decision

I played my guitar
just because I wanted to:
a good decision

Four-day-weekend

Man, let me tell you, I got a four-day-weekend coming up. I'm gonna be so fuckin' happy after work is over tomorrow.

Four days,eh? pretty good, farmboy. What's the reason?

Well, Veteran's Day is Monday and I'm taking off Friday 'cause there's no work to do.

But you're still getting paid, right?

Yep. 

Also, I have weed for the weekend and not a whole lot I have to do. I just gotta make it through one more day.

You can do it, farmboy.

And I'm going to do it. Then it's a four-day-weekend and life will be happy. For four days, at least.

sneakers hanging, new verse

you loved me dirty
and you loved me clean
you loved me naughty
and you loved me mean
you loved me until
I learned to bleed
from loving you
like a man in need

old sneakers hanging, take four

the sun has broken
and the roads are clear
and I am driving
away from here
take a turn
at Tenth and Main
don't matter which 
they're both the same

old sneakers hanging
from a telephone wire
dead flat bed truck
with a low rear tire
my hometown resides
in sheets of gray
it's from here
I'm running away

          don't try to tell me
          I won't listen
          don't try to teach me
          I won't learn
          look for me
          in the rear view mirror
          and know i will never return
          know I will never return

when I met you
I was sure
that this was something
less than pure
more than I 
had in store
exactly what
I was hoping for

I like the rhythm
of your hips
the grasping of
your fingertips
your silhouetted
curve and sway
almost enough
to choose to stay

          don't try to tell me
          I won't listen
          don't try to teach me
          I won't learn
          look for me
          in the rear view mirror
          and know i will never return
          know I will never return

small towns have
long memories
and it's a long, long trail
in front of me
but I will not
be taken by
the rhapsody
of your velvet lies

old sneakers hanging
from a telephone wire
this boy has left
the Sunday choir
I'll think of you
wherever I roam
the resting place
I know as home

          don't try to tell me
          I won't listen
          don't try to teach me
          I won't learn
          look for me
          in the rear view mirror
          and know i will never return
          know I will never return

I like powerful

So, did I tell you about Friday night at the coffeehouse?

You said that you were going to perform. How did it go, farmboy?

Why, it was fuckin' great, thanks for asking. 

Good to hear. Details, please.

I played well. I had no problem with my hands or with forgetting my own lyrics. I was comfortable, I had a good rapport with the audience going.

I fuckin' love performances like that, man. When the stars align and God looks down and says "You! Show me what you can do!" And then you do it, and God says "That's my boy!"

It's funny. It's like I feel powerful. And I almost never feel powerful. I like it. I like powerful.

When do you perform again?

In two weeks.

Good. Keep this momentum going, farmboy.

Wow. I don't think I've ever been accused of having momentum before.

old sneakers hanging, take three

the sun has broken
and the roads are clear
and I am driving
away from here
take a turn
at the end of Main
don't matter which way
they're both the same

old sneakers hanging
from a telephone wire
old flat bed truck
with a low rear tire
my hometown resides
in sheets of gray
it's from here
I'm running away

          don't try to tell me
          I won't listen
          don't try to teach me
          I won't learn
          look for me
          in the rear view mirror
          and know i will never return
          know I will never return

small towns have
long memories
and it's a long, long trail
in front of me
but I will not
be taken by
the rhapsody
of your velvet lies

I like the rhythm
of your hips
the grasping of
your fingertips
your silhouetted
curve and sway
almost enough
to choose to stay

          don't try to tell me
          I won't listen
          don't try to teach me
          I won't learn
          look for me
          in the rear view mirror
          and know i will never return
          know I will never return

old sneakers hanging
from a telephone wire
this drunk has left
the midnight choir
the cemetery's 
cold gray stone
the resting place
I know as home

          don't try to tell me
          I won't listen
          don't try to teach me
          I won't learn
          look for me
          in the rear view mirror
          and know i will never return
          know I will never return

What then? Huh?

I'm performing tonight, down at the coffeehouse. It's so fuckin' weird, man. Here I am, I love music, right? And yet it's like I lose so much confidence and I worry so much when it comes time to perform. Like: Will my hands work right? Will I remember all the lyrics? What if I fall on stage? What if my guitar won't stay in tune? What if the songs aren't good enough? I'm so ugly, people won't want to pay attention to me. I'm a lousy singer, or at least that's what everybody told me growing up. I have nothing worth saying. I'm scared. What if everything anybody has ever said to me about me not being good enough is correct? What then? Huh?

I don't know, farmboy. What then?

I still perform because that's what I do.

Good luck, farmboy. Remember to have fun.

I will. Thanks for the reminder.