I’m your only friend I’m not your only friend But I’m a little glowing friend But really I’m not actually your friend But I am Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch Who watches over you Make a little birdhouse in your soul Not to put too fine a point on it Say I’m the only bee in your bonnet Make a little birdhouse in your soul I have a secret to tell From my electrical well It’s a simple message and I’m leaving out the whistles and bells So the room must listen to me Filibuster vigilantly My name is blue canary one note spelled l-I-t-e My story’s infinite Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn’t rest
i was caught off guard today with he remembering of a friend who passed in the the late 80’s from aids. he was my bestie for a few years prior to my departure from chicago. i actually.”had many friends who have died well before their “time” with 3 of them being “best friends”. i tested positive in 1985, spun out of control, left chicago, and spent the next 12 or 13 years waiting to die. so many of those years i was choking back anger so very big i can now hardly imagine how i could even breathe. and when i started on meds, i felt better than i had in decades which released all that under-the-surface anger and i rebelled. i left my job, left denver and moved to san francisco. i encountered 3 bouts of kidney stones and had a mental health break after the last dance. and events turned my head towards meth which was the only thing that numbed my anger. it actually made me feel alive again. then it made me crazy. then it got darker. i cannot tell you why i am still here and those beautiful soles are not. i have no explanation for it. this is one question which vexed and perplexed me for a couple of decades.
in my recovery, i have let loose so many of the demons that haunted me all those infected years. but the true lesson i have gotten is the notion that it is an imperative that i enjoy my life. in lieu of harboring guilt for those who did not make it this far, i am compelled to find joy and satisfaction in memory of those who don’t have the grace to be here too.
this is the birdhouse in my soul