PRECIOUS

Every soul is precious, therefore expensive. When Satan purchases souls, he drives a stupid hard bargain usually. It's commonly, "Hey yo bro, I gonna give you money and hoochimamas and blingblang diggity material stuff, and I promise not to run over you with a train like for at least 20 or 30 years, but I get your soul." And you -- or me -- says, well that sounds like a good deal, plus I won't really find out for decades if it's a bad deal, and I can deal with that!
So you say yay.
But once the deal goes down, bro, your soul is gone. Yes you may still be soulful, if you were soulful. You can still play the piano. You can even get better at stuff. Enjoy the bling, get the bang for the bucks. But you have sold your soul. Today.
Off the rack, off the planet, out of your hood. Gone.

A sparrow's soul is particularly precious. So Satan (I don't believe in Satan, but I'm considering changing my mind on that) comes at sparrows cautiously, circumspectly, respectfully, slyly. He works 'em. Gently. But like everybody else, once the deal is made, the sparrow's soul is lost. Even if he still files tax returns and chauffeurs his kids to away games.

Sparrow is precious. Sparrows would be better off in eastern religions where there is no Satan to tempt them. A nice relaxing religion would be good. Cross-legged, not kneeling. Hard to take off and fly from a kneeling position. But not impossible.

margarine

I know. I misspelled it in the last post. Slathered it on too....
Well, I have an idea how to get more people reading this. And it has pretty much stayed intact as a PG-13 kind of blog.
Boring often, but, well, mine. Dark, I am told. Well, hell, I am a lonely old man with a wild life, a wild insane unpredictable life, and musical gifts (songs just come to me, and they are good) My hearing is a bit damaged in my right ear, y'hear?
And I live up on an old Black Colony in Texas. And I am said to be a hippie.
You both know all this.
My grandson's name is Keaton, and he is of mixed ancestry, men and women.

Tonight a strange and wonderful thing happened. mark O'connor, whom I do respect, though I am not able to reel off his discography (and when I went to see him 4 years ago, he played swing, and I fell asleep) MYSPACE FRIENDED ME!!! O My Gawd! Well. Maybe I'll send him a record. a valentine. I already pitched me as a possible teacher at one of the camps.
Big apple here I come. Or big banana.

What I want to do is produce the definitive Texas Style Contest Fiddle Record. 2 players. I won't name them. I am not one of them. I would distribute it for free.
The question is, would people believe in it if it didn't sound like an old crappy ghetto blaster??

Belief is important. Or not. If I don't do this record before February '09, please scold me, take me to task.
I also want to get this band started, The Sweet Bunch of Daisies. Four fiddle players, all sing, all double on other instruments.
Material to be original, but old-timey, and new-timey. Is this mere fantasy? Or just fantasy.

Love and Butter

When my children say "That's bad for you," they are checking for trans fats or corn syrup. Actually more likely it's trans fats.
My personal dietary belief (the only one!) is that sugar is bad for you. Makes you fat, might kick you into diabetes (old wives tale probly), whatever. I do not believe fat of any kind to be "bad for you." Butter. Nothing better.

Except love. Love trumps all. And we all would rather hear "I will love you forever" than "Here, have some more butter."
Although I contend that these two sentences are synonymous. Well not really. I mean a promise can't be the same as an offer. Except that when you're in love anything is possible. "I'm crazy about you" does mean "If you want, I will churn butter for you." To everything, churn, churn, churn. There is a seizin', churn, churn, churn.

That's where the antacids come in.

My favorite yoga teacher talks about being "juicy." Love is juicy like that. It's slick, but not like a car salesman. Love is never anything to be ashamed of, yet it will make us blush, weep, and it can cause insomnia, migraines, shattering of glass, and animal abuse. Not to mention child abuse.

I love you for reading this. Try some margerine. You'll see what I'm talking about.

alone but kissing

Can I get alone? Yes most certainly. Right this way sir. Would you like someone to come kiss you perhaps semi-monthly?
No thanks, and I'll kiss my own ass from now on. No tongue. I will also bite my own ass and of course wipe it. Semi-monthly.

Those who doubt, doubters, need to get their own crowditors, editors, not to mention collaborative attorneys.
Here are some new professions and gadgets for the near future:

false news generator
mobile celibacy check station operator
physical rapist
emotional rapist
thai dyer in triplicate
booze hound trainer
bored interest adjuster
fool detector
back-door man ejector
booter
hooter
shooter
booter monitor
hooter blocker
shooter shooter

I'm training for all of these, since advertising seems shaky at the moment, and it's depressing working on industrials.
Here's another one:

depressed tongue depressor.