Blues for Paul Nancy Gauquier
People stared at us, when we were together, we must have looked strange, me so tall and angular and pale, with stoned blue eyes and wild auburn hair, in old shirts and crazy patched-up blue jeans, you Burmese / Filipino / Spanish, long shoulder-length black hair, your strong precise body in thrift store treasures, how meticulously you assembled yourself, bright shirts, old wide ties and colorful vests, you looked like a walking kaleidoscope, I looked like something out of Dr. Seuss. The tourists took pictures of us, posing gently for them, standing together, arms around each other, at Fisherman’ s Wharf.
You were as good at creating your music as you were at destroying your life, but you had such class, you dressed it all up with such flash, you carried yourself with such pride, hiding your feelings deep inside, but they all came pouring out in your music, your music could reach deep inside and pull at my gut-strings, make me feel like I must be in love.
It was so easy to follow your crazy careening addicted-to-everything-but-love life, your music was your only soul-mate, it just had to be the blues, lust was just something to lend meaning to the lyrics, something you could use to pour into the blues. You ate, drank and slept the blues,
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