Grill Shogun and a Brain in a Jar

I went to the park yesterday for some music and food and beer. It was really good. I helped to save a bird that had gotten caught in the grill of an SUV. We had been trying to pull it out, and every time we pulled harder, I could see from my vantage that it was going to pull the leg off, until I realized that the reason it was going to pull the leg off was that the bird was so frightened, it had grabbed onto the grill, hooking itself into place, I carefully dislodged the claw, and the other fellow pulled, and off shot the little bird. A little stunned at first, but eventually right as... well... it did rain a little yesterday. Early on. And I think perhaps the reason I was the one who saw what the bird had done with its leg, digging in like that out of fear, hurting its own chances at healing, freedom, a future, is that I identify with the concept. When all you need to do is let go so everything will be fine, sometimes it's the hardest thing to do.

I had been sitting in the grass, a little girl having convinced me to kick off my sandals and relax. If there was ever a moment when I did not have food in my hand, something was given to me to try. I was beyond full. A beautiful Japanese woman, my friend, was the master of the grill. The Daimyo, no, the Shogun of grill. And she wielded a mighty shaker of salt to bring the rings of corncob or the mushroom shafts, or unwieldy slices of beef or chicken under her domain.

The flow of conversation is unnatural. I begin with things I know. I like this. I'm from Texas. That's not sake, it's water. But, I am very quickly out of my depth. I don't want to talk about the weather. I want to talk about life, real life, the real stuff of real life. I want to ask why. How long. What did you feel when. Do you ever think that maybe. I want to tell stories and listen. But at the first sign I don't understand, people stop talking. They don't go deeper. I wish I could explain that even if I don't know what they are saying, I just want to listen. I want to hear what they have to say, the way they need to say it. It is like music for me. Nevermind the words, it's the genuine human connection that matters.

But the conversation was stilted for me, because I don't know how to explain this. And so I stand under a tree and juggle chestnuts while someone raps to TechmoBowl NES beats on the stage a little ways away.