Harper Lee On Innocence.

“Atticus said to Jem one day, "I’d rather you shot at tin cans in the backyard, but I know you’ll go after birds. Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. "Your father’s right," she said. "Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corn cribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird.

Many of the mockingbirds I've loved are dead now, killed by a culture that couldn't hear their song.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

My Portland Oregon Suit.

I feel loved in Portland Oregon. By particular individuals and by the city itself. The first time I arrived there I felt like I'd tried on a thrift shop suit and found it fitted perfectly, like it had been tailored for me.

I wear that suit on the plane as I fly home, over the next year it wears thin, I need to return to Portland and see if I can't walk into another miracle. After four long visits the city hasn't failed me yet, this year I'll push my luck, try on some vintage fabric, feel that familiar comfort, like it was made for me.

Some places fit, others don't. Of course we can make the most of wherever we end up, tighten a belt or wear a jacket open, get by, but once you've owned a well fitted suit nearly right doesn't feel good enough. Right now I'm in a city that serves me well enough, does everything it is supposed to, but it doesn't thrill me. It isn't Paris, San Francisco or Portland.

Soon I'll work out a way to live in one of those cities, visit the others. Something will break, thrift shop luck, I'll walk in on the right day and walk out with a fine looking visa. Perhaps an advertiser for this blog will pop up, set me free to travel, write and play my life away. Until then I'll wear this city, this satisfactory suit that doesn't feel quite right.

Look out Portland, in a few months I'll be arriving stark bollocks naked, ready to be fitted with a new suit that makes me feel welcome and loved.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Ken Kesey On Fiction.

"But it's the truth even if it didn't happen.”

Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

I think this blog just found a new motto. Most of what I write did happen, perhaps I embellish the facts occasionally, to make them more true.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Prize Of Love.

On Dexy's Midnight Runners first record, Searching For The Young Soul Rebels, there is a spoken word piece, a disillusioned young man speaking directly to Love. "Am I the first to question you exist?", he asks. He talks of people fucking infatuation and calling it love so they feel safer. We've all felt this way at some time.

The piece ends with the line, repeated, "sometimes I envy the need but don't see the prize".

So what is the prize of love? In the last six months love has screwed my life royally, I find myself wondering if there is a prize? I pursue love to the cost of everything else, rarely stop to question if it is worth it.

Of course it is worth it. There is a prize. The feeling of being loved, that someone out there has a small part of their mind dedicated to you is the greatest feeling life can offer, along with feeling the same way about someone else. Nothing compares, no amount of personal success, no worldly wealth or status.

Any prize comes at a cost. Of course there will be pain, of course you will wonder if you'll ever hold that prize. You might even become disillusioned enough to perform spoken word diatribes against love, that passion just proves you still see the prize. Despite the last six months I still see the prize.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

We Are All Going To Die.

One piece of information informs every word and action of our lives, we are all going to die. This knowledge inspires urgency, to live while we have the chance, to appreciate every single moment. If we thought we'd live forever we would never do anything, there would always be another day.

Mighty stars are born and die, tiny humans too. Being aware of this fact is a double edged sword. We know fear, we know the beautiful poignancy of these few moments. We will all know what death is when the time comes. Until then I plan to live.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Barry Humphries On Australia.

"To live in Australia permanently is rather like going to a party and dancing all night with one's mother."

Barry Humphries.

Unpatriotic? I guess so. There is so much out there, places where real life takes place. I want to spend some time in those places, have saxophone, will travel.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

A Note For Every Raindrop.

The death throes of Summer, the last warm days, one final storm to clear the air. There will be an Autumn, of sorts, the air will become thinner and colder, the drizzle will follow. Nothing I consider satisfactory will occur in the sky for more than six months.

Coat, scarf, gloves, my plan this winter is to play a note for every raindrop that falls on my head. A constant stream of music will keep me dry and warm inside, even when I'm shivering. This city has been cold to me in the past, romantically, socially, it hasn't changed. The only places I feel welcome are the cafes and the stages, so these are the places you will find me.

I welcome the change of season, I'm changing season too. It is playing season, a note for every raindrop, making love with music in the place of a woman, the music always responds, snuggles in close, tells me I am loved.

The city will be a series of dashes between shelters, a hopscotch game to and from cafes and stages, nothing else, the people a blues chord for me to play over.

Bring on the storm, the last of Summer, the beginning of a new season, a note for every raindrop.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com