Notes from Alaska
When I was in Alaska, I bought this small, pocket journal that I could carry with me. I wrote down certain thoughts I had at the time, sometimes in badly written poetic form.
I wasn't planning on sharing them really, because some of them come across as a bit over-melodramatic and whiney and well, corny., but - what the hell? I'm in a corny mood... I said "corny", ya pervs...
Is it so easy? This life of constant struggle?
Is it so easy? This life of solitude?
To be surrounded by so many and not one who understands?
Is it so easy?
- May 26
- - - - - - - -
The rain...stop. I need the sun.
Life...stop. I need some time.
A moment to gather up what I know and turn it into something I can use.
- - - - - - - -
In September, this will end.
In September, this momentary pause in my existence, that has caused and is causing so much stress, worry and doubt, will end.
If I can wait till September... if I can work till September...
What then?
- - - - - - - -
Sleep tight
wake at night
throw the fish
make a wish.
If your eyes are open
when morning comes
thank the Lord
your work is done.
- - - - - - - -
There is no reason to complain,
There is no call to feel disdain.
Do your work, get your pay,
When September comes
be on your way.
- - - - - - - -
Work needs someone to work for.
Work needs a warm body to sleep next
to at night.
A voice to tell you it will alright.
To give you strength against the demons you fight.
Work needs a woman to hold you tight.
- - - - - - - -
How do you do this, you who do this?
You come from Asia.
You come from Mexico.
You come from Bulgaria.
You come from Des Moine.
You who do this, how do you do this?
In your mind you see money?
Only that?
- - - - - - - -
I am 36 on this day in Alaska.
Close to humping 40.
I hope 40 is good in bed cause 35 was getting a little tired.
36.
What to do...
What to do...
...now.
- - - - - - - -
A day off, with time on your hands.
Your used to the work, and all
that demands.
What do you do?
Where do you go?
When there's nothing to see
And no one to know.
- - - - - - - -
Don't sing in the toilet
and
Don't talk to your friend.
Just do your damn business
And let it end.
- - - - - - - -
Sit at the bar old man
Sit at the bar.
Let me buy you a beer old man
let me buy you a beer.
Tell us a story old man,
of when you were young
and caught fish by the thousands
and shed blood by the ton.
Tell these young fisherman old man,
Tell them true.
How easy they have it compared to you.
Don't mind the laughter old man,
or the mocking grins.
They are young and they're foolish,
as we all have been.
- - - - - - - -
In Alaska -
- Hard work is relative to who you are and what you do.
- Wet, is a way of life.
- Seagull shit is part off the charm.
- Russian fisherman, with a few exceptions, are assholes.
But maybe thats just in this corner.
- - - - - - - -
Rossy (Rosy) sings songs in Spanish
as she mops the bunkhouse floors
and writes love notes to her husband, Joe, whom he mostly ignores.
Joe teaches me spanish, though he's as white as me,
all he knows are the words that make Rossy sing.
Cebolla in Spanish means Onion- but thats not really what it means.
Joe seems a little lost. A confident, 24 year old kind of lost.
Rossy could be Irma, if Irma sang songs in Spanish.
- - - - - - - -
In this place, when the rain stops and the sun steps out from behind a cloud - this place.. is almost magical.
The ocean reflecting the light and a deep blue sky -
The mountains, green with splotches of melting snow.
In this place - I wonder at what I might have done, had I stayed.
This place didn't hold me to September.
So I sit here, on this dock, and say good-bye to it.
To this place.
- - - - - - - -
I sit here in LA's Union Station wondering why they have no air conditioner in August.
I watch people walk by.
One or two walk
together and then just as they are
gone from sight -
Another or two take their place, going in the opposite direction.
There is ancient lady here, talking with a younger one about Albuquerque, bugs and life.
I want to listen - to hear her story - to eavesdrop on her life,
but the man in the loudspeaker keeps interrupting with boarding calls and other information I don't need.
Maybe I'll need it later. But not now.
The people are still walking by and disappearing as if they were only background players in the moment.
I suppose I am only a background player in their moment also.
A man sit. And speaks into his earphone.
He speaks Chinese and English mixed together... Chinglish.
The old woman is still speaking - something about her friend.
She reaches into her bag and asks the younger one if she is a "working woman".
"No", says the younger, smiling shyly, "I'm a wife and lazy."
I want to hear more but its too difficult to hear.
My train is coming soon.
I don't want to get up, because there is a cute girl reading a book in the corner
and she might - just might - glance up at some point - the same time I do -
Our eyes will meet - we will fall in love - have kids - live happily - die old, in each others arms...
Oh well, she just left, sipping her Frappuccino.
I think I like Union Station...even though they need an air conditioner.
- - - - - - - -
Pfft... I need a life. can I borrow yours?