People-watched by people watchers

About a music video by Matt Alber and my day on 07/10/2012. "End of the World" His lips bounce behind the super 55. Eyes wild but sincere. His voice sang to me. Well obviously, he's a singer but it meant more than just recorded lyrics and songwriting skill. He sang....to...me. So the man sits, tension release, while the gray, aged barber plops warm, shaving cream around his cheeks and chin. Soothing, compassionate, and gentle, the cream spreads, the blade glides, his mind swims. There is an ecstasy, in being caressed by the touch of another that can calm your heart and clean your soul. In the best of plutonic experiences, the barber's shave is at the top. The story changes when another man, dressed in 50's attire, floats by making eye contact the whole time. A connection after a new-man transformation, ditching the extra hair and beard. Their eyes lock and the 50's man extends his hand. Matt stands up from the barber chair and dances with the 50's ma...

Sometimes I ask myself, What am I doing here? Where am I? Am I doing the right thing? And lastly, What is home? Traveling all over Austin and neighboring towns, I'm always on a mission. Off to that place for a party or over there for work. Going here to drink coffee and there for live music. Always moving, always conversing....And for what? An illusion of comfort. That I am not alone down here.....My original plan of happily ever after with Mr. Wonderful did not blow up in my face already. I fill my days with assignments and duties so that I'm adequately distracted from the understanding of how alone I actually am. I wonder if my family remembers the way I would sing in the evenings to those old steel strings that still need to be changed? I wonder if my friends from the past remember the trips to the beach and sand in our sneaks from playing frisbee on the shore? I wonder if my bestest still knows how to play cups like our late night tournaments over straight espresso shots...

The paint is flaking creating new images and faces. Stories and sagas in timeline on the flat chips and broken slits revealing the paint of a previous era. However, the young ones can't see the struggle these walls have seen. The fist opens, the eyes cry, the lights fade. No twitch or abduction of the pointer or index. The joy that was living and breathing now lay..... twitch-less.  If such an adjective existed past the simple understanding of such hyphenated words. The naive, sponges lay in front with no briefing on what these walls have seen. Don't tell them my story, that's for me and the OSB. 

Drawn in by whistles and waves They flood my fingers to shake and praise The forum so tight and narrow No where to stretch out......Frozen still. Like the air I breathe brings joy if exhaled Like the essence of love escapes my lips once I blow my kiss to the balcony But in short, I thank them more for the three way love triangle. They love me, I love this and music happens