Rawling’s Journal (When the Music is Your Only Friend)

Sitting in a bar is like sitting in a cage of wild, drug-induced beasts that are inclined by the power of nature to mate. The patrons wander the halls as the girls of the wooden, beer-soaked alleys talk to one another pretending not to notice any sort of attention. The men thus resort to roaming like a herd of lost elephants looking for the fucking Promised Land.

I see an Egyptian queen dressed in a pink shirt that fits just right with her blue jeans. Her arms are folded in the misery of the lost and half-launched dreams and desires. She stands in a circle of loose acquaintances, smiling with a frown, as she is the loneliest of the night, more so than I. And I cannot even bring myself to approach her and join her. Never will we hold eachother and wonder of the things that will be and bask in the glory of the now. In some alternate, lost continuum of space and time she and I stand hand-in-hand smiling into the love living within the well of our eyes. But that is a realm far from us now, and far it will remain, revisiting the Gods only in my dreams. In our dreams. Goodnight my dear gypsy princess. My lost Queen of the Nile.

I encourage my friends to go and talk to her. For no one this beautiful can be left lone tonight. She cannot go the rest of the night without some sort of companion.

Nope.

And now I stand in the crouched corner of a 7/11 with my brethren who suffer from the same lustful hungers. It rains in a mist this Saturday night on Sunset Blvd as the water drops from the overhang and shatters the pavement puddles of our empty yearnings, scratching at the pit of our stomachs starved of real, intimate company. Tonight the pavement and the rain are my home and bring me a strange sense of comfort that my bed can never offer a lonely stranger whose lost all hope of intimacy and the most temporary companionship. My mattress will be cold and unforgiving for the lost and lonely soul who doesn’t bring with him a woman to care for his own self, let alone for the home and the abode. This will all be a load of crap tomorrow.

I wanted to stand amongst them throughout the night and dance and love and sweat around the radiant bonfire all along the pacific coast and under the Western stars. Yet I instead stood afraid and cold and full from chocolate ice cream.