Indeed,
If Prufrock ever saw sixty,
I wonder what’d he have to say
About the finicky fog and feline rousers
And skittish crabs, to say nothing about
Now twice-rolled trousers.

Most of you have discovered by now that I have an-already-long list of movies on my mind; however, I seek suggestions concerning particular films you would expect to screen were you enrolled in a first-year college course.

Tonight, over a spectacular feast, we discussed some important flics, such as:

American Beauty
The Royal Tenenbaums
Christmas Vacation
Raising Arizona
Don’t Look Back
2001: A Space Odyssey
Giant
Rebel Without a Cause
Citizen Kane
Metropolis
The Gold Rush

But again, this is simply a sample of the films mentioned spur-of-the-moment tonight…please tell me what you would expect to screen if enrolled in a college introduction to film…

Perhaps
It’s the picture
Captured
On that
Saturday

When we both sat
Together smiling
Celebrating
That which may be

While
Knowing neither

What will be
Nor what shall not
Lest someone forgot

What was and always is
That between
Uncle and niece
Foreverly

Each one
A story:

I am
There
On my knee
Holding a soccer ball
With my right
Hand

And you are
There
In a ballet
Suit pirouetting
In still motion

As is our brother
There
In a sweater-vest
Sitting
Cross-legged
With his hands
Folded
In
His
Lap

Besides
Our niece’s
Water-color
And nephew’s
Precious
Scribble

Hanging on a magnet
You bought
Her

Here

Sits the site of love
And dreams

Photographic reproductions
Phenomenally finding
Forever in
Finally
Forget-me-not
Fragments

Like
Pictures of my ex
And yours
But not hers
Or ours
In another sad sense

So, frustrated, tired and ready to watch the end of Game Four of the NBA Western finals, I will simply document my personal writings here on the Kolog concerning my favorite songwriter of all time:

More Homegrown Acoustics
Music and/or Politics
Some Notes on this Year’s Oscars
Forever Young
Too Talented to Leave Us Forever
Mr. Mubarak or Mr. Jones?
Why Do We Write?
I Just Know There’s Got to Be More
In Memoriam
Thanks to the Songwriters for the Music that Saves the Soul
Dylan’s Renaissance Years
School Is Oh So Cool, When You Do It Right
Call Me What You Will
Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. IV
For Those Who Wander, Good Luck
I Hear It Here, There and Everywhere
Thank You, Ted Turner
Can’t Help It
Look, Listen, Learn
In Other Words
And the Beat Goes On

Best wishes Mr. Zimmerman.  I know I am not alone in saying that I have cherished the past fifty years during which you have contributed your thoughts and tunes.  As you said it so gracefully: may you stay forever young.

This weekend, I went to a show at The Black Cat in Northwest D.C.  My good friend’s brother’s band was playing a reunion show after an eight-year hiatus.

Now, back in 2003 or so, I was too consumed with my own life–pursuing a fledgling music stint playing around Northern Virginia, working on a master’s degree in English from George Mason University and planning a wedding–to concern myself with a young punk band.  So, I have to admit that I had never heard Fairweather’s music.

Nevertheless, a group of old friends were gathering this past weekend to join Courtney and K-dot who were down from Vermont to witness the reunion.

All in all, the music is not of the genre that I can appreciate let alone analyze, so it is difficult, not to mention worthless, for me to review the performance; but I must say that the crowd’s enthusiasm for the five-man band was astonishing.  From the first beat, the crowd raised their hands and banged their heads in unison.  They knew every word to each song, which explains why lead singer Jay Littleton expressed some nerves prior to the show.  “I’ll be happy when it’s over,” he told me (and I paraphrase).  At first, I couldn’t understand what he meant.  On stage, he was loaded with confidence, in command like a king in court, like a lion in the cat’s den.  Now why would he want it to end?

In reality, he didn’t, but what he had expressed to me prior to the gig indicated nothing short of a certain pressure to perform in front of a legion of fans.  To me, he could have said whatever.  He could have sang any lines and I would’ve been none the wiser.  But to the loyal throng packed onto the dance floor in front of the stage–some of whom had traveled from the far corners of the east coast and all of whom braved the torrential downpour falling on the city on Saturday night–he seemed to be preaching a kind of bygone gospel.  And how the choir listened to each word recited and every note searing through the Marshal stacks.

My heart’s worse
My soul’s kicked
My dream wakes
It just won’t quit

My mind’s cursed
My thought’s licked
My spirit shakes
It just won’t quit

My penny’s pursed
My wrinkle’s slicked
My give takes
It just won’t quit

It just won’t quit
No matter how long
I sit

It just won’t quit
No matter how near (or far)
I fit

It just won’t quit
No matter how hard
I shit

It just won’t quit
It just won’t quit
It just won’t quit

In the end, what the people were celebrating last night, in D.C. and up in New York City, was less about the killing and more about the sense of accomplishment–national pride in a job well done, which I can understand.  The stealth mission, which will come to define President Obama’s first term in office, exemplified the American spirit.  Whether it manifests in the settling of the West, or inspires a mission to the moon or culminates in the election of the first African American to the highest office in the land–yes we can.  Indeed, we did.

Having said that, like most of whom I have heard commenting on the television, radio and Internet today, I can’t help but remember the spirit that pervaded American society during those dark days following the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  I can’t help but remember the spirit of unity.  It was far from a blind naivety.  In fact, it felt like an end of innocence or a heartbreaking awakening to the horror of violence.  I can’t help but remember walking with coworkers down to the Potomac River on September 12th and praying for peace, which is why I’m so confused tonight concerning my reaction to the historic events of the past twenty-four hours.  Of course, I’m glad Osama Bin Laden is dead, but in my heart of hearts, I wish he never had to die for I wish he had never set in motion the atrocity that killed more than three-thousand of my countrymen.