My Beloved Sandra’s off to Vegas on Wednesday & everyone knows I’ll miss her. But I have no desire for Vegas. Everybody who knows me knows why.
There are a few cities I might be willing to visit, however briefly. Memphis might be one. The song “Walking In Memphis” always makes me cry; inexplicably break down weeping. I have no idea why. In case you don’t know it, here it is:
–Sidenote: I believe that we’ve all lived previous lives, and I believe that in a previous lifetime I was a Delta Bluesman. When I went to New Orleans, I knew my way around as soon as my feet touched the ground. When I visited Preservation Hall, I had this overwhelming compulsion to go sit on stage. And when my friend Cyrrt gave an alto sax in highschool, I played “St James Infirmary” within 5 minutes without having ever touched a sax before in my life. And then there’s the whole weeping thing with “Walking In Memphis”–
At any rate, I have mixed feelings about visiting Memphis. I’m afraid of whatever ghosts might haunt me, walking down Beale Street or Union Avenue. And I figure that if I ever did live there before–in its heyday–it would probably break my heart to see what it’s become.
Joni paints it pretty clearly:
I dunno; I guess Sandra’s right; I gotta get out more. But Vegas? No. Beale Street? Maybe…