The Turntable

“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery–isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.”   

Charles Buckowsky 

 

           The day that I got my turntable,

            was the most joyful day of my life

            I watched it for hours, enjoyed it with such power

            I watched the shiny records spinning, I watched it moving,

            like a ballerina holds onto a man’s finger.

 

            The records would stumble, left to right, as they moved,

            as if a child’s run

            (frenzied on caffeine)

            was to give in.

            I would bask on the pleasure of lucid, lyrical notes.

            My face would be reflected on its transparency.

            I think of it now; at the time it was unfathomable,

            my face wasn’t reflected, it was the

            unrecognizable sensation of a teared apart childhood:

                       Broken promises of a cap-less hero,

                       A police officer un-stirringly passing by a mobbed child.

 

            So I would stare at the records,

            moving along with time like they do

            and I would let pure, croakly loud voices come to life.

            And I would see

                       officers,

                       and drunk teenagers

                       and driving cars,

            racing each other along each song.

            And I would implore for them to take me!

            to put some balance upon the moving disc.

            Maybe then,

            the world I drew on chalk would become unremovable marker.

Image

Image courtesy of: macca09 

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