Tag Archives: Tom Waits Jockey Full of Bourbon

My Goodness, What A Morning!

(And as May West would have responded: “My goodness had nothin’ to do with it!”)

Anyway.

Wow, I’m in a mood today. I guess you know your morning is off to an interesting start when you’re still on your first cup of coffee and you’re already flipping through page after page after page of your many collections of Baudelaire’s wide and various writings, looking for a mere stanza about the girl who is like a pal and will have anal sex with you.

I don’t even remember what got me thinking in that direction in the first place, but since I couldn’t remember if it was in his journals, or in a poem, or in his other writings, it was seriously like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I knew I’d quoted it before — decades ago — in one of my own journals, but trying to find it in one of those, is like the other haystack that the needle is within. I have something like 42 journals.

But what I did re-discover, is a stanza from “A Madrigal of Sorrow” that I used to have taped to my wall for years. I’d forgotten all about it. I think it was sort of a combination of my mantra and my mission in life. I don’t remember when it came off of my wall. Probably when I left E.12th Street and moved in with Wayne.  From an English translation of Flowers of Evil:

My queen, my slave, whose love is fear,
When you awaken shuddering,
Until that awful hour be here,
You cannot say at midnight drear:
“I am your equal, O my King!”

Interesting, isn’t it? My whole life, I have always flown under the radar; Topping from the bottom. (Meaning, I’m submissive in nature and always have been, but I am always taking mental notes; always. I’m watching you like a hawk. Because the day is going to come when I am going to reveal myself to be just like you.)

Well, another poem of his that I always loved and had forgotten about: “What A Pair of Eyes Can Promise.” Also from Flowers of Evil. Basically, a poem about having sex with a woman who has black pubic hair. (Oui, c’est moi!!! Yay!) (I know — if you’ve never read Baudelaire before, what the hell are you waiting for?)

Anyway. I’m just frisky today. I have no idea why. And I have quite a non-frisky day ahead of me: finish the laundry, then do Booty Core, followed by several hours of script work over the phone with Peitor, followed by a one-time online course in the proper formatting of professional film budgets.  (I know — don’t envy me for my glamorous life!!)

I woke up at 5am, as usual, and today I was singing “Higgs Boson Blues.” Not my favorite Nick Cave song. I don’t dislike it, or anything, but it’s not like — for instance, last night, I was listening to Let Love In and could not get past the first two songs without having to constantly press repeat because I love both those songs (“Do You Love Me? Pt. 0ne” and “She’s Nobody’s Baby Now”) so fucking much that I can’t stop listening to them. I never got to the rest of the CD.

Anyway. Why “Higgs Boson Blues” today? Specifically the line, “I’m driving my car down to Geneva”? I played the song during breakfast and still could not figure out why I was thinking about Geneva.  Much like yesterday, suddenly singing a Pink Floyd song. (Although, except in that instance, I don’t actually like Pink Floyd, so it was even weirder.)

Still, you know. At least my curiosity got me out of bed. And then I realized that I felt quite frisky. And that seems to bode well for whatever I have to do today. Because frisky is good!

In fact, here is the tee shirt I suddenly decided to wear this morning. I’ve owned it a couple of years now, so the booty core curvy-wurvy factor has nothing to do with this tee shirt. It has always fit me like this. And I only paid $3 for it at the dollar store (or the three-dollar store, in this case). But whoever designed this cheap tee shirt is a fucking genius because I guarantee you that no other shirt I own or have ever owned makes me look quite so BLESSED!!!

Me, right this minute, just SUPER blessed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know! I look like I could be in Playboy or something. But trust me, I can’t. It’s the darn (or should I say lovely?) shirt… (And I’m not even wearing a b-r-a; nor have I ever had any sort of surgical enhancement that keeps me looking perky. This is all just God’s handiwork by way of a cheap tee shirt, blessing me like nobody’s business!!)

All righty!

So this morning, I jump-started Mardis Gras and the beginning of the Lenten season by switching to my pre-Easter breakfast dishes. The ones from Germany that I accidentally used a few weeks back when Nick Cave was having a Conversation in Germany and for some unknown reason I was inexplicably zoning out at the breakfast table: pink with a white skull & crossbones motif, and the little juice glass with the tiny polka dots of pastel green, yellow, pink, blue, and purple.

I have no clue why I decided it was suddenly time to move forward, but move forward, I did.  By way of my dishes. And it felt quite cheery at the breakfast table — skull & crossbones notwithstanding. (And “Higgs Boson Blues” notwithstanding, either — it’s not really what you’d call a “cheery” song.) However, I felt quite cheerful. And quite frisky. And I’m not going to ponder everything to death today. I’m just gonna flow with it.

(Oh, and if you live somewhere in the United States that is not Crazeysburg (and that’s not a hard thing to achieve, trust me!!), you can get tickets to see Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds on their North American tour, beginning at 10am, your time, this Friday, 2/21. Check the tour schedule here!! And Weyes Blood will be on the bill in some of the larger cities.)

Okay!! I gotta scoot. The morning is just about gone here. I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world and to wherever it takes you. Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with something you’re probably not expecting at all, but it’s a song I love that always enhances my friskiness factor! “Jockey Full of Bourbon”!! Off of Tom Waits’ truly awesome album Rain Dogs, from 1985. Okay! I love you guys!! See ya.

 

“Jockey Full Of Bourbon”

Edna Million in a drop dead suit
Dutch Pink on a downtown train
Two dollar pistol but the gun won’t shoot
I’m in the corner on the pouring rain
16 men on a deadman’s chest
And I’ve been drinking from a broken cup
2 pairs of pants and a mohair vest
I’m full of bourbon, I can’t stand up

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

Schiffer broke a bottle on Morgan’s head
And I’ve been stepping on the devil’s tail
Across the stripes of a full moon’s head
Through the bars of a Cuban jail
Bloody fingers on a purple knife
A flamingo drinking from a cocktail glass
I’m on the lawn with someone else’s wife
Come admire the view from up on top of the mast

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

I said, hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, your children are alone

Yellow sheets in a Hong Kong bed
Stazybo horn and a Slingerland ride
To the carnival is what she said
A hundred dollars makes it dark inside

Edna Million in a drop dead suit
Dutch Pink on a downtown train
Two dollar pistol but the gun won’t shoot
I’m in the corner on the pouring rain

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

c – 1985 Tom Waits