Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Draw Blood! Memories of London Werewolves Deep in the Sands

 “I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand, walking through the streets of Soho in the rain.  He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook’s, gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein.”  -Zevon

I've got to find a way to calm down.  I've got to breathe and relax.  I'm beat up and steaming.  Standing on the side of the road my boots covered in sand trying to flag down passing cars.  Nobody stops for the white guy.
“If you hear him howling around your kitchen door, better not let him in.  Little old lady got mutilated late last night.  Werewolves of London again.”  -Zevon

Skin burnt up and tight.  Back of my neck wrapped in a torn cloth.  I start walking.  Put my head down and just start trudging through the dunes.
 “He’s the hairy-handed gent who ran amuck in Kent, lately he’s been overheard in Mayfair.  Better stay away from him.  He’ll rip your lungs out, Jim.  Ha!  I’d like to meet his tailor.”  -Zevon

There are days I've had it.  I just think, get on a plane and fly away.  Sick of being lied to.  Sick of being censored.  Sick of having my information filtered.  Sick of speaking, the words forming in my mouth and no one around me is listening or has the capacity for understanding what I say.
 “Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen, doing the Werewolves of London.  I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen, doing the Werewolves of London.  I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic’s, and his hair was perfect.”  -Zevon

I thought, I'm going to tear somebody's head off.  I mean, I'm really going to start swinging on the next guy that comes through that door.  I'm going to make them bleed and hurt.
“Ahooo!  Werewolves of London.  Ahooo!  Draw blood.”  -Zevon

Breathe.  Walk.  Get out.  Move.  Think.  I remember the day this photograph was taken.  It had been raining most of the morning and I was writing a funny poem in my head about the London Eye.  Touring Westminster and listening to Jeremy Irons on headphones tomb after tomb and standing in Poet's Corner and having a hot coffee under the archways while the rain poured down into puddles on the ground.  A person can get through anything if they have memories like this.  If they lock them away while the world scratches and claws at you.  Keep those memories close, that's the good stuff in life.

1 comment: