Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Shoeless Child Becomes Gypsy

To commemorate my 2000th blog post I'll return to early Oggy when my bike was my van and I still had no shoes but at least my socks were clean. 

Classic banana seat Schwinn circa 1976. My van was 7 years old when this photo was taken. We would meet in about 30 years.

A Red Sox patch and Salem Village patch too. The Miami Dolphins patch is because my grandparents were in Florida.
I think there's a psychological profile that could trace my preference for plaid bell bottom pants back to these days of innocence. So, that would mean my bell bottom pants are my 'Rosebud"
Interesting, today I would assert that because everyone has become obese, lard ass, heart disease aspirants that modern clothes do not fit my skinny ass, that clothes from 1977 were made for disco cocaine freaks who looked more like I do today, but a counter argument could be made that I am trying to regain the security I felt for my intact family by wearing the same clothes that I wore then. I don't actually like polyester disco shirts, but I admit they fit far better than any pret-a-porter fashion. But that might be obfuscation on my part to disguise my pining for the simplicity of youth. 
the answer is so obviously hidden under our noses

This would also mean that even if C.F.Kane was not diverted from his quest to the storage facility that held his wooden sled, that he would've found the sled and still not been satisfied. Because I have abundant plaid bell bottom pants now and still my heart aches like a lost bird in false spring. So, do I want those specific pants? No, the pants are a substitute for something lost forever, that can never be regained. Or do we merely bury the past under snow and junk of a lifetime, run from our roots, grow up, die, scratch on our coffins?


Anonymous said...

I feel bad when you ask for comments and your body of work is not eliciting any comment in me. I so want to have a witty comment or a gentle barb to throw at you. I just don't feel challenged by you lately. you aren't pulling at heart strings, you want me to sit down before bed and have a decent conversation. I can't do that. I want to be entertained. Also when you record yourself playing music, put some showmanship in the video. Dance around or waggle back and forth. Show us you feel the music, otherwise an audio recording is fine.

Oggy Bleacher said...

thanks for the honesty. I've been keeping all my spiteful essays as drafts and I'm tested by these songs from 1939. They are not only new to me but top shelf compositions.

It's living in an apartment that causes this normalcy to invade my writing. I'm content and it does breed lazy writing. I think this whole experiment in living will confirm that the best material is written on the run, with the wolves at the door. That's the best personal mental space from which to write. Maybe that was Dr. Gonzo's trick. He always kept himself an inch from death to keep the material at the peak. Once he got complacent and sober the writing didn't work. For me, the drug is the van and the life on the road. I'm inspired by it but it involves great hardship. I wonder if it's feasible to relocate to Costa Rica and then buy a motorcycle for a three month expedition of South America. I don't want the burden of traveling with so much shit as I've got right now. This isn't Oggy travels mode, this is Oggy finds an apartment and eats tacos mode.


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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.