No Direction Home

Captian Arab Started Writing Out Some Deeds

I learned to snowboard. I will never ski again. I have some scratches on my face to prove i did it.

I was riding on the Mayflower
When I thought I spied some land
I yelled for Captain Arab
I have yuh understand
Who came running to the deck
Said, “Boys, forget the whale
Look on over yonder
Cut the engines
Change the sail
Haul on the bowline”
We sang that melody
Like all tough sailors do
When they are far away at sea

“I think I’ll call it America”
I said as we hit land
I took a deep breath
I fell down, I could not stand
Captain Arab he started
Writing up some deeds
He said, “Let’s set up a fort
And start buying the place with beads”
Just then this cop comes down the street
Crazy as a loon
He throw us all in jail
For carryin’ harpoons

Ah me I busted out
Don’t even ask me how
I went to get some help
I walked by a Guernsey cow
Who directed me down
To the Bowery slums
Where people carried signs around
Saying, “Ban the bums”
I jumped right into line
Sayin’, “I hope that I’m not late”
When I realized I hadn’t eaten
For five days straight

I went into a restaurant
Lookin’ for the cook
I told them I was the editor
Of a famous etiquette book
The waitress he was handsome
He wore a powder blue cape
I ordered some suzette, I said
“Could you please make that crepe”
Just then the whole kitchen exploded
From boilin’ fat
Food was flying everywhere
And I left without my hat

Now, I didn’t mean to be nosy
But I went into a bank
To get some bail for Arab
And all the boys back in the tank
They asked me for some collateral
And I pulled down my pants
They threw me in the alley
When up comes this girl from France
Who invited me to her house
I went, but she had a friend
Who knocked me out
And robbed my boots
And I was on the street again

Well, I rapped upon a house
With the U.S. flag upon display
I said, “Could you help me out
I got some friends down the way”
The man says, “Get out of here
I’ll tear you limb from limb”
I said, “You know they refused Jesus, too”
He said, “You’re not Him
Get out of here before I break your bones
I ain’t your pop”
I decided to have him arrested
And I went looking for a cop

I ran right outside
And I hopped inside a cab
I went out the other door
This Englishman said, “Fab”
As he saw me leap a hot dog stand
And a chariot that stood
Parked across from a building
Advertising brotherhood
I ran right through the front door
Like a hobo sailor does
But it was just a funeral parlor
And the man asked me who I was

I repeated that my friends
Were all in jail, with a sigh
He gave me his card
He said, “Call me if they die”
I shook his hand and said goodbye
Ran out to the street
When a bowling ball came down the road
And knocked me off my feet
A pay phone was ringing
It just about blew my mind
When I picked it up and said hello
This foot came through the line

Well, by this time I was fed up
At tryin’ to make a stab
At bringin’ back any help
For my friends and Captain Arab
I decided to flip a coin
Like either heads or tails
Would let me know if I should go
Back to ship or back to jail
So I hocked my sailor suit
And I got a coin to flip
It came up tails
It rhymed with sails
So I made it back to the ship

Well, I got back and took
The parkin’ ticket off the mast
I was ripping it to shreds
When this coastguard boat went past
They asked me my name
And I said, “Captain Kidd”
They believed me but
They wanted to know
What exactly that I did
I said for the Pope of Eruke
I was employed
They let me go right away
They were very paranoid

Well, the last I heard of Arab
He was stuck on a whale
That was married to the deputy
Sheriff of the jail
But the funniest thing was
When I was leavin’ the bay
I saw three ships a-sailin’
They were all heading my way
I asked the captain what his name was
And how come he didn’t drive a truck
He said his name was Columbus
I just said, “Good luck.”

_Bob Dylans 115th Dream

Fear and Loathing at the Colt Clash

Wreslting tournaments are very long days. We weighed in around 7 and I got home last night around midnight. Very long indeed. It’s amazing the people you can meet at these things and I want to relate to you some of the people I met.

The first person I met was a fish from Croatan, or as Calvin so elequently described, “a fat curly headed fuck.” This lump of a man was my first round draw since I was seeded 4th. The match only lasted around a minute, and after they raised my hand I went to go talk to the guy, as I usually do with anyone I wreslte. This kid was just disgusted that I had beaten him. He was already frantically crunching brackets trying to figure out if he could still squeeze out a 3rd place medal. For a first (or even second for that matter) round loser, the battle for a medal is a tough one. The consolation, or loser bracket, is where some real crazy shit will happen. Full of guys who cut weight to make this tournament who are now wrestling with nothing to lose. It is a curious thing to compare the demeanor of a wrestler who is still in the winners bracket and those who are in the losers bracket. Championship (winners) wrestlers are generally more conservative. They want to win their matches and nothing more. They want to win and conserve as much energy as possible for the next round. This is not the case in colsolation. Anyone who understands a double elimination bracket realizes that once a competitior has passed to consolation, he is a mere one loss away from elimination. Depending on the level of prepartion this will arouse one of two emotions in the heart of the consolation wrestler. He will either lose intrest, deciding to quit because 1st is not obtainable, or they will fight like rabid dogs for whatever glory they still believe that they can obtain.

My second round championship match was against a state ranked kid from Seventy-First named David Fraiser. This was a rock of a man. He was all meat. We wrestled a very good match he ended up beating me in a 5 point decision. Daivd was an alright guy. I spoke with him after the match and we talked of our seasons and the tournament. During out conversation I found out this man had a different philosophy about wrestling. I asked who was the first person has wrestled in the tournament and he told me he didnt know. I asked him who they had wrestlted this year and he didnt know. I asked him what his record was and he didnt know. I asked why he didnt keep up with it. His answer was, “Man I dont keep up with any of that stuff because it doesnt matter. My record doesnt matter, who I wreslte doesnt matter, the brackets don’t matter. All that matter is the guy I’m wreslting now, and once that match is done, it doesn’t matter anymore. The only match that ever matters is the current one.” He went on to do pretty well I believe.

My next matcg was the highest scoring match of my life. I was wrestling a little indian lad from Marvin’s Ridge and I won 23-10. This high score was due entirely to poor effort from my ref. 3 times I had this boy pinned. One time so securley that the boy even gave up. Take me now Lord I’m so close to you. That sort of thing. But this old ass ref would not call my pin. Then I tech-falled him by 15 points and the ref didnt notice until he had gotten an escape and the lead was cut to 14 points. I have nothing against this boy. He fought like a sonofabitch. He fought as if once the macth was over his Indian gods were coming to judge him and if he lost he would be sent to native american hell.

My last match was agianst a boy from E.E. Smith. I don’t have much to say about this match except that it was a good one and I lost by 2 points, cutting my eyebrow in the process. I neither I nor the ref noticed it until after the match when my coach said, “holy moses you’re bleeding.” There was one takedown I thought I got but the ref called it out of bounds. I’m not fretting over it because it was a very close call to make and an overall good match. I spoke with him after the match and told him how much I had enjoyed it. He didnt say much. I’m not sure if this was from just a lack of anything to say or just trying to stay concentrated. 

I will

make a post tomorrow about all my adventures. Tonight I am way too tired.

I’m going to hell in a bucket but at least I’m enjoying the ride.

The Problem With These Things

I have had a tumblr for one day and the pressure of it is already making itself known. This thing taunts me when I turn it on. It makes me feel like I should have some sort of deep and prophetic thoughts to post on here. But I guess a plus of these things is that you can say things without having to actaully say them to anyone. I just can’t put too much emphasis on these things. Anybody can be quick and witty in print. If I wanted to I could sit here all day and think of witty observations. But thats no substitute for an ability to do the same in conversation. I think I’m better in conversation. Coming up with crazy shit off the fly is one of my strong points. One of my favorite movie quotes ever is in a movie called Thank You For Smoking. The main character Nick Naylor, when describing himself he says, “Michael Jordan plays ball, Charles Manson kills people, I talk.” One of the things I am the most greatful for is the ability to speak and not be shy.

Today was the last day of the semester and it came at perfectly the right time. But first a little background. Here is my basic 3rd block schedule. 1st lunch: Sit on the porch. 2nd-3rd lunch: Go to Lunch. 4th Lunch sit on the porch. But recently people have started to catch on, but until today no one who knew was in a position to or cared to bring the hammer down on me. Thank you Ms. Doffermyer. It was mostly my fault, I had gotten too used to slipping by under the rader I was blowing my own cover. This woman comes to me and says, “Where have you been Charlie?” because I walked in halfway through 2nd. I slip up and say “I just had to stop in to ask Austin a question.” Smooth one slick. She says, “But this is your lunch, you always eat in here.” Deer in headlights. Charles Mansion kills people, Charlie Smith freezes. I can’t even recall what I said. The mind recoils in horror unable to communicate with the spinal cord. There was no place to go. Somehow I managed to get the hell out of dodge. Just in time to enjoy 3rd lunch as well and shake hands goodbye with this semester. Maybe next time you commie bastards. I won’t slip like that again, hopefully.

“Well, lookit here buddy
You want to be like me
Pull out your six-shooter
And rob every bank you can see
Tell the judge I said it was all right”

-Bob Dylans Blues by Bob Dylan