Happy Birthday Josie

I remember the day I actually out ran you, your words and how you were, "...going to fix my wagon."
It was dark by the time I got enough guts to return. You didn't fix my wagon. You just stood there on the stoop and said, "You hungry?"
Between gulps I looked up at you... sitting there... watching me consume a bowl of macaroni. "Some day, you little bastid, you're gonna have your own kids."
Mom... about that wagon, "Happy Birthday." I love you and I'm missing you.

Once Upon A "Sally Show" (an e-mail to Kit Carson)

Quick story... maybe not so quick.
Van Johnson, Ginger Rogers and Jane Russell are on the show. I have Van waiting just off the set to go on and Jane is sitting on the steps putting lipstick on for the second time in 5 minutes. First segment ends and of course I have to be the one who has to go out and wipe the drool from Gingers chin and the fucking producer or Sally... who ever... decides to keep the old gal and her wheel chair out there for an extra segment. Drool gets blotted, I duck back behind the set and the saga continues.
Back to Van and to tell him he'll be on in the next segment. Jane is now on her third attempt to smear an extra coating and Heightman comes on head sets and tells me to get a mic check from Van. I go over and make the request and he goes, "This is Van Johnson giving Rocky a mic check, one, two, three, four." Then he, the tall dude, bends down and kisses me on the fore head. Heightman hears this and says,"Is that what I just heard... what he did?" "Yes it was!", I said. "Rocky! Please don't get upset... it's OK! It's OK!!! That's Hollywood Shtick!!!!" Heightman must have thought I was possibly having a major homophobic meltdown! I covered my headset mic and said "No big deal! Who fucking cares! Van Johnson just kissed me... (whispering) I think it's pretty cool. Don't you?" I said that just to fuck with Guy's head. Anyway.
Segment ends and I push him out... Rogers over, and just in time to blot the next run of drool. Segment begins and I get back to Russel who by now has made a mess of herself with her fucking obsessive lipstick "freshenings". If I had let her go on like that and you took one look at her... oh fuck it! forget any closeups. I grab a box of Sally's tissues(Kleenex... wtf) and go over to Jane and literally order her to blot. She looked at me and said, (truth) "Why... too much for TV?" A moment lapsed... "YES... too much... here...blot!! And give me those! You won't need them anymore. You're up next." I took her lipstick and her pocket mirror and all the tissues just in time to push her out for what ever the fuck the next segment was.
Lord rest all their souls.
You know. I should have kept all Jane's stuff including the blots... they actually looked like her lip prints. Ebay? For Ginger Rogers drool. Who'd believe me.

It's about Her

It's ok to be where I'm at,
but I do feel like something...
... is missing.

I know all to well what it is.
It's a "her"... there isn't one.
I had one but this "her"...
... isn't here now.

Oh she's there alright...
She's out there... way out.
I'm not about to get her
no matter how I try.

"Her" heart is out to break
the only one I've got.
Mine it pumps... how it beats.
says she cares and then deletes.

It's ok to be where I'm at.
I'll sit here and I'll recall
just what she said,
"I Love you" and how!
Now go take the fall.

Another Night... "Good night"

Closing my eyes, sitting in my chair.
The little sting of the sandman coaxing me to stop.
I want to say let's go... I'm going to rest my head.
I know behind me, I could be lying down and in my bed.

I want to stop and call it a night and save the juice.
Walk around pulling strings, turning out the lights.
No matter what I do I can't stop thinking of you.
Romantic memories... beat myself up. What's the use?

It seems I'll never learn that it's just so dumb
for me to think. I think too much. Just let it go.
I finish off what they start and doubt it'll happen.
Forget it. You're only as good as your last show.

My eyes are almost shut. I can barely see.
It's you. Is it a dream? You're right here.
The little sting reminding me you're not.
Romantic memories and me... you forgot.

I'm Not Really Tired

So it's time to write again.
I'm alone... again.
No phone calls or letters
to think of.
Who does that anymore?

I got a card for Fathers Day
it's right here next to me.
It was signed... the ink is dry.
I'm playing music on my radio...
no... my music's not on a radio.
What's my radio?

I hear the beat in sync with my heart.
As long as I can pay the bills...
neither one, for everyone...
will they have to stop.

Time to stop, enough said.
I wish it wasn't still light out...
no phone calls, no letters,
I feel like going to bed.