Thoughts on Phil

I have just finished reading a bit of the book, DEATH OF A REBEL: A Biography of Phil Ochs. Now I am listening to CRUCIFIXION. I can feel my obsession and fascination with Phil growing as I read about him and listen to him. I grow angry with him as I read and listen. As I'LL BE THERE plays on my CD player, I yell "BUT YOU'RE NOT HERE BECAUSE YOU KILLED YOURSELF! WE STILL FUCKING NEED YOU PHIL!!" I feel that it would be an appropriate time for me to break down and cry hysterically but I have yet to. Instead I just turn off my old CD player and leave my bedroom in a controlled rage. I wait for the day when I finally own a Phil Ochs vinyl. I picture myself listening to it, clutching the sleeve against my body- silent. I get paid today. Perhaps I will purchase one off of Amazon or Ebay. I would rather have his voice on an old record, playing through my imitation-retro record player that tends to get fuzzy from that time it plummeted off of the top shelf in my closet- than a goodwill bike anyways.

AS I LISTEN TO CRUCIFIXION, I CAN'T HELP BUT THINK ABOUT HOW HE BECAME THE HERO KILLED OFF, BUT BY HIS OWN HANDS. THIS SONG COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN ABOUT HIM, BY HIM.OH THE SUBCONSCIOUS.

"They say they can't believe it, it's a sacreligious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small.
Tell me every detail, for I've got to know it all,
And do you have a picture of the pain?

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you"

This morning, as I read, I came across-
"In the office, Phil was constantly in motion, like a pinball, moving from person to person, room to room, grabbing his guitar, playing his latest songs, asking everyone if it was great, making a million telephone calls ('Ochs here'), eating Chinese food out of white containers with his fingers, running his hand through his hair, laughing at everything."

For a moment, I felt that everything that I even needed to know about Phil was right there in that long, beautifully crafted sentence.
For a moment I thought about dedicating my entire life to inventing a time machine so I could go back to the 60s and meet him.
But instead, I read some more and imagined how great it would have been to see this fascinating man in action.

Observing Life and Death.

I wrote this last week while observing in a hospital waiting room.


Life. Death. I don't know. I am so overwhelmed with emotions right now. I don't think I have ever seen a human body so limp and lifeless. I know life is in there trapped within layers of the body's decaying habits and mortality. His mind is trying to muster all of his thoughts and emotions but disease is slowly creeping up on him.

I hear his other on the phone. Fearing being called a widow one more time. Life is being gambled. Pace back and forth. 50/50 chance. She can't let go. More cries. This is a routine that will end today.(so thought)

They pray for the virus to exit his aged body. Prayer is 50/50 as well.They have hopes of his soul breaking free if the odds are not in his favor. They expect him to fly to a mythical place written about in books. It ties them over if the virus claims victory. It is almost like a sick game their god likes to play- I don't buy it. I know in the back of their mind they question: "What if when you die, nothing happens? What if it's blackness? What if you play your life like a film? What if you just linger around this dimension?" I'm terrified to find out. I'm sure he is too.
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He was pale. Beep.Beep. He moans, yearning to speak. To give his goodbyes. To pronounce his love to all those he knows. TO PRONOUNCE HIS LOVE TO LIFE!
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(I will add more later.)

I am writing a play about Phil Ochs. I don't think Michael Ochs will like this idea, so most likely my play will never be preformed.shitastic.I'm writing it anyways.Phil Ochs is wondeful.

animal collective+night swimming=pure bliss

I just finished doing a bit of "swimming" while listening to the wonderful music that is animal collective. At first I felt a bit like I was preforming interpretive dance in water for a wall, clouds, and trees. My moves were limited, but I don't think it mattered much to a brick wall, clouds, and trees.
I grew tired of the "interpretive dancing" and looked at the clouds.
I saw:
Africa
The letter "Y"
The letter "T"
A heart (zzzz)
A kabob with 2 different items on it.
A Gun
Faces of angry cartoons.
A Question Mark
A Cat
& Other things that I didn't bother to remember.
In between looking at the clouds, I looked at the trees. I stared at them and admired their sense of rhythm. As the music beat faster, the trees mimicked. Wind picked up in stages. I noticed random and strange patterns in the wind and music. In certain songs the wind would arrive during slow, steady beats. Then abruptly stop.
I looked up at the sky and saw a blinking light.
Too far to be an aeroplane, but too close to be a star.
I imagined it was a UFO, but then determined that it must be a real-life twinkling star.
I never knew that stars actually twinkled...I thought it was just a song.


end.

utopia

Yesterday I was driving to my friend's house for her 18th birthday party.
I past the street "Utopia"...and I thought of a former friend.
Whenever I used to go to his house, I would turn on "utopia" and over a year after our friendship has come to an end, I think of him when I see that street sign.
Last night I thought of how funny and ironic it is that he lived on utopia.
According to Webster's, Utopia means:
1: an imaginary and indefinitely remote place
2:often capitalized : a place of ideal perfection especially in laws, government, and social conditions
3: an impractical scheme for social improvement


He was my ideal friend and lover
I loved him, trusted him, and called him my best friend.
I sometimes thought that he felt the same.
Our friendship, at times, was the most wonderful friendship I have ever endured.
But It was impractical and filled with fights, unrequited love, and miscommunication.
Our happiness came and went.

His street was a place of ideal perfection to me.
He was ideal perfection...however...he was mostly imaginary.
I was in love with him...until he moved off Utopia...and now we never speak.

utopia

today.

today i worked. today i worked and slept.
I heard a noise. Sounds like technology. Communication. Destruction. Mind games. Text messaging- useful, however, it rapes the mind of thought. Creativity. Originality. VIBRATE. MTV is played as ringtones across america. Pathetic youth in this modern world...

remember, half of the world's population has never used a phone.

you are privileged.