I guess im already there

I'm struck by how a grungy dirty shed in the middle of a disgusting nampa Idaho makes me happy. Posters and paintings of women on the walls with slogans written vapidly underneath fill the shed from shoes to neck. A poster of Bob Dylan who seems to be cursing me and the shed, staring at me with the harmonica slung around his neck. I've noticed Bob has the same expression in every photo a certain universal "fuck you" with pride and arrogance itched in the lines of his face, but alas hes fucking Bob Dylan so what are you gonna do. "If only I would have done something with my life" is written right above it. The table of the shed is autographed by its inhabitants with bad radiohead lines, the miserable cowboy bastard, and some other modest mouse song titles. Surrounding the table are stolen chairs from around the area. A bright orange chair which is my personal favorite due to times in which I have broken my christian lifestyle agreement sitting in it. A few dining room ones are there along with a few lawn chairs stacked up against the wall. The lawn chairs are those brilliantly 70's era brights with browns that scream to be thrown on the lawn of a retirement center but are destined to be scrapped soon. On the table is a severed manikin head painted red with a hole on top where my cigarettes go. The table has a few reading lights, scattered paints, a ray bradbury novel, cut out national geographics and tobacco strands weaving their way into everything and everything. A make shift coat rack makes a corner of the shed with stolen jackets from thrift stores collecting dust. The front doors of the shed are wide thin pieces of wood with holes spotted on it. At exactly 4 every day the sun shines through these holes and the shed is full of beautiful (what we have come to call them stupidly) light beams. Everyone in the shed at the time would turn their sin sticks to the light and exhale. Smoke weaves its way up the light rippling like the ocean sinking from the beach and imagine if you will several of these cancer induced shores shining all at different angles of this place. There are racks outlining each wall with paintings, gimicks, toiletries, 50c poker chips, memories of the owner and poetry. The back door has a space heater accompanied by a cd player. Around the cd player, rolling stone and talking head cd cases are broken from misuse. The back door is covered with a very large tropical towl with a tall lemonade on it.

My friends and I would chain smoke and brilliantly argue philosphy, theology and politics and discover how stupid we were when we would end right where we started, we would then cap each discussion with a ciggarette and eventually talk about another topic in which we knowingly, gladly repeated the process. Most of the time we would talk about love and about doing it without conditions proudly stating it was the only way to do it right or proper. During these times if you would have asked me if I was happy, I would have simply shrugged and nodded adding its ok. I would have continued laughing, smoking, talking. Looking back I can tell you, next to my childhood and the time spent with the love of my life, I can't remember any time when I was happier. Funny how that works. It's funny how were all constantly looking for our home or place and were to blind to see it right in front of us. Irony makes you cry, the depravity of it is this: your already there.

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - born with a weak heart
I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up and say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time Before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh

some talking heads for ya

Zachary Dalton Sherwood