Where the new boundaries are

Oh, man, I'm depressed.

What's wrong, farmboy?

I've got to go to work tomorrow. I need more weekend in my weekend.

Hey, can I ask you something?

Of course.

I can be honest, right?

Right.

(quietly) How come you don't like me no more?

(startled) What?

Hey...you used to joke with me and we went back and forth a little and we had fun. I could insult you and you'd insult me back. I mean, this interview thing was fun, but lately you're, like, real distanced, kinda formal. you know?

(sighs) I was worried when I played that trick on you and I thought maybe I lost your trust. And that's not supposed to be part of the interview. So I'm working on where the new boundaries are.

So, maybe you still like me?

That you don't have to worry about.

Are you sure you're not a therapist?

I'm not a therapist.

What are you?

I'm a journalist. This is an interview. I ask questions. There are some things you shouldn't know the answer to. Yet.

What the fuck are you fuckin' talking about?

Oh, there's the farmboy I know. Language...

I got so many questions for you...

Yeah. Too bad that's not my job. I'm an interviewer, a journalist...

Like Terri Gross? You could be on NPR, man.

Sort of like that. I really just want you to trust me while I ask you some questions for awhile. You could try to enjoy this...

I do enjoy this.

If I'm going somewhere you feel uncomfortable with, just tell me and I'll stop. Here, we can have a code word: seriously. As in: "Tell me about your childhood." "I'm not gonna talk about my fuckin' childhood!" "No, I want you to tell me about your childhood." "Fuck off. Seriously."

Seriously? I can live with that.

Okay. Trust me?

I like you. You're my friend. But I don't trust nobody.

Time well spent

How was the gig?

We, um, it was...I'm sure glad I liked the people I played with. It was an in-the-round with three other songwriters, all of them my friends and all of them write songs and perform really well, and I really respect -- and like -- all of them. So that part was great.

Other than that, which is some pretty good stuff that I'm very thankful for, it was pretty much a bust.

If you don't mind me asking, was the money good? Much gravy?

No gravy. I made 15 bucks. I paid six bucks for parking, after I drove around for 45 minutes and couldn't find a parking place. My Mastercard was fuckin' declined, so I used, like, the drenches of my Visa. We didn't even get free coffee, and we had to supply our own mikes and stands and cords. The people we played to were great, of course; there just weren't very many. Didn't sell a single CD. There's this great song written by Susanna Clark and Richard Leigh called "Come From the Heart", which I learned from a Guy Clark record.

You gotta sing

Like you don't need the money

Love like you'll never get hurt

You got to dance

Like there's nobody watching

It's got to come from the heart

If you want it to work

That's really good writing.

It;s fuckin' brilliant. I hope to write a song that's half that good.

Some might say that you have.

It's just a great song. I mean, when fuckin' Guy Clark records a song by somebody else, you pay attention. Even though he and Susanna are married, I mean...That just means he heard it sooner than other people. Maybe, I don't know. I do know it's an amazing song.

I played fine. Coulda sang better, but I didn't embarrass myself.

It is nice that you spent an evening playing music with friends.

Yeah. Plus any time spent playing guitar is time well spent, you know?

So it's back to worrying about money?

Hey, I spent around eight bucks on groceries tonight. At least I got that. I didn't even have that before.

I'm going to have to figure out ways to make some money as a musician. I'm gonna need all the confidence I can muster in the future. (pause) I'm gonna need your help, man.

Anything I can do, you got it.

Thanks, man. I'm gonna need it.

Reefer and the guitar

Nice day today.

Oh, man, it was fuckin' beautiful, you know, blue skies, around 60 degrees.

What have you been doing?

Goin' to work, comin' home, smokin' reefer, playin' guitar, sleepin'. Same ol' same ol' but some of it's good. The reefer and the guitar, man.

Playing a gig tomorrow, a songwriter thing with some friends of mine. I hope to make some money, but really, anything over $20 is gravy.

$20? Don't sell yourself short, farmboy.

Man, nobody can afford nothin' these days, myself included, This ain't no criticism -- times are fuckin' hard. Fuckwad Bush left a big gigantic mess, and if Obama ends up being like all the other politicians, he's going to break my heart. Fuck, man, this is not what this country's supposed to be about. The working classes and the lower classes keep going down, down, down.

And what do I have left, financially speaking? I really don't ask for much -- although I do suspect that I ask for too much -- but I keep thinking aren't I supposed to be going the other direction?

And so, what do you have left?

Reefer and the guitar, man. And I feel blessed to have that. Seriously, dude.

Flask at a campfire

I really enjoyed asking those really mainstream and cliched interview questions the other day, so I started a list. May I?

No.

No?

I'm messin' with you. Go ahead.

What's your favorite book?

"The World According to Garp" by John Irving. It made sense to me. It helped me to see that my life, at least, has this...strange and weird and, hopefully, compassionate logic. I identify a lot with T.S. Garp. Plus, it's a really funny book, it's hilarious.

I was expecting you to say "Catcher in the Rye."

I love "Catcher in the Rye." I was real sad when J.D. Salinger passed on.

I remember you talking about that.

"Garp" opened up a world to me. But, really, so did "Catcher in the Rye." And other books, too. But today, today belongs to Garp. And John Irving.

Favorite beverage?

(laughs) Man, these really are trivial questions, ain't they? I love really good coffee. I love water. And caffeine-free diet Pepsi.

See, I would have placed you for a beer guy, farmboy.

I'm not real good with alcohol. I wish I was. But I hate the taste of it, and I don't recover well from a night of getting drunk. I love the feeling of being drunk, but it's just not worth it. I haven't been drunk in years. (laughs) I'm a fuckin' pothead instead.

A stoner.

Yeah. Numbs the pain. It's a cliche, I know, and I hate being a cliche, but marijuana helps to numb the pain.

The pain of...

You name it, pal. 'Course, it's also a pretty entertaining little herb. And I love music with it.

But I'd love to pull out a flask at a campfire and take a few sips. It looks classy. But it would be so fake, you know. I don't know, maybe I should try it.

I love campfires. I can stare into them for hours and hours and play guitar.

Especially when you're stoned.

You got that right.

Trusting my own species

So how'd it go?

Went well. Went very well, really. I wasn't bitter and I wasn't obsessed with the stuff that had happened before. I did think, at one point, that it's pretty easy to not feel super awkward when the folks you think you've had problems with are all oblivious to it all because you never let your feelings be known.

I am so fuckin' wordy.

Here's just an observation...

Opinion.

I think, if you could, you would just edit and rewrite everything, especially your own life.

Well, who wouldn't?

How was the performance itself?

Good. I only made one mistake, which was leaving out this thing I do with hitting two harmonics simultaneously. But nobody knows that that's how it's supposed to go 'cause that's the way I hear it in my mind. So it wasn't really a mistake. It was an omission. I'm no Ry Cooder, you know?

So, was it a successful night, in your opinion? Are you glad you went?

I'm glad I went.

The, um...the thing is, I'm so fuckin' hungry for friendship, for people to care about me, and for people for me to care about.

This one friend of mine hugged me, I mean really hugged me. And I kinda just...I kinda rested my head on his shoulder and he hugged me again and I felt like I was a little kid. He may have even tousled my hair. (laughs) I mean, it wasn't any kind of, like, sexual thing or something. It was so innocent. I mean, it was really like being this unloved lonely little kid and then you were actually accepted. And I felt like I was hugged by people all day long. Because I was. And I'm not used to that, I mean...I hadn't seen friends hardly at all since early December and I was fuckin' starving for affection. And...I'm not used to being open to it. And I needed it, I needed to be accepted by other human beings. And I'm not sure I've ever trusted my own species, you know? I get along better with dogs.

It scares me, you know?

I bet.

Fuck, I'm so fuckin' lonely. I have friends and I can't really accept their friendship, it's so hard for me to open up myself. And I was guarded all day long to a small extent. But then when I got hugged by my friend, I...I kinda opened myself up.

Man, I'm so fuckin' messed up inside. I used to have this fantasy -- I haven't thought about this in years -- that I was in a room with everybody who ever meant anything to me and they all took turns hugging me, I mean really hugging me. And I would start crying like I would never stop crying. And there was the feeling that it could never be enough.

And, the thing is, I'm not much of a hugger or a cryer...

I've seen you cry.

Yeah, but you see me when I'm at my most vulnerable. I'm not this way with anybody else. Plus, you haven't seen me cry that much.

Okay, it's rare. But there's nothing wrong with it, you know. But if you want, I'll never bring it up again.

Oh, I don't give a shit. I already pour out my soul to you. I always end up whining when I talk with you.

No you don't. What you do is you end up feeling.

(hangs head down) I am so tired.

I know, farmboy. You've had a busy day. I'm proud of you.

(surprised) Why?

Because you're a lot braver than you'll ever know. Plus, you're a good guy.

(whispers) Thanks.

I'm serious.

I know. Thanks.

Stupid little feelings

Hey, what's up?

I need to talk. You busy?

I've got plenty of time. What's going on?

I've had all this bad luck come back and I'm trying not to be nervous about this performance I'm giving tomorrow. There's some personal stuff that's been kinda happening with people who I know will be there. Sorry to be so vague, but these people are friends of mine and...

I thought you had no friends.

Oh. man, these folks accepted me right off for the most part. And it felt so fuckin' good to have friends. I mean, so good. I felt like the most blessed person in the world...

And?

So there was this show and basically everybody in our core group was asked to sing a song except me. And I guess I got my stupid little feelings hurt.

Do they know about that?

No, I haven't said anything to anyone. I'm so fuckin' sensitive, man, pisses me off. Fuck. I mean, they don't have to ask me to play every time, you know? Not everybody can play every time. But I have to go and get all fuckin' hurt about it.

So I'm apprehensive about seeing everybody.

And performing?

Nothing more than the usual anxiety I have with performing. That's, like, the easiest part.

So go and focus on the performance and try to enjoy whatever friendship is there.

Oh yeah, I know, that's what I'm going to do. I mean, I don't want to hold a grudge. I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt me and they probably weren't even aware that it might hurt me.

I fuckin' hate gettin' hurt.

Put on a little emotional armor before you go. You'll get through it fine.

Oh, I know.

I guess I just needed to talk about it. I've been holding things in for over two months now...

You must be exhausted.

I am, man. I need to fuckin' chill out. It's like that Joni Mitchell song where she wants to have a river she can skate away on. Plus I got money problems, like 40 bucks to live on till the end of the month. And it's only the thirteenth.

Good thing it's February.

No shit. I need all the help time will give me.

Listen, I'd like to talk about all this after the performance. If that's okay with you, that is.

Sure. Um, let's see how it goes. (pauses) Hey, thanks for letting me blow off some steam, man.

No problem, farmboy. That's what I'm here for.

Thanks.

Breathing and quiet and wind

Hey, if you're an interviewer and stuff, how come you never ask me any of those interview-like questions?

What do you mean?

You know, like what's my favorite color and what kind of tree would you be if you were a tree. Things like that.

Okay, then. What's your favorite color?

I like blue, like the ocean, and forest green, and brown. And I like gray.

Your favorite TV show?

The Sopranos and Northern Exposure.

Favorite food?

Avocados. Salsa verde. Dark chocolate, Pizza and lasagne and burritos and tamales. Fried chicken. I like fair food, you know, stuff at county fairs. Corn dogs, curly fries...man, carbs from processed stuff fried in hot saturated-fat oil. Yum.

Time of day?

Night.

Animal?

Dogs. I like dogs. Especially big furry dogs with kind eyes that let you sit by them and pet them and you can tell they really like being with you. Man, I could be happy forever with the right dog. It's amazing how much I like dogs. I love, like, I had this dog growing up, and we would just lie there, side by side, on the tall grass together, and look at the clouds and I'd play the harmonica. And those were sweet days. In a way, I wish I didn't have to get older.

How so?

Because I love life and I don't ever want to die. I think about that all the time. I really love the feeling of being alive. Even though I'm fuckin' depressed and shit, fuck, I love breathing and quiet and wind.

That's the most positive thing I've ever heard you say.

Fuckin' true, I'll tell you that.

Hey, farmboy?

Yeah?

If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?

A Christmas tree. Man, I'd be lit up all the time.