Late For The Sky

I have an office in my house. Years ago in a galaxy far, far, away an accountant told me it was a good deduction. We chose square footage, over percentage of house, and it was a healthy write off. The walls were covered in album covers, posters, and billboard charts, given to me by the band. There was a couch for band meetings, a desk, a computer, and a drum set in case my abilities were ever in question, which they often were. The road manager and I used to count money at the end of tours, here. Once there was so much cash, it took us three hours to make sense of it all. The band wrote me a check, for more than I make in three years, when we got a publishing deal with Warner Chapel, right here on this empty desk.

I redecorated recently and decided it would be good to have a bed for guests. The paraphernalia seemed like a football player in his Letterman's jacket, long after graduation. It all came down.

I found some old pictures of myself when I was cleaning up. One of a pretty good front side air, one of my old V.W. bus, and one of me behind the counter at North Jetty Surf Shop. Happy times all. I was twenty three. It's very hard to look back at that simple time. I am sure if I could talk to myself back then, all I would have wanted was everything I didn't have. I had friends surfing in Hawaii, guys were on MTV, dancing with chicks in lingerie. The world was giggling it's keys, and I had my tongue out like a puppy, waiting for someone to throw the ball.

I wonder if I will look back when I am eighty, at pictures of myself at forty five and think, "Man you had it all, and didn't even know it." Looking back, is a great way to get a pain in the neck, and as it turns out, the heart. Second guesses and what if.

A friend I hadn't ridden with in while said yesterday, that I couldn't stand to go slowly uphill. Man he nailed it, and me. Later when I was gassed, he said, "Just keep spinning."

I hear ya brother, I hear ya.

W.B.Z.N.