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Everything But The Jokes From Bob's Notebooks

by Julian Cartwright

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1.
This Time 04:51
All this time I appeared to be a spider scrambling up a wire of desire. All this time and I’m still kneeling at the shrine of the daily grind, when the situation is infinitely more dire. All this time I’ve been wandering around the kitchen of a dollhouse, where the food is made of wood, painted up to look good. All this time I misunderstood the concept of a decision But I will decide because I think I should All this time I let my bicycle rust in the blinding heat and frost of loss. All this time trying to keep away from me-- It’s been a bust. All this time I was in a glamorously urbane cellist’s selfie, accidentally deleted from her iPhone 12S. All this time’s the time it takes to live and die and come back to life, I guess. All this time there were Marigolds growing in the Senator’s lawn, withered by a poison spray. And I said it was ok! But this time I will be sure to look away.
2.
I'm Thirty 03:57
I used to stay indoors, seeking out Stevie Nicks floors. Now I Tarzan. Now I don henley. Now I carry a field microscope with me. I’m thirty. I used to eat ingredients raw, sipping coffee through a straw. Now every day I get more lucky. Cause ten extra years taught me not to be twenty. Why should I waste my time thinking “I wanna go back”. Cause you have to go forward and that’s a fact. But it’s an awareness that I used to lack. I guess we kind of think time travel possible, or not an obstacle, if we can get a popsicle at a skating rink. But a teen has no right to think, and in your 20’s, you take thinking to the brink. I used to sit in bars, collecting scars, now I select used cars at a price point. Although my vision is a little blurry. I’m so unbelievably lucky. I’m thirty.
3.
Moving men yawn, kids drop their scooters on the lawn and run in for chocolate milk. Their friends are gonna move on, their bones are gonna get strong. Ah, what do they know.. Of all the long days spent at school, the hours logged in at the pool, what have they learned? They’re dreaming of the world beyond, feel like big fish in little ponds, memories bronzed. Growing up in the suburbs, soccer ball in locker, physically ashamed posture. You live in fear of the rejected offer, indescribably awkward. Come take a look at this ring, just for a minute. You can see the future in it. But it only stays dark green, which it has since the Pleistocene. I know your dream was to destroy the set of Top of The Pops, a teen triceratops. And you’ll take Chemistry in the Fall if your back’s against the wall, if Clarissa explains it all. You didn’t have the time to dream, but on the debate team you sure could create a scene. On Memorial Day, you bought a set of drums to play with the help of Mel Bay. The next day you see your crush coming toward you in the hall like an asteroid trying to end it all. Now strong men are packing up your stuff. They pack it up tight in a box like a harlequin. You won’t see that old junk anymore. It’s only interesting to kids, like a dinosaur.
4.
Smelling the tar, going a little too far on Celebration Day. Explosions and fumes, we’re using up our pay on Celebration Day. Whistling a tune for comrades marooned on desert islands soothes on Celebration Day. Those who could not be discovered by science are not forgotten in truth on Celebration Day. Distant parts of the family join with us soon on Celebration Day. Signal cannons boom as Wisteria bloom on Celebration Day. Glasses of water clash with cups of champagne on Celebration Day. Fallen soldiers, face up, lie down in the shade on Celebration Day. And Julia gets a new rocking horse. We join together for cartoon films on Celebration Day. And uncle Bill, a Rhodes Scholar, sucks down a spliff on Celebration Day. Some of us look up to the sky to try to say goodbye on Celebration Day. A vacation day. A school and bank holiday. Charcoal brickettes, ice cream and cake keep us awake after an adult dose of sun on Celebration Day. So it’s that time again. A time to reflect-- what the heck? At the end of the month will I get my health, spouse, job back on Celebration Day? And how did ants manage to get into that? And why is my entire backside wet? The back door is open, now where are the cats? And the neighbor’s pyrotechnics mixed with Francis Scott Key are all triggering PTSD on Celebration Day. On Celebration Day.
5.
Just a routine visit, it’s just a routine visit. But as I was driving through the woods, the trees looked more beautiful than they should be. It’s a routine visit, just a routine visit. Well, I remember when I’d get anxious and freak out about the little things, and I miss it. It’s just a routine visit, just a routine visit. I used to get up, 10 am in the aftermath of a hurricane. I would aspire to do something that's out of reach and then go to the beach. It was a routine visit It was just routine Do I feel fine? Do I feel fine? I’m not so sure this time. And if you don’t feel fine, do your best to describe. Now please, what is it? A routine visit, just a routine visit. Except I’m not doing fine. I hope my visit will be more routine next time.
6.
Getting up another day with the seagulls. And I tie all of my troubles to their wings. Now they’re flying closer to the ocean and when they drown, that’s when the country singer sings. I’ve been waking early in the morning, making cups of coffee for no one cause as soon as it gets to be 6 o’clock, I’m leaving. And my gut don’t know about rising with the sun. Couldn’t sleep last night, so I’m crying to the radio and driving slow. I want to turn day back to night, and I’m trying, but it beats me no matter how far west I go. And I’ve got more than one reason for striking out solo. I like to be on my own. As far as bands go, they never came back after the show. So I’m getting up early-morning every morning in July, so my hair never really getting dry. And I’m sweating through all my clothes, but I’ve got to give another try. And I have no regrets, cause I can’t afford to. I’ve got to hustle through June and July. And after that I can’t really claim to know what gigs on which I can rely. I’m hanging on another man’s say-so. Could be eating out of cans till late next May. At this rate, I’d better move my capo cause I feel a little high-strung today. So I’m getting up another day with the seagulls. Reading a dime store novel with eleven sequels. Flying in a lonesome, heavy way. I’m not flying here for pleasure, but for pay.
7.
I know you want the truth and I know you wanna win, but don’t try to build a roof until you’ve put the basement in. You want to be an extraordinary man at the age of sixteen, but you need an ordinary life to make your ego lean. On thing at a time, my friend, just one thing at a time. You don’t have to do everything just because you’re in your prime. But when it’s time to sand, by all means sand. If something’s meant to wear you down, just take it as a lesson and the texture of the wall shows through fifty coats of paint and all. It’ll be there fifty years on. The friction’s really calling you to move on. The friction’s really calling you to move on. So move on. No need to quit, just keep moving on and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand and sand.
8.
Keeping Pace 02:34
I ride the rails with the snails. I raise the stakes with the rest of the fakes. And I bail when I lose sight of the horizon, and I bail on clear days when the horizon shows its face. But every night I see the stars come out and dream. It’s such a free thing. And on cloudy nights, imagine lights, but find that just the dark is pleasing. I move my tent and pay no rent. I raise my stakes when the day wakes. I waste no time, no salt, no lime, and spend no dime on sweet pancakes. But every night I feast my eyes on the many stars revolving in the skies. Actually they stay in one place. What a difference education makes. And I wonder why we have to keep on moving every day, but less and less. I can see it’s not a race. This whole thing’s just to remind me the value of keeping pace. keeping pace, keeping pace.
9.
Me, I can’t appreciate a lotus A crow smelling a rose I’m not supposed to go to the far side of the garden where the crazy plowman hoes. And it’s not appropriate for me to fly the flag of victory as far up as the flagpole goes. I’ve been warned and I’ve had my chances, so I know, I know, I know. I get the picture, but I get the picture slow. I get the picture slow. I’m drawing a wavy, halting line, holding up my homemade sign only to find the crowd had left the day before, that justice has since been ignored, and we’ve moved toward a subtler form of protest. Then I'm fined for loitering, a hundred dollars no less. One of these days I’m gonna learn, so one of these days I’m gonna know. And I’ve learned that I will come to know, but till then I get the picture slow, until then I get the picture slow. Take a seat and watch me go. You’d have to be inert to observe my progress. But I will process regardless.
10.
Heavy rain soaked us to the bone, so I curled up and made my own. But I flinched when I heard the sandbags hit the ground in this hot air balloon skyward bound. And when mammoths stomped around us like bullies, they didn’t have to be wooly's. But we eat sadness, banish fears like leeks and carrots, radish spheres. And we drown thoughts tossed with anxiety in vegan sauces sweet and briny. It is a kind of therapy. It helps to ease your mind. If you are what you eat, then make it more sublime. If the thought of violence makes you red, switch out what you put on your bread, and if you wouldn’t harm a dog, then don’t kill a hog to eat. May you eat hearty and take heart that this shift will be the start of a brand new life for you and me, and for everyone who’ll be allowed to be.

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released August 12, 2017

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Julian Cartwright New Jersey

Julian Cartwright is a songwriter, instrumentalist, composer and arranger based in the Philadelphia area. Instagram @julian.cartwright.songs

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