Many, many years ago I stumbled upon a bluesy Tom Waits’ song entitled “Mr. Siegal.” In the lyrics Waits never tells the listener who this guy is, no context whatsoever, but he does turn to him in the midst of apparent desperation, well-earned as evidenced by the down-and-out details and the Mexican whorehouse setting, and calls out, “Tell me, Mr. Seigal, how do I get out of here?” It may not be the same
Mr. Seigal, but some version of him is a frequent visitor in my dreams, always arriving as an archetypal animus-like figure, always providing the unconditional love and support that I’m more and more able to feel these days. As a result, I’m not alone anymore, not like the me who in the early 90s bought the cabin in New Mexico with the expressed
intention of going it alone there, living the hermit’s existence under the guise of and
wallowing in the plight of the stereotypical tortured writer. A miserable time, I must say, I had no idea how lost I was. I had no idea that Mr. Seigal was right there the whole time.
Bob, April 2014
lyrics
Hold On, Mr. Seigal
Been so good at packing up and leaving
Cutting ties and heading down the road
Everything I owned, it had to fit into the pickup
And damnit, nothing else was gonna tag on my load
Down a dusty dirt road south of Santa Fe
Barely stood a fake-adobe shack
Called it then my getaway, my little haven off the grid
Goodbye cruel world…and that was that
But what that was, or tried to be, it wasn’t
Cause good luck trying to leave it all behind
Cause every time I took a breath and tried to feel some peace
There’d be this cacophonic blather in my mind
But hold on Mr. Seigal, I’m a comin’
Thirty years later, but I’m here
Hold on Mr. Seigal, I’ve been so far from myself
That I couldn’t even feel that you were near
I remember a lookout, Ghost Ranch mesa
Way up in the highlands, all alone
Nothing but the wind, a whispered voice inside my head
Says this is close as you’ll ever get to feeling home
But what that was, or tried to be, it wasn’t
That vista buzz, it petered, and was gone
Cause though I loved the earth-toned hues and ponderosa air
You know, you just can’t solo sing a duet song
So hold on Mr. Seigal, I’m a comin’
Thirty years later, but I’m here
Hold on Mr. Seigal, I’ve been so far from myself
That I couldn’t even feel that you were near
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