Nobody Home?

I've got a little black book with my poems in
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in
When I'm a good dog
They sometimes throw me the bone in

I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues
I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from
I've got electric light

And I've got second sight
I got amazing powers of observation
And that is how I know, when I try to get through
On the telephone to you, there'll be nobody home

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm and the inevitable pinhole burns
Now all down the front of my favorite satin shirt
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers, I've got a silver spoon on a chain
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains

I've got wild staring eyes
And I've got a strong urge to fly, but I got nowhere to fly to
Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone there is still nobody home
I've got a pair of Gohills boots and I got fading roots


no, he said. you could never get over it completely. it will always be there, no matter what you do and where you go.

so just don't lose it, don't get to the point where you have to start trying to get over it, i thought, and i picked up the phone.

"and that is how i know
when i try to get through
on the telephone to you
there'll be nobody home"

i needed to ask so many questions. still, i didn't have the courage to ask all of them. but i will because there is nobody else to answer them. however... so what if i have the answers? it changes nothing. it doesn't change the beeping signal of the phone or the quiet echo that lingers after the song is over, somewhere deep down inside, so deep that it feels like outside.

still i need answers, or at least i want answers, and anybody's answers won't do.

it seemed that he knew the reason behind every question, and that was strange... and it felt strangely fine, like a part of me doesn't really mind it. i guess it is so.

i feel like smashing the fucking phone against the wall. or smashing my fists against a tree, just like back then when we were kids. or simply smashing something.

or hugging someone. no matter who. someone who needs a hug and wouldn't mind getting it from me.

he didn't mind.

how did that happen?

and how did this happen?

what the fuck is happening?

no, i don't need help nor compassion. and no, i'm definitely not going back there. but no, i don't want to be the past. i don't want to be a bad memory. i want to be there. i want to keep my promise. i hate, hate, hate breaking promises. and i feel like i've broken some... and have to repair them.

can i?

i won't ask him that. this question is for me to answer.

he said it means to care enough to forget yourself, and to only observe and know, and understand. and accept. i added that last one... but i think he meant that too.

"when i try to get through
on the telephone to you
there'll be nobody home"

or maybe i'm not calling hard enough.

who cares about the fucking black book and elastic bands and what not anyway? this is a selfish song, but you don't feel it when you let yourself sink into it. and then you become selfish too. and that's not what he said the purpose is.

only if i could get one more answer. not from him, though.