Thursday night, L-Bo, Filo and I went to see our beloved Koogle perform some of his own songs. It was a lovely night and the strange reverberations of seeing someone you once kind of really, really like-liked do something that makes you feel so proud of him and also so protective when now you are a standard audience member with no rights to invest was kind of sad for a minute but then kind of cool. My good fortune at finding the most wonderful, special, rare and talented people always amazes me. I was just telling my favorite bear that today--regarding Veace and her way with words. L-Bo, Filo, Locksmith: all wonders to me and such friends. And my good, pretty, kind bird, I couldn't hope that a big brother would be better to me.
So Koogle hurts a little to see, and sends the air to electric-storm-settings and disturbs, disrupts, (bewitches, bothers, bewilders) but too, through battle after battle and much awkwardness, I can call him friend and he wrote those bright, beautiful songs and he was so all-grown-up up there and it was pretty great and makes me pretty proud of him, of me.
4 comments:
I know who Veace is, but who's Koogle?
Koogle is like Scientology, Jungism, the third bed or the first, no matter. A language, a school of thought, a bad weather, a skewed-belief system. You must make a noodle casserole and watch the cursive the smoke writes in the air. At midnight, a branch outside your window will rasp out a message. Listen. And then, forget as fast as you can...
I'll call you. We'll dish up some Koogle and some recent entrees and side dishes and failed desserts. I'll call you Sister, Sister.
I heart you, KOOOOOOOOGLE! Is that how you really spell it?
Steph: you do know who K is, but by another name. Here are some random words for a new poetry assignment:
lingerie, guitar, I-70 N, speeding, phantom fireworks, summer 08, and so on...
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