, you must have mercy

'cause the harder stuff is coming!"

When you're getting blown away

you do your best to land still running

-

Well, we barely did survive

and just a little up the track some

We had Captian Crank a'driving

We had Bennie at the backup

And we hit them curves all screaming

doing, I'd say, one oh four

"Let her roll on! Let her roll on!

Hell, there's got to be some more!"

-

Yeah, the mainliner lined up

it's humdingers humming

The ladies arrived

I think some were still coming

Couldn't really say how

Day-Glo people survived

But when we bit the dust

It was heard for a mile

-

Ed

San Diego

Bootstraps 6 April, 1980

Well you didn't ever want no help

You said you'd do it by yourself

But your bootstraps took a beating on the way

You made it clear beneath the southern moon

Amidst the herbs and sweet perfumes

That your life as never more than one more day

.

Well, does that road go on forever?

I don't know, you just can't tell

But everything's got one more side to see

All the pieces fit together

Everything right in it's place

Every place is just another town to me

.

We've got beer and we've got tablets

Monday's paper's in the truck

I think Janis might have left

A grilled cheese sandwich on the seat

Yeah, I've met some mother truckers

Some sad stories they can tell

But I left them other suckers

Standing somewhere down the street

.

They say Houston is the slickest

I think Dallas wins the race

San Diego never even made it off the ground

But who says that we were racing

Not the fella driving me

He couldn't even make it to the other side of town

.

And they might be right, some catholic girls

I know, well they're alright

But Billy Joel done picked them up and put 'em in a song
I might jet off to Cleveland

Don't much matter anymore

When life turns back to re-runs then it's time to move along

.

We've got beer and we've got tablets

Monday's paper's in the truck

Maybe Janis left

A grilled cheese sandwich on the seat

Yeah, I've met some mother truckers

Some sad stories they can tell

But I left them other suckers

Standing somewhere down the street

.

Don't you worry, don't you sweat it

I don't mean you any harm

I reckon that you're not too blind to see

'Cause that lady from Jamaica

Yeah, I think she she turned me on

Anyway, she laid a bit of truth on me

.

Ed

San Diego

Riding On The Rail 4 April, 1980
.
.

I heard that old Neil Young

was headed southward for the winter

to meet up with a southern man

maybe write a song or two

I guess you get the picture now

I guess you heard the story

if you go out chasing rainbows

don't you catch the blues

.

Whiskey rivers flow

from some old jukebox in the mountians

the hills have eyes,

but that, I cannot see

Them old love songs have a summer cabin

up on Sugar Mountian

And baby

I guess you're just stuck with me

.

Crazy Horses are stampeding

as stoned ponies hit the trail

folk music died a quiet death

just rode on out the rail

and I heard Danny laughing

as those diamonds turned to rust

you ain't never getting there from here

(unless you take a bus)

.

So Carrie, if you'll carry me

I'll let you off the Hook

We'll just meet each other

down beside the school

I tried reconciliation

Judy Collins, my salvation

but rust, it never sleeps

it's sneaking up on all us fools

.

Whiskey rivers flow

from some old jukebox in the mountians

the hills have eyes,

but that, I cannot see

Them old love songs have a summer cabin

up on Sugar Mountian

And baby

I guess you're just stuck with me

.

Now we're down to Nitty Gritty

won't you listen to the Dirt Band

ol' Pooh Bear's got a huny jar

that's stuck upon his nose

I hear folk music's dying

but I'll wait until it's dead

some people cry

but I ain't one of those

.

Ed

San Diego