but thinking now, maybe all of this is a tremendous push towards - towards past and - strange to follow roads and roads and roads, life is no levee from Memphis to Vicksburg, maybe, well,
Seeing all these folks and wanting to know-it-all
Watching memory and remembery measuring and re-measuring
And living in all my own faults is the worst,
I just want to -
Walking out in Dahomey wildlife refuge,
“she got something, I don’t know what it is, makes me drunker than an old whisky still, must I holler, must I shake em on down”
“see see baby what you done done”
“i aint good looking, teeth don’t shine like pearls - did you ever dream lucky”
he trees so tall, growing, animals moving in the woods, Wilbur bark-growling at a stump-fallen-log, noises, supreme quiet, Dahomey, Dahomey wildlife refuge, the largest cotton plantation in the world, named after the land the enslaved came from, the strange dichotomies of the delta - this world’s largest slave-plantation now a wildlife refuge; no wedding venue, no graveyard, just gone back to the land (how it should)
The prophesy of the land, it never lasts, humans never last, their ideals are contradictory, their hearts fickle, ghosts fierce, the land lasts but the mind dont.
I hope the blues live on forever, how they should, all the musicians that done their life work into the sound, that they can be immortal. That the woods that have stayed steady going and have seen it all and kept growing, that these voices live on and on and on, and maybe they are just beyond a century but it seems to me - well - that doesn’t matter - I hope the blues live on forever, this delta dirt lives on forever, the stars, the land, the trees, the sky. Eventually many will find their old stumbling way back into the world but the delta is immortal, the blues been immortal,
I have never been this way so specifically before, but every year brings its new conclusion, new shame, new badge.
The wave of life is its own book, it all must be a book or else I am deep in quicksand
The puzzle of it, like the blues, like the delta, the simple and flatness of the land seems thin comprehension then you get out into it and it is the milky way of a dozen galaxies;
“used to read a letter but just could not read her mind,”
im not drinking because I want it, I drink to ease my evil mind,”
But the problem is, that song ends in violence but
A world where -
Well -