Marked at Rex

Ha, I overheard, post-Stransky reveal. What does that mean?  You've been marked safe your entire life, you bitch.  Who are you kidding?  Who in the universe are you writing to, in what virtual world are you 'marking' yourself... what did you say, to who, what...  "safe".  Are you now?  Safe from... ? For fuck sake, fuck safe.

Of course, people want to be valued, people want to be seen as important, worthy of being saved. Here I am, I guess they are saying. Still here. Ok. Look. Don't you see? Here, alive and well (and living. In Paris. Jacques? well... if only)


We write because we must, you said, Lindon, because it magically comes together. And such amazement, at the creation. Start your talk by saying it cannot be explained, and yet then, in the question and answer period, when asked how you did it? Didn't you just tell them you don't know earlier? Or was that the humility, at the start, to draw the audience in?

How do you research, how do you write, when exactly do you transition, how often, how much, how how how? Tell ME the secret, tell ME! Just tell me, the others will hear, only I will understand. This time, maybe, even though the question has been asked a thousand times and the answer holds nothing. Tell me how much water you need to fill the bucket, how long a piece of string do you need to work the magic you have worked? (Bingo.) 


Funny thing is, maybe you don't even remember about that first comment. Maybe you don't remember you could just repeat what you said. You are respectful. You shuffle and smile because you/we are tired. Why not, it is 4:30pm, end of the working day, as all others. You have won prizes and you are over 70, what is this day to you. But you like talking about the magic, your history in these stories, your sparring with the editor, how he begged and you acquiesed in your own way to his requests. Always on your own terms because you are a strong old man, and need us to remember that. How important people ask you to keep working this story. How you resist, and these whippersnapper, exploitive moneymakers keep asking. 

Heck, you've earned it.  Hard to find fault in that.  Hard not to appreciate it.

And the language too.  Because you started with the right words.  The magic is not in the routine, so there is no harm in disclosing anything about it. The magic, as you said, Linden (Jacek from Montreal at the Rex as well with the all-stars?) is in the apparition, the wonder, the action, the appearance. The note from the trumpet. The sound of the drum. Soft. Best when unexpected. Best when you don't even remember it was you.

The drummer, Kochan, is the guest, from Montreal.  The snow falls through the window.  No, outside the window, straight down.  Inside is safe, with the boneshaker. Unfiltered. x2. 30 years ago he played with some of this crew. Why even say? Why permeate the air/age with that?

The walls are full of framed pictures. (I never include enough esoteric detail. Do you care about the colour of the tile floor? The type of wood of the chairs and tables? Whether Louis or Charlie Parker pervaded the back wall? Why the stainglass?

The snow falls outside the window. Wait. It stopped. Probably awhile ago.

The Uber is 1 minute away. 1 minute. Down goes the Goose, away go the two couples we/you will never see again. Two shots as well. That was long before. My shirt all 4 are asleep, no question. For what purpose the extra drinks, when already gone? Only true drunkards know the answer. That you can't stop, that more is better, that oblivion craves darkness, that sleep is nothing of this world.

The rabbithole of such things has no halfway point, after all.

There is only all the way down.

Don't forget your fleece. 

Don't worry if you do.

I'll mark it safe.