Daniel Johnston

Speeding Motorcycle dept.

I met Daniel Johnston

In Holland

In a hotel lounge

After a festival.

He was a legend.

Loose, unhinged,

Fragile.

But with sweet melodies.

Kurt Cobain had been a fan.

Sitting beside him

In big chairs

In that hotel lounge

I introduced myself.

“We have the same name!”
He nearly shouted.

Then he closed his eyes

And started snoring

In his chair.

Now it was months later

We were backstage

At a club in Burlington, Vermont.

He was eating a plate

Of French fries.

He was in a good mood.

This wasn’t always the case.

I had done a show

With him in Buffalo

And he was having

Trouble with his electric piano

My sound guy Ted

Sidled up to the stage

With good intentions

And jiggled some cables.

The piano gave a squawk

Daniel Johnston was startled.

“Show’s over!” he blurted,

And left the stage.

But this night in Burlington

He was sweet

And positively jolly.

“You have interesting

“Song structures,” he said.

He saw himself in the mirror

And jumped in mock horror

For my amused benefit.

Emboldened, I asked him

About one of his songs

Where he looks through a window

And sees a girl he likes

Making out

With another guy.

“Yeah!” he said

“I was gonna take her

“To a wrestling match

“And then I saw her

“With this guy,

“Wrestling!”

I then asked him

If he took a lot

Of his songs from real-life

Situations.

Before the words were

Out of my mouth

I regretted them.

It was too analytical

Too adult-world

Too general

Of a question.

Daniel Johnston’s reaction

Was immediate.

His face fell

He emitted an

Enormous, weary sigh

And with great resignation

Turned his full attention

To his plate

Of French fries.

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