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letra de laguardia - mark kozelek

flying in from buffalo
beside the highway, with the way the airport stacks up melting brown snow
revealing what looks like anywhere, ohio
what isn’t the most charming place when covered in snow?
could be an enchanting town in any story book or movie
when the town is covered in beautiful, white snow

but on this planet, in new orleans, i’m feeling low
could’ve been that hotel i stayed in in buffalo
the henry, a mental institution turned hotel
mumford & sons were in town and the place was full
of guests who’d come in from toronto
the artwork on the walls was all mainstream
kombucha was on tap in the lobby
check-in wasn’t until 4, what a bore
a few mumford & sons fans offered me chocolates
i believe the brand was fowler’s
they asked me my name, i said, “fred, sanford”
they asked me where i was from, i said, “stanford”
they said, “oh, cool, connecticut”

looking out the windows of that lonely hotel
at the cars in the parking lots in surrounding rehab centers
i was reminded of my rehab days
during a long, young winter
looking out those windows over thanksgiving and christmas
smoking menthol cigarettes while my roommate bench pressed his bed
i sometimes wonder what happened to those kids
but at the same time, i’d rather not know
there are memories i’d rather leave behind in ohio
though they follow me wherever i go
at the layover for new orleans at laguardia
i saw rikers island when i was landing
the sight of that prison makes me frightened
reminds me of a friend whose friend had been there
i was staying with that friend in brooklyn and his rikers island friend was staying there
he came into the living room where i was sleeping
looked at me in my underwear
i told my friend, “i can’t stay there”
he said, “why?”
i said, “because your friend likes to watch me get dressed and i got no privacy”
my friend said, “what, are you too good for me?”
and i said, “no man, i’m not too good for you
it’s just that your friend just got out of rikers, and i got a bunch of cash on me”

that was 1999, we went to the fight at msg
in an attempt to buy scout tickets i had four grand on me
got led down an alley, and almost mugged
we ended up watching the fight on a big-screen tv at a nightclub
after the fight we headed back to brooklyn
when the cab stopped, my friend said, “why are you getting out? where are you going?”
i said, “i booked a hotel, i told you, i’m not staying at your place”
he said, “f-ck you, you think you’re above the rest of us now”
i said, “hey man, i brought you cuban cigars from spain”
and he slammed the door on me, and i went to my hotel and checked into my room
my stomach full of pain
my brain full of pain
i hated it when my friend felt betrayed
and i hated it when i treated him that way
it’s just that i’d upgraded from sleeping on couches to hotels back then, and i’ve kept it that way
got into my place in new orleans
it felt like another, it was 83 degrees
i opened some windows and turned on a fan
and watched the very talked about documentary, leaving neverland
a documentary about the kids who were molested by michael jackson
i never watched anything before that affected my body language quite like that
when the kids went into the details of what happened to them as early as seven
i thought if heaven or h-ll were real, michael surely can’t be in heaven

while i was watched it, my body was turned to the right
as i kept watching, my face was turned to the right
i couldn’t sit squarely at the tv and my stomach was tight
i couldn’t fall asleep, and when i did, i had nightmares
i think more people are believing now that michael was bad
but when i wrote this song “he’s bad”, by the critics back then, it got panned
but now oprah’s on board, and of course, more people are believing it and hearing it
but back when i said it they didn’t
but he’s dead now, and my last words on him are, “good riddance”

the next day, a friend of mine and i walked from willie mae’s to st. louis cemetery
everything was closed that day; the graveyards, the churches, the foggy house poster for the pirate’s alley
she was new to new orleans, and i asked if she wanted to walk to the mississippi river with me
she said she could see it from her hotel window just fine
i sensed her weariness, and she sensed mine
and we said goodbye
and i walked alone to the mississippi river
and looked at the rough current that runs through the middle
that looks like a 10-yard wide streak of silver eels for miles and miles
aggressively commingling just beneath the surface of the brown water
when i look at what looks like millions of silver eels aggressively twisting all around each other
i think, “that’s the current that swept jeff buckley off to his young death”
jeff was a fan of mine, and he expressed it
but of his support, i never reciprocated
and he reached out once, and i never returned his phone call
because i didn’t know what he wanted
i thought, “why would jeff need my validation?
look at his cheekbones and listen to his rob halford range
he’s doing better than me, so what could he possibly want from me?”
years after his death, i was having dinner with somebody who knew him well
she said, “i don’t think that’s what it was, i think he was looking for your help”
i said, “help with what?”
and she said, “finding his voice
not his singing voice, but his voice-voice, you know?
jeff felt that you knew who you were, and i think he was hoping you could help him find who he was”
i said, “my god, that never occurred to me”
i said this then, and i still believe it
that he would have found his voice by album three
i told myself that i’d call him back when he proves to me he’s got what it takes to get to jeff buckley three

i’m sorry i never called you, jeff
you were a rockstar with a legendary father
you had celebrity lovers
and from where i was standing, i thought that you thought you had it all
it didn’t occur to me, that like all of us, you also had insecurities

and i think of jeff’s early death when i look at the mississippi (mississippi)
i think of a lot of the things when i look at the mississippi (mississippi)
not just emu rides with my mother
and the story of huckleberry finn and jim
so many memories of visiting the city
of new orleans, and walks along the mississippi
a few whom i’m deeply missing
i’m alone and waiting for you full of loneliness and self-pity
i can’t wait to see you this friday to share new orleans with you in the spring
being with you in new orleans in the spring makes me happier than anything

- mark kozelek

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