Four years today. It definitely doesn’t get any easier. Maybe just clearer. Or something.
Full moon babies waiting tables with their mommas
Phone call dreamland, virtually distilled
Guys with boots and perfumed karmas
Visions layed out and fulfilled
Little people swaying like wheatgrass resists the wind
Caramelized eyebrows tearing up blue
Don’t know who they are or where they’ve been
And oh… don’t they feel the now is so true– Nathan Solod, 2002 or so.
It’s crazy how fucking fast time flies, huh. Last night some dude I was conversing with at MOTR brought up the Cincy riots and I immediately remembered that today is the day, 12 years ago, that Nate and I first kissed. I experience this memory every year, and it’s always something random that triggers the thought right before the day actually comes up. One of the reasons I remember is because it was the Friday during the riots and we had a crazy curfew party that night at Moerlein (well, actually every night) that ended up changing my life forever. And naturally it takes some fucking riots for me to remember something like a first kiss, ha. No, but really, I couldn’t even begin to put a time frame or even a visual memory together of any other first kiss I’ve ever had. Of course Nate being Nate had a lot (no, probably everything) to do with that. Nate made every moment unforgettable.
Here’s poem he wrote me about a year-ish after that.
But first, I love this shot of Nate. It’s just, exactly him. And that face… that’s how he always looked when he was reading. Thanks for the photo, Frankie.
Damn. Why is Nate so hot?
I like this next one, mostly because Nate talked a lot about his grandpa. He always kept a framed photo of him on the dresser. And I know that photo has been on a hell of a journey, just keeping up with Nate. Anyway, I remember listening to this song for a while and then asking Nate what it was about (like, specifically), and he answered “his hands”.
…Fuckin Nate.
Knowing Nate the way I do, this one’s hard to listen to. But otherwise, it’s a great song.
Felt inspired to post a few Who Be Dat? tunes today. Reading Nate’s poetry over the years, I hear a lot of them in his songs. Anyway, Nate on lead vocals and conga.
Love this write up on the band. Worth the read!
I like this one. The second half just makes me smile.
This was on some compilation. I refer to it as “Living with Nate”, cause this is exactly what it’s like.
Ya know what I’m sayin!
Yeah. So it’s been three years, today. And I don’t even really know what that means anymore. In fact, I call bullshit on the whole time theory we all seem content enough to agree on. Because the way I see (feel) it, time’s just some continuous loop of exponential entropy that we all tumble around in for a number of trips around the sun, until someone or something or ourself decides we’re done. Yet the loop continues on. So that whole arrow of time thing… to me, it exists only on a level of say, changing the oil in your car. Which I need to do today, actually. But it’s fucking cold out. And anyway, in spite of all that, I still hate the first day of February now more than ever. And my throat still closes up tighter each time I hear the six o’clock silence the moment the hvac switches off at the office.
Anyway. Nate may have been on to something. I think. Funny how that works, huh.
I hate reading this one.
Spent today at the CCAT House making the daily phone calls to patients on the waiting list. “I’m really sorry sir, but we couldn’t get a bed for you today. We’ll call you again tomorrow and let you know. Now I just need to update your information.. is your drug of choice still crack cocaine? ..Ok. When was the last time you used? ..Got it….. Yes I hear you, we’re doing everything we can, we’ll get you in as soon as possible. For tonight, try not to use. Go to a meeting or two. Call someone….. I understand sir, but I can’t say because I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Anything can happen. As soon as a bed is available for you, we will let you know….. Yes, we’ll call you tomorrow, same time. Keep holding on. Try to stay strong.”
Easier said than done, I know. One man told me today that he was going to kill himself if I didn’t get him a bed now. I mean, fuck. God bless the people who do this everyday.
And I remember those calls years ago -except being on the other end of them. Every time that phone rang.. fingers crossed.. is today gonna be the day? Or will tomorrow be the last. Who knows. That’s what these folks and their loved ones live every fucking day. And the reality is they’ll likely be waiting for a really long time. Like months and months. We waited for-fucking-EVER to get Nate in there. Every day felt like 10 years. And we did that whole waiting process three times, over the course of a few years (You know, Nate wanted to be sure he got to play his “Relapse is part of recovery” card.. just for good measure.)
The only difference back then was that they were actually waiting for beds to empty. But today we’re just waiting for funding, like on a per bed basis. If enough money comes in for just one bed, it gets filled. The thing is, there are empty beds just sitting there, but no money to fill them. All these patients still sitting by their phones, waiting for fucking Godot. I mean, if you’ve got a shit ton of money, we can take you in tomorrow. Otherwise, keep dreaming.
I’m not sure about you, but I don’t know too many crackheads who’ve got six thousand bucks in their pocket -for more than three and a half minutes anyway.
So.. when I grow up I’m opening a free clinic (with no government funding, cause I don’t wanna follow their dumb rules so they can make me spend the money in all the wrong places) where there’s unlimited space, because the patients actually become contributing members of the rehab community. Rather than paying for treatment, they’ll be responsible for keeping the place running. They’ll grow and cook all their own food (with me, I’m in charge of the cooking classes :) and do all their own grounds work and general facility maintenance. Anything that needs to be built -a clay oven, greenhouse, shed, stone walkway, whatever- is built by the patients. Housing will be cheap cause we’ll all be living in tipis. No electricity, so bundle the fuck up, y’all. We’ll raise the rest of the funds we need to function by bringing in money from the local community with an amazing restaurant which also employs continuing care patients and alumni.
I’m not totally dreaming here, I’ve been thinking through this for a good 7-8 years now. I swear, it can work. All I need are the right people.
Kissed Nate for the first time today, 11 years ago.
Another poem that Nate stuck under my pillow, when I was with Brook. You know, I actually used to yell at him for doing that.
I just can’t even comprehend that right now.
Fireflies in the summer christmas Meadow
Lips of promise on the horizon of love
What comes from within the evening shadow
Comes from the entity we call above
The finish doesn’t come from tomorrow
The end is hardly near
The future isn’t for us to borrow
Life energy is all but insincere
Can’t her sultry skin be mine for touching
Can’t her eyes sparkle freely
Can’t I leave her in the morning…Laughing
Can’t I return to her hard edge…easy
Won’t I hold her in my heart once again
As her demeanor purveys my every existance
Her staminatic persistance is a forcing friend
And her electricity shows my negating resistance
So I’d settle for her touch uniterrupted
Her body lying near my very hungry heart
As numbers are useless and disruptive
It’s every very night I’d like to call a fresh start.
Come with me.
Come in me.
Nate shootin’ the shit (edited for appropriateness, of course) at Victor St. with a little cameo from Brook and the late Downtown Coty Brown. Three of my all-time favorite soul mates.
(If the video keeps trippin, just click on the title to watch it on YouTube. For whatever reason, it’s not as smooth here.)
peace in the tipi 