Author: Wesley Withrow

Track 17

Do you have anything like Alaska or Bob Dylan in your life?  I do admire them, could say I’ve even loved them, yet never have seen either live.  Not sure I want to anymore and it’s getting intentional at this point.  There are streams + sounds + thoughts of my own I like right where they are.  When it comes to tundra and folk heroes I don’t want my images karate chopped or even nudged.

Years ago I wanted to visit Alaska and thought I naturally would some day. I’ve crossed paths with a number who spent life in parts known and unknown up there.  Opportunities to go have been but I still never have. Though,   I feel Alaska in me,   Denali or Dillingham residue left somehow from past conversations or dreams.    Plus, I really really liked the Eddy Vedder songs from Into the Wild.

As for Dylan, we have a long and checkered past.   He’ll always be part of the story.  I don’t listen to his musings that often anymore, but a picture still hangs on the wall.

I find myself wanting to avoid Anchorage altogether , and it seems I’m always booked when Dylan plays the NW.     It’s twisted I know.  I fully get those two don’t need me to be there, don’t care about my neatly constructed expectations, don’t even know my name.
I’ll say it though with respect intact—> I’m sure they are nice enough in person,   but Alaska & Dylan are magic between my ears.

In an unlocked millennium time capsule I found a dusty note from/to myself saying Bob Dylan was the best writer of our era.  Whether I still believe in that doesn’t matter, like I said Bob’s fine without my award.   I’d buy another Dylan album and will probably cry when he passes. I’d also likely put my head down and duck into the alley if I saw him coming at me down the street.

dylan_savoy

Track 16

During a lively match of I-SPY, my daughter got the best of me.

–  school bus
green grass
–  wood fence
stoplight
– corner store
sky
– blue crane thing
white house
– pink jacket girl
bendy sign
– motor-biker
pile of pumpkins
– old man
red helmet

….Tayen abruptly stopped the banter to remind me she already spied this particular biker and the red helmet was off limits.  I argued that the head protection was a new thing entirely.  Nowhere near convinced, she questioned if he could ride without the helmet.  I said the rider should of course wear it but could technically (though not legally in WA) ride without it making the red helmet a separate entity apart from the biker himself thus open to future spy call outs.  She countered that she already called “the whole thing.”   Upon further review of this point and the true spirit of I-SPY, I had to agree and issued a concession.   Remarkable/troubling.

“OK, let’s sing a song about this:

     We spy everything,
     We spy something, 
     We spy no thing, 
 
     We spy whatever we want,
     We spy whatever we do,
     We spy you.” 

-Wesley Withrow (lyrics and arguments by Tayen Withrow) 

Track 15

I’ll be attempting to play basketball in an organized fashion this evening at 8:30pm.  Once a baller, it’s been many years (OK a decade +) since I’ve participated in anything more than a park pickup game.  Last three pointer I hit was over my daughter on a Tiny Tikes’ plastic hoop.  Feeling far too old for this but actually am too young.  The league is supposed to be for those over forty, I got an exemption.  I have mixed emotions about this exemption and our team name, “Matrix.”  That said, it will be good to see some friendlies, play a game and bang a bit.

It’s a slow break format, meaning you can’t advance the ball past half court until the other team crosses (unless it’s the last three minutes of a half at which time fast breaking is legal and encouraged so long as you keep your wind).  Think a bookclub where you read just the last chapter and only pay attention to half of what people say while eating appetizers that were given little thought.

If you haven’t already, start worrying about me. I’m a little nervous.  There’s rust here, I doubt my defense, and have a brain chalked full.   Don’t be too concerned though because just when you relax I’ll triple-threat up –>    jab step & deliver a skip pass to my mate low post.  I might just jump-stop to the block &  flip-shot a lupe-de-loosh off glass with seconds to spare. Matrix in your eye.

Track 13.5

OK, so it’s come to my attention by no one, that I’ve been negligent. Well, at least not yet today.

Point is, proper credit for a couple of the pictures should have been given on previous tracks.  I’ll do that from now on, and it’s alright because I’m in with these people.
Henceforth  (because that sounds so buttoned up)  consider each picture to be captured by me unless otherwise noted.  If I snag from pop culture or the internet proper, well I don’t know what to say.  Sorry  internet & culture.  If it seems a picture is of some artistic note and it’s not obvious, I’ll try and give credit there too.  It only seems right.  Agreed? .

Amends:
Track 1 photo by Derek White—>DWhite is one of the brightest men on earth and could have lived in any era, I swear.  + I’ve been to Egypt and the Olympics with him, so there.
Track 13 photo by Moonwater—>Moonwater is an amazing force, with a top shelf smile and mad storytelling skills.  She is a SuperMother, and yes is still a half-step ahead of me as a Scrabble player.  She is a wizard parallel parker,    take that.
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Track 12

Damn it(s),  got so/too much going on in my head at times—>  Concurrently–>
It’s vivid in there.   So imagine Jane’s Addiction and Mike Ditka co-hosting a soul food cooking show with a Mediterranean bent       +   some visuals.    Thoughts and memories can be shaken up like a snow-globe. Yesterday’s mistakes heckle today’s progress.   There’s a tidge of leftover jargon floating about.  And sounds, like every middle-school band all playing at the same time in the same gym while a trapeze act corresponds with the square root of G in the rafters.  You know what I mean?         Maybe no not.

It doesn’t matter too much, because at other times it’s crystal silent clear inside.  Like not yet formed mist.

Track 11

Moon and I are headed to Walla Walla this weekend.  We both spent a few (trans)formative years there respectively, and just outside of town met for the first time. I haven’t been back in 10-12 years I think, maybe not this millennium.
Way back when/then–> Diddy was Puff, a smart-phone wasn’t, and I myself was just learning who these guys Buddha and Coltrane were, not really yet knowing about prostates or how to run a rice-cooker. I fondly recall the horizons out there, much lower & more trustworthy than I’m used to. I can still smell Pangea black coffee. I remember the music shop Hot Poop.  It’s a long drive. There are mountains in the way.  I’m expecting to see some significant differences, I hear it’s wine country now. I trust the wide sky and golden hills will still be there, but I’m not sure about Hot Poop.

You or Me Walla Walla?    I wonder who’s changed more since we saw each other last.

jamiroquai1