Die Writing

Dusty blues

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on June 1, 2011

Aside

Dan Auerbach may not be required listening for this journal, but it is highly recommended.

Walk a while

So many miles, so many layers of dust on his shoes. So much road behind that all the turns and scenes have started to run together. It’s gotten hard to remember which bar was in which town, which song he played when and where, and how it’d come out. As far as he could think, all he’s done was drink, walk, and play music. Couldn’t recall any good sleep, even.

This moment, this here and now, is in focus. The last time things were as sharp was when he left the house. That dead, empty, silent house. By the time everything had settled down in his mind, by the time he got a clean shirt and got that blood out of his skin, everything of importance was already gone. The house turned into a pile of things. So he grabbed the guitar, walked away, and kept walking ever since.

He stopped.

Over the years the pain had grown into something of a comfort, like a companion on this endless journey. Everything else had come and gone, buried under layers of dust, rain, winter snow and summer heat. The pain had changed though. He thought for a while it was gone, but it wasn’t. It was there in the burn of cheap whiskey. In the cracked and broken skin of his finger tips. In the eyes red from smoke and insomnia. In the hunger. In the cruel dreams that took him back to the house every single time.

He stopped. It was strange not hear his own footsteps.

He looked around. For the first time, he turned around and looked back.

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