Stomping the Small-Town Terra

A small town Friday night in the foothills of the grand Sierra Nevada Mountains, the town is less than 12,000 the county under 100,000.  It is a very communal experience anyway you cut it.  It’s been weeks now since I’ve been out.  Shameful yes, but my body has been butchered and most nights of mine are not fit for rabid dogs.  The moon is incredibly full this evening and I take notice.  I’m one with the weirdness that this orb throws out.  Some people don’t believe in the power of a full moon and eventually they pay a heavy price.  Teenage daughters disappear, strange rhythmic drumming comes from the rivers edge and all of the servants seem happy.  Yes indeed, this is what someone means by total confidence.  But that is not me tonight, nor any of my friends.  We were simply a merry band out for a couple nightcaps and joy.  When this full moon is over, we will be sad, alone and dupes.  That my darlings is a difficult combination to rationalize in the morning.

Everything started out simply, brilliantly, conversation, drinks and laughter.  Who wouldn’t want that for there favorite son?  We played music and laughed and pointed out faults in others.  It was an easy time.  But we had to move on.  Let me state categorically now that, “moving on” in a full-moon is NEVER a good idea and any son-of-a-bitch who suggests it should be cast out into the night to be eaten by werewolves or get crack addicts as roommates, who tell you, “of course I can cover the bills”.

You always can judge the evening by the volume level of the music that is playing.  In this case we were trapped by a less than enthusiastic crowd, terrible jukebox players and fucked up hillbillies and Jersey Shore look-a-likes.  No Otis Redding, no Temptations, no Zeppelin, no AC/DC, only Creed, hip hop. and flat-out garbage.  I understand that this is a subjective statement, however, I also believe that all music lovers are created equal but some music lovers are more equal than others.  Rage and yell at me all you want but I guarantee that I can pick this best song for you to dance to your sweetheart with.  It’s just something I have always done.  I am committed to music, especially when it comes to setting the mood or creating it.  There have been moments in my life that I am not proud of when I have completely destroyed an “intimate” moment because the music that was playing was not right, thus I flipped the album, tape or changed songs.  I’m not saying I was right, I’m just saying, I only did it to enhance the experience.  I always hoped the girl would stick around to side 2.

Well, the moon is full and we have been suckered.  After roaming the bars and hearing “Sweet Home Alabama” 6 times.  We decide to move on, another bar, another round.  Finally, we find a place with beautiful women.  We begin our engagement.  Talk, laugh, buy, laugh, talk more.  There  is a live band in the basement, the lead singer, she invites us to her show personally.  We all look at her tits and say, we’ve wanted to hear some live music so we might as well stay.  Now we are at the venue and the crowd is sparse.  No big shots, no sluts, no fighters, no nothing.  Just the girl and her band, though she is gorgeous and seductive, and we are sure she wants to fuck one or two of us.  But the reality is  that I am standing at the bar and a stunning blonde begins to talk to me, shake her ass and flip her hair. We talk and laugh and move closer towards one another.  We laugh and drink and order more drinks and wonder what this whole world has meant without one another.  My friends are sitting at the table and drinking their drinks.  The band is playing their tunes and I feel good about supporting them.  A dollar goes a long way in the music industry.

When the time comes, the beautiful blonde who I have been buying drinks and engaging with asks me, “have you met my boyfriend?”, “I have not” I say.  He happens to be the bartender that has taken my  money over the last couple hours.  He smiles and shakes my hand and begins to chat me up as well.  Immediately, I understand the beauty of their roll and the commitment to each other.  I can’t fault them for it.  I can fault them for doing me this way though.  Don’t take a tender heart and throw into the gutter.  If you are going to give me a show, give me a show, if you are going to give me a refuge, give me a refuge.  Don’t half ass my salvation.  I had always thought that I was golden and separate from the ravages of commonality.  She suckered us Bubba, get used to it.  I think about this while I walk back to the table convinced that this music and bar suck and it’s time to go.  If I can stand there for hours and spend all my money in the hopes of getting a hand job from a girl, then I am mistaken.  This is the serious business that time and tide don’t wait for.  The shyster alcohol couple know this.  Serious money remember that.

The girl I spoke to tonight had NO problem, batting the eyelashes and touching the shoulder, knowing that eventually she and her boss would triumph.  Think about this my man.  They believe us to be idiot, dupes.  and we are.  If a beautiful girl encourages you to buy more drinks, winks at the bartender and tells you how handsome/beautiful you are, stay away.  Thank them, drink the free drink and look for love outside of this environment.  One more thing, if you EVER find someone who does not like Otis Redding……leave them…immediately.  This is the truth that we shall speak.

Now we should wind this bullshit up, indeed.  The night is young and I wish to fall in love….even if its 3,000 miles away.  Look for the signs, listen for the songs.  We went out in the savage Friday night and witnessed stuff we wouldn’t allow at a backyard Bar-B-Que in Arkansas.  But we also refined our guest list so that not just every fuck mook who felt left out had to attend.  In fact, this evening has set the course for big fun, soon come, but ONLY for those of us with champion spirit, true dedication and, of course, those of us who can keep a secret.

Walk your walk, talk your talk, but please speak to me when the moon is full and the fire feels good and close.


Todd Cirillo, poet, pirate, sucker

1 Comment

Filed under Drinking, Poetry, Publishing, Small Press, The Writer's Life, Uncategorized, Writer's Block, Writing

One response to “Stomping the Small-Town Terra

  1. Well if this isn’t one sucker I love to read! The moral: don’t fuck with the full moon, dears. xoxoxo


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