Whiskey Disco (day 2215)

Whiskey disco has me moving again
Two steps backward
We got four steps to go
Deep diving sunshine
Off a dock kept afloat
By two more bottles
That I just can’t let go
So I’m singing loudly
At the Whiskey Disco
With my old friends
Who’ve got to much on me
We live our lives
So that we get overrun
By no other then
The Whiskey Disco

Jack Jump Down Twice (day 2125)

Jumpin juniper berries
Did I ever tell you about the
Hot rocks in the Devil’s Pass
Down South along Whiskey Gorge?
Oh boy oh boy those rocks
I tell ya
Had me jumping half way down that gorge
Didn’t miss a jump
But sure did scare ol Franny
Boy oh boy
She was hollering after me
And the echo of her hollerin’
Had the whole gorge a’shakin’
And me a jumpin
Oh boy oh boy
Those hot rocks down South!

Nubian-Ibex watercolour painting by Ned Tobin

Saying Goodbye (day 1778)

We got ghosts in our longjohns
And I’m dressed to be late
By the warm smokey campfire
Drinkin’ all the whiskey

I was undone on the train tracks
I was saying goodbye
And I didn’t mean a single word
‘Cause I was spread like a thread

If you ever need a fool
I’ll be the grass to grow
Where you can always find me
Howlin’ at the moon

Counting (day 1650)

From my angle I wasn’t the nerd,
I had the best cold coffee
Settling in the bottom of my to-stay mug,
Rattling around the inside
Of my drastically hungry belly.
I had too many ideas to be passive
And in discourse with unfriendly patrons.

Why are you smiling at me, saying hello?
I’m on the other side of the room.
Can’t you see my furrow, blinded by dull lights?
Perhaps I’m the unfriendly one.

From my angle, I was the mission.
I had written the outline and
Focus was my middle name.
The timer was ticking and
I wasn’t wasting motivation
On Whiskey River in the Jar’O. 
I had water to accompany the drip.

Keep the lights low and let
This chaotic music recklessly skip
Into oblivion my cycling mind 
Which cannot refuse to be free.

From my angle I had a perfect view
Of both the flighty pixie,
Distracted with a proper stein,
And the siren gently calling my name.
I knew her, of course,
One of the few to break this furrow
And cause me to tarry by name.

Thus, I aggressively gather my activist heart
And settle my score with a battling pickaxe
And two shiny 2013 quarters
That rattle over the buzz and out the door.

Whiskey Tracks (day 1457)

A ground has beginnings:
Longing and forgivings;
Mandate in a bottle,
Lost without a harbour.

As blue sky’s winning,
Heart jumps spinning;
Lover and a well laid plan,
Governor’s left this land.

Help the lizard.
Death on a one way street,
Trucks getting really beat,
Dust covering wiskey tracks.

Whiskey Tracks - Lola Frost - Ned Tobin

Smokey Summer (day 1136)

Smokey bandages flutter through the evening sky.
An autumn sun burns the day’s light
Through whiskey breath and campfire.
Cooling breeze shelters the afflicted from blackened breath,
Dire, sister, dire.
Animals have no home, foraging between un-agreed upon lines of human traffic.
Chain link fences only survive through this madness.

Delirium (day 1067)

I do not know where the rose petals fell;
Floating from my conscience as I lost sight of all.
Leaving an impression, like tail winds trickling
Into the evanescence of my breath.

But you who art sight! What cometh of thy history,
Lost into thy pool of still waters shaking.
I fell one warm, kind day – a moon’s length away,
Into the feelings of a warm blooded kiss.

My littered floorboards of mother natures spoil
Tickled my memory while I shook out my whiskers.
I laid there and laughed for the whiskey surged my sour,
And love settled down beside me, for I was delirious.

Dragging Left Wing | Chapter III (day 939)

VII

I liked to call her Julia, mostly because it was a name I’d heard long ago in a black and white movie based in Paris that was laid so thick with romance even the reel to reel it flicked upon was heavy of heart. She always laughed and smiled like she didn’t know what I was referencing, nor did she attempt to recognize the pure emotion I was laying thickly about the dense air.

She knew my routine: a thick coffee I could eat with a spoon, a medium sized side-dish of whiskey. Just to get the gears oiled. My pen flowed more freely with the coffee; whiskey was for my tongue. Julie liked my charm.

VIII

I never had errands about town like the rest of them mobsters and cowboys had. Like Clint Eastwood who always had to saunter across town to get a shave and a bath, and of course to shoot a few men who didn’t like the way he looked. I romanced about it, but it was never required. Not even once. It wasn’t that I was packing, but still, my cowboy boots had the romantic feeling required for such a scene, my pants were as dusty as Clint’s ever were.

I always had a lover waiting for me though. That much I did have in common. The lovers were magnetic at the worst of times. I had that sort of charm, and I hung around the right places – possibly by design. I had that loose charm and fresh stubble that fit the part. Walking stereotype.

IX

She would always come over and turn a chair backwards to chat with me a while; the rest of the joint fully satisfied. I knew she eyed up that seat the minute I walked into the joint. You could tell with these kind of girls. That nervous chatter about their bottom lip as they sat in casual cool. I always wanted to ask her if there was something more on her mind, but always told myself this dusty saloon wasn’t the place. My mind was always elsewhere anyways. I knew what I wanted.

I’d make up little scenes as my eyes would get distracted by a noise out of place. I’d watch as drunken fools would fiddle around in a stupor with their own thoughts and sadness. I’d watch as young couples would come in feeling the same romance I’d once felt in such an intimate place, sitting deep within the booths. I’d watch as businessmen would walk in with out of town clients looking for something to loosen the tie (and no doubt signature). I’d lose myself in their little romances. I’d watch them as they made little touches and laugh at small talk jokes. I always felt that my deep soul was much more conscious than theirs, staring out from the beaten corners of my favorite haunt, walnut filling my soul with history.

[note: to read full epic follow dragging left wing]

Shippin’ Off Blues (day 638)

Blues running through my veins like a thousand year old steam train
Shufflin’ with rhythm unprecedented, unfounded, and glorious
Hustlin’ with mood set out for bad-ass gangsters fixing for the night

I’m gone baby, I’m ready for the big show
I’ve been shining these here two toned, Italian made leathers far too long
I’m shipping off in the next thing that moves
Towards better days with freedom I call home

Fixating on darker things of the night
Little noises
Smoke wafting up fedora covered heads
Huddled around the exclusive club
Ladies with silk dresses courtin’ slips
Not of tongues, but of long slender lines that draw up the side of a beautiful woman’s leg
Moonshine whiskey in small parlour glasses that clink with each sip from thawing rocks

Baby, I’ve got the blues tonight
Steady glow from jukebox blues
Ol’ wooden chairs that drag on hardwood floors
Pompadours for men with long chains scraping round the ground
Bouffants on pretty ladies with elbow length satin gloves
Sittin’ ‘mongst the men, leanin’ on tables and chairs
And Lady Theodore, the spectacle of my amazement
The light of the establishment
Glory and style and beauty encapsulated

I’m hustlin’ tonight baby
I’m ready for the big show
I’m shippin’ off ‘n the next thing that moves