But I Needed You.
            By theo konrad auer
 
 
He did a heel, tacit, turned...was almost like he was there for a second, but those amounts are so, so so and so long, so so long
 
Terrible music blurs a smudge lingering along, the sonic sort I wouldn't wonder into if it wasn't for a stupid road trip that i remember well, well enough
but there is always a but with you and this and you and I are terrible right now and in memory god fucking dammit I want to cry but because pride, yeah,
the thing that kept you from teaching me to drive, ride a motorbike or fly the way you did those things with your birth children who loathe me and I don't know why, well you, yeah, you and you're dead so that is that and that is no consolation but it's not WHY I can outsurf or outbackpack you, it, well is this:
 
thing is you were always about dog music more than Ann Murray, really me too, one of the few things we had in common, the crickets, the trees' sway heavy
the way nature accidents this way and that, free jazz in the cosmos and alleyways and in the graceful places that make you feel small amongst great old rocks
the stuff that gets you feeling Coltrane when you really need a Richard Pryor bit but can't go there yet but should, black funerals pun heavy now,
 
I remember how you told me Pryor was a class clown in High School in Peoria and how much of a jackass you thought he was and how I thought you were talking about me.
 
 
It was cold at your funeral,
but I have to wash away the road trip that
had a terrible soundtrack of dated soft country rock
all over Bodega Bay with Laika the Labrador and mom and
the thing is you're dead now and
everyone is fighting over scraps and these memories and
the dog at this moment are all I have left of you
REALLY!?!? Really? Really.
just that! annnnd this:
appropriate, and I
I threw up outside a public event many months later before a local radio host and
I
wrote though I started this later like
many things I don't finish but
I want to finish this, Bill, this
BILL is ours to right, me
living, yours to memory your
kids never ever gave a damn as
I and my mum care gave they
ate good and well and well, never called to hang
out or to dry but as they say that is
how it goes, it goes and goes and goes on
and on and you won't and will not, you're
dead man to rights and just are dead, the most significant memory of
you is when the terrible Alameda cop wanted to
rough you up and you were calm and strong and
stood by my mom and then I knew why
you were always her fiance but
never married - it was
because you there in bad times mostly but
at half time beating
- Ba-dum-bump  -
to an amateur cover of
a bad Ann Murray tune that really at
the end of today and
tomorrow and
yesterday was
and is you.
 
It was her birthday and as much as I loathed you and was mad at you, enough of me misses you to want to tell these things that you will never hear.