proud evolution

on my own birthday I was not present for what was the most memorable moment of the evening. given the timing, however, it was probably for the best.

some could argue that this particular moment has its origins firmly rooted in natchez, mississippi, when on some grand spring vacation many years ago, the ghost of an old southern gentleman took hold of a young john, shaping his future hospitality and charm, fostering good nature and an emerald unmistakable eye for beauty until the Moment was sweltering hot under a paranormal new orleans night sky and the dirt was just right ...

I've been to natchez, mississippi and I can say with all certainty that this is true. A recent adventure taken with friends, we spent most of our time there naked and inebriated, possessed by a mandatory sophistication that stipulates that if you must parade around in your birthday suit or open bathrobe, then do so with dignity and make no apologies for your devilish good fortune. amen.

and in our southern reveries we take in the voluptuously sweet rotting smell of the ancient magnolia trees that line the estates, they all have names and introduce themselves with a quiet grandeur that always pays homage to the past, beautiful and sordid as all things must be, we are not fooled, but indeed we are enchanted, inspired to listen and imagine the mississippi long ago until the image fades into obscurity in the distant bend along with the future and all that is left is You and a seersucker suit.

the imagination is a strange terrible wonderful thing. and I've shared drinks with a leprechaun. he wields a handle bar mustache and a bowler hat and speaks incomprehensible english. if he insults you, it is always and only because he cares. do not be offended.

we are still in natchez (like matchez), by the by and the nights are still cool. random passers-by are dressed as history lessons in fashion and stature, as we ourselves are polished sophisticants, even if later, as I said, we will be naked in a grand home older than us all.

past the entry and through the halls, up the three story spiral staircase, why yes, jefferson davis has slept in that bed, and yes, join me for a handcrafted mint julep on the veranda, which one you say? I say first floor, back of the house, I will save you a rocking chair. breakfast and coffee is at ten. and then quiet contemplation, third floor balcony. take care to note that the bottom of the balcony above you is always painted sky blue. and many stately conversations will ensue amongst the furniture which is ancient and stylish and wildly uncomfortable unless you sit perfectly straight. end your stay upon the roof. I might also mention that the getaway is slower here. but if you do find yourself beckoned, the best road out of town is a 450 mile straight shot to nashville. indeed.

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I have this reoccurring dream. a woman walks into my bedroom where I am pretending to be asleep. she sits softly on the edge of the bed and runs her fingers through my hair. she kisses me on the forehead. she then lifts me like the lid of a box and crawls inside a hidden compartment that only she and I know about. I sometimes join her and we talk in our serious and playful and unhinged dialects. sometimes we just sit and admire the darkness without words at all. that is how I fell in love. and it is always you.
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and so having eaten half a ginger, cucumber pot cookie, mescaline and a mushroom cap, I find myself at a bar for tuesday night bj's with Bacon. I will fall victim to a highly coordinated birthday attack while sitting in the barber's chair, taking a shot of darkness with the Owner. every friend I have made in this awesome stinking town will make an appearance. they will wear their smiles with grace and endless miles of style and my heart will melt as I collect gold and trade it all in for an insurmountable amount of cheap whiskey. there will be rock and roll, two whole sets. and dancing with pool cues and a bbq with food I am unable to eat because of my drug intake. I will lay down on the concrete and chase a locomotive along the mississippi. I will autograph my own t-shirt. and there will be many balloons with boobs drawn on them and gifts that I will always cherish and later eat ...

most importantly there will be madness I tell you, the jukebox having taken over, all eyes averted, the banjo player will slip out the front door and wander towards the secret garden. and in the moonlight he will find his reason for breathing, only slightly intoxicated, composed of the finest poetry, lying on the patio, watching the world turn. struck by the sight, ON MY BIRTHDAY, john will properly react as any southern gentleman would, and of course propose to the Beauty of the South, my friend sarah. and they have to remember it that way FOREVER. I will not discover this fact until the next morning, along with the story of my birthday speech which ended up mostly on the floor and a poor friend's arm, hours past The End.

if I have learned anything at all, it is important to know the dreams of your friends. and trust no one, except me.

liars