Breaking Up

This is something waves do not do.  Waves break.   Electrons (whatever they are) do not.   Cars break….down.  Sometimes brand new cars have defective sensors.   Mine, for instance, does.   Toys break, but only if you leave them in the middle of the street or in the hands of careless children.   Divorce.  It's two things, vorcing.   Have you ever heard of a divorce that didn't work out?   I have.

If you love someone and break up with them, there will be pain.   Seems like an axiom.  Love + breakup = pain.  But there can be "I'm so proud of myself."   "I have time to do the things I need/want to do."   "I was horny all the time anyway."   &c.   I told somebody "She's not stringing me along."  And he said "You're stringing yourself along," and laughed.

Johnny Gimble

When he said something, you thought "What's the other meaning?" His granddaughter mentioned this.  I smiled and agreed.   There was always at least one other meaning.  Perhaps a pun.
Yes he was a great musician, and he was one of those who "play to live."  Like me, he always looked like he was having a tremendous time.  Unlike me, I believe he was.  And of course the joy was infectious.
He gave everybody a solo and collaborated on a lot of what are called "twin parts."  "Arrangements," actually.
Somewhere in the later '80s, I played with him up near Liberty Hill, and I caught him conversing with the Christian spirits.  He felt something impending.  I guess it was that first stroke.  He lived to recover and make a couple records with which I helped.  His playing had been effortless before the stroke, pure joy.   After it, he told me, it required effort.  Sounded, if anything, even better, more astounding on Beaumont Rag for instance.   And then a decade and a half, and now gone.
I heard some of the old Texas Playboys enjoying this humorous line of talk:  "Hey, when you die can I have your <      > ?"  (fiddle, car, wife….)   Ha ha ha.
I would like to be Johnny.  I know he suffered, as humans do.  But he was elemental.  He was plugged into some vast positive reservoir that now feels inaccessible to me.   It is dammed up somewhere on the Cap Rock, beyond a thousand pumpjacks silently murmuring "Dollar….dollar….dollar….."

Memoirs

"These memories are really hard to forget!"   An old friend said this to me Friday, smiling.   I mean really old, older than me   !    Usually the elderly jokes are, well, about hiding your own Easter eggs kind of thing.

Sorry.  I've been reading DF Wallace again, and I slip into being one of his sad characters.

I've also been inspired to begin my memoirs.   The funny thing is, I don't remember much at all.  Or, I should say, I remember quite a bit, but it's memories for gosh sakes, not facts!   Not real stuff that really happened.  Just impressions.   I desperately want to write interesting things.   There are facts, but they all seem so mundane.  e.g.  I watched a guy mainline adrenaline once, and he turned a little green.  (I also watched the same guy mainline gin and get drunk really fast).   Later he had yellow eyes.   He and I were students at an Ivy League college.   Smart guys.

Facts.   Perhaps.   The world is all that is the case, or ever was or will be the case.

What makes it into the memoirs?   Haven't really firmed that up yet, but I hope everything does.  All of it.   It'll be a really long memoir.  One idea would be not to die until after it is published.   But then I'll have to live nearly forever.   Facts, impressions, lies, slanty posturing re this or that idea of God or theory of knowledge, whatnot.

How is Kickstarter different from begging?  And is begging lame?   Better than working for a living I'd say.   Better than working for a living.   Not easier though.

Remember this:   I love you.

Passwords

Please enter you Reader Username and Password before proceeding.

Thank you.

Now type the encrypted message:     #$%^)(*&^%$#%^&*(*&^%$%^&*()

Thank you.

You know, I respect the crap out of you, but I have to protect my sacred personal information from hackers, ex-wives, drug dealers and the government.

Oh, wait…  the government can get in just fine.

Good old government.

I actually love you all.   I have nothing to hide from anybody.   Do you hear???
In any case, we ALL are ONE.  What, haven't taken LSD?   Trust me, we're all one.
Privacy is highly overrated.

I'm old.  It took me about 3 hours today to circumvent my privacy protection merely to purchase a new telephone.   Of course, many of the basic functions of the phone are neutered by my failure to recall a mere 5 or 97 passwords.

Thank God my sacred data is inaccessible.
To everyone.

I had issues with my data.