Thanksgiving Crack Rec - of sorts . . . Part 1 of 2

[peg22]

So it's almost Thanksgiving and Lyrical Soul and I have found a blast from the past to share and give thanks. See, me and LS write crack. Alot. Like 500 plus pages of the stuff. And it's bad and silly and perfect and brilliant and has kept us going during lots of flotsam and jetsam the last few years. So I gleaned a little out and I wanna share it with y'all, who've been so good about loving the crack. Which, really, who can't love the crack. Although this is less crack and more  . . . sigh . . .

It's the boys a few years back. Before they finally gave in and just decided to be - in whatever form that may take. They're still angsty - they still don't trust themselves - they're still holding onto a rocky shocky past. We all know they get over it - hell, this year I'm sure Paulie has snuck up to London to get a little stuffing . . .

Okay, so this is our Thanksgiving feast - scraps of paper and voice mail and  smooches behind a smoky bar . . .  the little bits are mine - the smoky bar is all LS - like honey on a cello, man.

It's in two parts cuz LiveJournal sucketh great wind of fail!

 

The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past or How the Whole Thing Got Started Again

 

 

Paulie’s in Los Angeles, directing a one hour television drama. David’s in London, rehearsing a play. They’re cranky and lonely and not quite on the same page. Yet.  David decides to spend Thanksgiving in Los Angeles. Decides to open some old doors.  Some old wounds. A few small repairs.

 

I. It starts with a scrap of paper blown out a car window on San Vincente Boulevard – because Paulie is angsty and must find meaning in every moment.
 
he is mine
but never was
always mine
never mine
I fear I am lost
I fear he will find me
and never find me
I don't even know where to look
how will he?
But he will
and he'll find me
he always finds me
he is mine
I am his
we are
United Flight 2334 11:54pm gate 11 - Tuesday

 

 

II. It continues on a cocktail napkin on British Airways Flight 2255 - Amsterdam to New York – because booze and Karen Carpenter put Davey in a really bad mood . . .

. . . long ago and oh so far away
I fell in love with you
before the second show . . .

loneliness is such a sad affair. . .

Fucking airplane music
Fucking airplane booze
Fucking airplanes

Why do I
cross an ocean
cross a continent
cross a line
he drew so long ago,
but wipes away
only at his convenience?

Forget rehearsal
forget London
forget everything
but the curve of his shoulder,
the place I call home.

. . . don't you remember you told me
you loved me, baby?

 . . . but you're not really here
it's just the radio . . .

 

III. Arrival Gate – LAX: Davey

 

There you were
and I’m blinded
just like always
just like old times.
You, standing there,
cool as a cucumber.
Me, standing here
wilting like old lettuce
and I wonder
is it obligation?
Then I see it -
that smile,
the one from so long ago,
the one just for me,
full of love, laughter, promise.
Then I hear those three magic words,

“Going my way?”
and I know everything will be all right.

 

IV. Baggage Claim – LAX: Paulie

 

“Going my way”
Not so hard to say this time,
especially watching you walk toward me
nervous, shy . . . afraid?
Never seen that before,
maybe never noticed.
My hand goes to your shoulder

 And I feel you shiver.
I want to draw you close
but this isn't the time,
so I simply smile

And squeeze gently,
just to let you know it's okay,
and then you say it,

“Good to be home,”
and I know we'll be just fine.

 

 

V. Voice Mail is a Dangerous Thing

Hey, it’s me. I know you just dropped me off and I know I'm acting like a lovesick school girl and I know you hate these kind of things and I know I am pushing my luck with you and the minute you get this you may just turn back into stoic Starsky and I know how much you hate it when I call you Starsky but I have to say it or I will never say it . . . damn, dropped my fucking lighter - hey you got a lighter? Thanks. So anyway - oh hell, Paulie - I guess I just want you to know that I know what it means that you came to get me and Jesus, Paulie - sometimes that face of yours is the only thing that keeps me upright, you know? Days and months and years and the only point of reference I got is that gorgeous mug and what it means - what it really means. What it means when you smile or when you look at me with that look - and yes I know what that look means - just wait till Thursday - you'll find that other look I love so anyway - just thanks. And I love you. And you know that. And I know you know. I'm the insecure one, remember? Be careful tomorrow. Don't put your back out. You're gonna need it. Aw shit - well gotta go and if you don't know who this is by now . . . you will never know. click

 

 

tbc . . .

Comments

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

Crack and love and angst in free-form poetry???? Well, this is just amazing, isn't it? I love your Paulie, but I love your DS even more. Fractious old git one minute, honey-smoothed Hutch the next.. :: happy, happy sigh::

[nickygabriel]

I think I'm going to start liking RPF.
That was nice.