| Profil de T.M. WattsTMW's SpacePhotosBlogListes |  Outils  Aide |
TMW's Space"It's my job to be different than the rest/And that's enough reason to go for me " -- Jimmy Buffett juillet 2006 Madien VoyageI was only in high school. We approached the café— Three seasoned friends and a wannabe musician. A corps of discovery, Descending the narrow stairway, Into the basement housing the Tralfamadore. Man with a Mickey Mouse watch and two straps around his neck Sits at the bar. His saxes in the offing, at the fore of the house. Landing at a round table, front row, center stage, I immersed, mixing into the background. Stage set alight, shadowing the room as The band wordlessly boards the stage. Spacious piano chords launch toward the autumn moon, Buoyed by the bowing of the spruce double bass. Hints of a Herbie Hancock tune. The tenor sax unfurls a gusty modulation. Timbre of his aged Selmer drifts through the room— Whole notes blow full and resonate. A wall of sound hurling toward the novitiate’s face. Soloists depart, glide, swing, thunder, syncopated strains, streaming Chords, surging, notes running, swirling, Then returning to the blustery legato theme. A quarter hour, or more, the notes wailed A language, which we cannot speak Is heard, and, sometimes its meaning unfurled, Sailing vicariously through the tenor’s reed. juillet 2006 Rail SongBefore we roll from Gunnersbury, a voice is heard.
Camouflage, jackboots, shorts and vest of leather,
and a flute—playing high, and terse.
Through the brief stop at Turnham Green,
three unhearing teens chatter, mock, and giggle, pretending
to ignore when he, again, barks his plea.
Timbre shrill, the tin whistle chirps on.
Heading to Stamford Brook, the melody goes soft,
sad; his polyrhythms challenge the rails’ da-dom.
Buzz-cut hair. Stoic face. Playing faster, as
Ravenscourt Park, and his notes, flew past;
streaming towards Kensington West.
No applause as he finished his tune.
“Thank you,” he barked; smiled;
and leapt from the Tube. juin 2006 Victory Avenue One, April.
First stop, Fort Niagara—close to home.
A vestige of the French and Indian war,
Where, until recently, tourists viewed quaint battlements of dirt and stone.
On to North Atlantic’s nauseating waves,
tracing, in reverse, the voyage of ancestors, unknown.
I pray, worried about, Mom, Ralph, and Anna Mae.
Land Belfast. Sojourn in Colrhine—
cute girls, Blarney Stone.
Six, June.
Mixed emotions in South Hampton, as
the others left, in the first wave.
Arriving a week later—replacement cogs.
Not daring to show it, but afraid.
The Fighting 29th, Stonewallers,
Company L, code name Lagoon.
Thirteen, July.
Most of the night surrounded in fight.
Hundred and eight of our guys dead,
For a five-acre orchard, a few hundred yards closer to
St Lô, Perey, St Germain, Vire…
Right next to me,
Lieutenant Morehouse—dead.
“Why not me” I pray.
Twelve, September.
Laying communication lines within miles of Brest,
When that damn shell burst, somewhere,
Somehow finding, shattering, my right thigh.
Lying in the mud, waiting all night.
Luckier than the others.
I’ll pray for them each night.
Another world: Bristol, Purple ribbon,
South Atlantic voyage,
slowly, finally
Home. mai 2006 GameCubeUse the force on them.
The force, the force.
I’m collecting my coins.
Yeah, I was shot by the… what?!?
I’ve got three coins left.
Dude, try not to kill each other.
I think I shot you again.
Collect all the coins.
Coins!
At least there are fewer battle droids. Don’t kill him.
Sorry.
Deep smithereens. I got blasted into deeper smithereens.
Let me up!
Press double-A.
Here, let me see your controller.
Somebody, kill me.
You stink.
I knew to do that.
You’re welcome.
Did you kill the droid inside?
Oh, dang. Ouch, did you die?
OK, let’s go.
See, ya had to shove me off, didn’t ya?
Sorry. I just like killing you.
Remember, he can’t have any more deaths.
Who can’t?
We can’t.
Us? Why?
Because the level is almost over.
Dude, come in here. Come over here.
Use the force on this. Use the force.
I’m using the stupid force.
How do I change the guy I control?
Y.
‘Cause I want to.
Y.
What key is it?
Y.
Oh, the Y key!
We did it
Yeah. We killed him. avril 2006 Maybe you're not crazyIt is true, The stars do align. I’ve felt it ― Fleeting though it was. Sadly, few ever notice. We’ll deny, and demur, As most of us are resigned ― Knowing miracles don’t occur But, we do all have a day, Or moment, however brief. It’s OK if no one else can see. Because, what would be the fun If others saw your epiphany?
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