People bustle, fuss, live their little lives...a parallel stream of the blues lives somewhere. You have to know it and to look for it, because it is not notiseable at all. If you don't know anything about the blues, you will think, that it doesn't exist. If you know, where it lives, you are done for. Because the blues will take you with it. At the dark bar, in the smocky warmth and tightness, you swim together with everybody, thoughts are free, life is like a river. It is clear now, why you failed. It is clear now, that there is no salvation. It doesn't matter now, because you have the blues. People stand by the small stage, they move together, the music carries them the same way, as it carries you. On the stage- two, slightly bended, tenderly and strongly are holding guitars and peer, listen attentively to each other's hands, eyes, souls...music is born like a dawn, like a dew, like flowers...it carries you, you are swiming, you are flying, and there is no return. If you ever heard a good blues, you will never be the same. You are poisoned with a sweet poison, but it doesn't matter. You have the blues, and the blues has you. You are awesome, babe...
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Sea shells of life...
The road led to the coast. It seemed like a sea breeze was there already. Forest by the road was smiling. Large bright sign said: "seashells, the last chance to bring home memories". A mount of the seashells shone like a white snow. They did not stop- he was driving, and she didn"t want to ask him about anything. The rest of the way to the coast she dreamed about digging in this mount and finding beautiful conches.
Years passed. They were again at the same road, going from the last shared vacation. She was not afraid to make him angry any more- just indifferent. The same sign, faded, appeared at the same spot. She asked him to stop, and he did. Only a little hill of the remnants was there- broken shells, white dust...While they were still going through life together, shells were laying there. People were buying some, the rain washed them, the sun bleached...
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Pave paradise, put up a parking lot.
You feel like being at vacation in the little shack, despite of it takes only five minutes to walk from it to the Square of the very land town.
There is a white board there, which used to be a menu in a coastal restaurant long ago. Rainbow smoothies are listed on it, off hand, carelessly, colorfully, with round uneven letters.
It has a black tire trace in the middle. Someone used a board to put under a stucked car.
The restaurant doesn't exist anymore, it was torn down for the big modern hotel, the owner moved far away from the coast.
But if you are a coastal, it is forever. There, on a coast, you can see careless rainbow signs, life there is lazy, unhurried, idle, there is a paradise, strange, untidy, happy, tanned, salty paradise in light clothes. Coastal people even in the big cities stay forever tanned, weather-bitten, strange, big-eyed...
The song says: "Pave paradise, put up a parking lot". This board with a tire print is like an illustration. A little happy restaurant, blown through with salty winds, was turned to a boring conceited hotel with air conditioning, but the board was left, and when you are looking at it, the highway noise behind the windows turns to a sound of surf...