mr jones strikes up a conversation (with a black-haired flamenco dancer)

[Raz]

The title is from the Counting Crows song Mr Jones...I wrote this for my uncle. He died a few years ago, and this song reminds me of him.


crazy times became less crazy
after you died
empty streets became emptier
without your pacing
your presence in boarding rooms above laundrettes
surprise appearances in brunswick street pubs
hard to get used to
the end of random cameos
strange phone calls
sharing cheap port
or beer
you're just like him
they say
just like him
and it brings pride
that they recognise
the role model i found
in your refusal to be beaten down
to be told you were wrong
to be yourself
even when being yourself cost you many tangible things
relatives
friends
stability
much happiness
what they call normalcy
what they call normalcy

the last time i saw you
tongue bloated
skin purple
eyes flickering spastically
machines pretending you were alive
i was sad
but i was more angry
they turned you into a victim
they turned you into their guilt
for all the times they weren't there
for all the times you were alone
for making you learn to be alone
they turned you into their grotesque marionette
and let you lie there
until the guilt died down
and then they let you die
they had the gall to let you die
when they'd never helped you live

somewhere in a bar in brunswick street
mr jones strikes up a conversation
with a black-haired flamenco dancer
a junkie
a homeless man
a bartender
a pretty girl
a pretty boy
and me
mr jones strikes up a conversation with me
and i listen

i will always listen.

 

[punch e punch]

very nice! i feel it