The Stock Market used to be in Fort Worth. Now they have museums there. When the stock market was there, it was full, overfull, with stock. Mooooving all the time. Over time, the stock died.
Then the Stock Market got moooooved to New York (and Tokyo), and it is still overfull. But the stock mainly does not die. In fact, over time, the stock grows. Sometimes it splits, but the offshoots somehow grow heads and toenails and lead more or less normal lives.
There was often something wrong with the market in Fort Worth. Stinky. Hoof! The markets in New York and Tokyo are also stinky, but sometimes when there is something wrong (like stinky), there can be something called a "correction." Which, oddly, makes things REALLY stinky for awhile, but not forever. It has to do with methane and the president.
Who is a coward.
Well, I just said that because he grosses me out. I was on a plane this morning, coming home from Memphis (is that a song?). And I noticed that pretty much all the men and most of the women grossed me out. I am picky in the extreme. None of those people pay dividends.
It's a good day to take stock, and sell it. Or keep it, but in order to improve the heirs, make sure to have lots of death benefits.
Happy Valentines Day. !
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Monday, February 12, 2018
Anxiety Oy Vey
I'm anxious! Yikes!
Poor thing! What triggered it?
Are you kidding? Have you seen the world today?
Oh, the world triggered it?
No, sheesh, waking up triggered it. Or maybe it woke me up...
It happens when I travel, on overpasses, in elevators, at the gym, I think I'm gonna puke, pass out, have a stroke.......
etc
I want to report progress. I believe I have had so much time living in/with clinical anxiety that I am now more or less numb to it. I have, in the language of the CBT theory, successfully removed the fear from the "uncomfortable bodily sensations."
I have a story, several years old now: I was a passenger in a car that drove off the road on a drizzly evening and spun around - no one hurt, no damage. The driver turned white, palms sweaty, etc. I looked over at her and said "That was interesting....what's wrong?"
Nothing was wrong. Nothing is ever wrong, unless the human condition is wrong. Which it neither is nor isn't. If it exists.
I honestly believe my body has been so mistakenly and crazily flooded with adrenaline for so long, I am out. Out of adrenaline.
I still get the ears ringing, dizziness, disorientation/dissociation.... But I don't get scared much.
For those who still suffer: "Relax!" does not work. "Whatevs...." actually ... does.
Poor thing! What triggered it?
Are you kidding? Have you seen the world today?
Oh, the world triggered it?
No, sheesh, waking up triggered it. Or maybe it woke me up...
It happens when I travel, on overpasses, in elevators, at the gym, I think I'm gonna puke, pass out, have a stroke.......
etc
I want to report progress. I believe I have had so much time living in/with clinical anxiety that I am now more or less numb to it. I have, in the language of the CBT theory, successfully removed the fear from the "uncomfortable bodily sensations."
I have a story, several years old now: I was a passenger in a car that drove off the road on a drizzly evening and spun around - no one hurt, no damage. The driver turned white, palms sweaty, etc. I looked over at her and said "That was interesting....what's wrong?"
Nothing was wrong. Nothing is ever wrong, unless the human condition is wrong. Which it neither is nor isn't. If it exists.
I honestly believe my body has been so mistakenly and crazily flooded with adrenaline for so long, I am out. Out of adrenaline.
I still get the ears ringing, dizziness, disorientation/dissociation.... But I don't get scared much.
For those who still suffer: "Relax!" does not work. "Whatevs...." actually ... does.
More on Feelings
Oh eff! A friend name of G. Bob says that for him, after years of daily meditation, fear and anger are transitory curiosities. Bob also says "Y'know, we spend 99% of our time thinking about ourselves and there's really no such thing!" As thinking. ? No, of course, he means the self.
I now view the self, my self, as the combination of 3 things: a physical body (ever older til death), a set of beliefs which evolve over time - kind of like the stock market, and, #3, the parade of feelings. The body and the beliefs enter the consciousness as or through the, yes transitory, feelings.
Silly things. Curiosities. It amazes one how loud and painful they can be. But if I pay attention, I notice they NEVER last more than a few minutes.
There was the discussion of cravings. Bell shape. Level, ascent, peak, descent to level again. Five minutes tops. And this is what life is about? No. This is simply what life seems to be.
This kind of talk is not particularly beneficial or entertaining. But I want to document my new view of feelings (a de-emphasis, a disparagement even), because I am actually experiencing something I want to call a new strength. I can be a hero, in a good way. I might even be sober.
Arthritis doesn't go away, but at least it changes.
Some folks hate the president so much, they cannot listen to him speak or view his image without shuddering. I'm sort of one of those people. Is it fear or anger? I'll let you know....
Both. I wish he would just listen to reason! (to me). But he won't.
The signs in the yards say 'Science is Real.' With their dying gasp. Well, science is an interesting body of knowledge gained by the experimental method and inductive logic. Those of us truly inclined to revere science must consider the possibility that belligerent isolationism/protectionism + Reaganomics + disassembly of e.g. the State Department and e.g. the Dept of Energy and (another) e.g. the national parks may be just the ticket for the (still) new millenium. Clearly these guys have their finger on the pulse of some living beast!
Next: Inspiration and melody.
I now view the self, my self, as the combination of 3 things: a physical body (ever older til death), a set of beliefs which evolve over time - kind of like the stock market, and, #3, the parade of feelings. The body and the beliefs enter the consciousness as or through the, yes transitory, feelings.
Silly things. Curiosities. It amazes one how loud and painful they can be. But if I pay attention, I notice they NEVER last more than a few minutes.
There was the discussion of cravings. Bell shape. Level, ascent, peak, descent to level again. Five minutes tops. And this is what life is about? No. This is simply what life seems to be.
This kind of talk is not particularly beneficial or entertaining. But I want to document my new view of feelings (a de-emphasis, a disparagement even), because I am actually experiencing something I want to call a new strength. I can be a hero, in a good way. I might even be sober.
Arthritis doesn't go away, but at least it changes.
Some folks hate the president so much, they cannot listen to him speak or view his image without shuddering. I'm sort of one of those people. Is it fear or anger? I'll let you know....
Both. I wish he would just listen to reason! (to me). But he won't.
The signs in the yards say 'Science is Real.' With their dying gasp. Well, science is an interesting body of knowledge gained by the experimental method and inductive logic. Those of us truly inclined to revere science must consider the possibility that belligerent isolationism/protectionism + Reaganomics + disassembly of e.g. the State Department and e.g. the Dept of Energy and (another) e.g. the national parks may be just the ticket for the (still) new millenium. Clearly these guys have their finger on the pulse of some living beast!
Next: Inspiration and melody.
Friday, April 14, 2017
Frosty
Overwhelming that this man is gone. Last few years it went: "How ya doin Frosty?"
"How do I look?"
"You look good!"
"Well then, ask me out!"
There was nothing that wasn't cool and/or astounding about him. Except maybe the amount of pain he was willing to endure without complaint. Astounding, that, but not really cool.
After one of the strokes, I visited him up at Seton NW. Frosty said "Not doing too bad -- having a little trouble with this left-right thing"
Frosty lived in the old trailer at my place for about 5 years. We had an understanding. We would stay out of each other's way, not intrude. Mostly, we accomplished this. Except for the exceptions. The well guys stumbled on a rattlesnake in the well-house. Ran away, said it was above their pay grade. Hmmm. I called Frost to come out and lend a hand (heh). He emerged from the trailer holding his cane (he had been suffering from gout) and a glok and hobbled over to the scene, about 30 yards from the trailer door. It was tricky, but he was able to shoot the snake 2 or 3 times without destroying the well apparatus. I chopped the head off with a hoe. The snake head.
Casey Monahan brought Uzbek percussionists up to meet Frosty (in Buda) in about 2002. A visit to the guru for them. They jammed a bit.
A fun rhythm section we had in the earlier Danglin Wrangler days was Frosty and Cowboy Dick (Dale Dennis) on bass. Dale had a cool almost pitchless thuddy/groovy tone and never rushed. Frosty of course liked to sit on the back side of the grooves, but he did not drag -- unless he meant to. He caught my eye one night, nodded in the direction of Cowboy Dick (who was possibly doing some nodding of his own, noticeably dragging -- it was okay, it was Sunday at Huts), and proceeded to steadily slow the tempo of the tune til it was down to a crawl. Tex turned around and said something like "What the hell$%^&*()??" All in good fun. Cowboy Dick woke up at some point. (We lost him for good back in the early aughts....)
On an ad music session at Tequila Mockingbird, we were working on some funky thing, and I asked Frost to "put that back beat just a bit behind, like you like to do it." He proceeded to show me the available catalogue of options for "just a bit behind." There were more than 3 options. More like 7 or 8. "You want it here?...thwack...or maybe here?....thud....or tighter, like.....?
He admired Clyde Stubblefield. I preferred him (Frosty). He did things with his right foot that seemed illegal. Fast eighth notes, perfect. Let's face it. He rocked. Even with gout.
I made a record for fun in about 1990, some kind of jazz and some kind of country stuff. I had AD Mannion, a dear friend and great jazz drummer, play the country stuff. (I could be cruel sometimes) And I asked Frosty to play the jazz. He said "You understand I am NOT a jazz drummer." There are several tracks with Frosty playing his brand of jazz, with Jon Blondell on upright, Tony Campise on tenor, and me on the crappy piano over at (now gone) Lone Star Recording, at 12th and Lamar. The record sold well under a million.
He disdained drum solos. But was great at them. He played the songs. The grooves too, of course, but he knew, understood, MADE the songs. Used silence - kinda like Beethoven. Mike Flanigin reports that part of his audience came specifically to see Frosty. The Wranglers at Huts had the same thing goin on. Which made for quite a crowd, 'cause Tex had his fans too, as did Blondell, Junior Brown, Jimmy Day, Tomas Ramirez, Chris O'Connell.... but I digress. (This stuff is so far back in the past, did it even happen????)
When I asked Frosty what his real name was, he told me Barry, but the room was noisy and I thought he said Mary. And I occasionally called him Mary for many years, even though it felt dangerous.
Frosty probably had a classically tough childhood and was very strong. But reasonable. Actually my good buddies from that band are all that way, tough, brilliant musicians, poets, philosophers, and all were autodidacts. RC Banks as well.
A good friend and great audio engineer named Sullivan referred yesterday to "trying to deal with this chaos of no Frosty."
It feels as though the planet's axis is ruined.
"How do I look?"
"You look good!"
"Well then, ask me out!"
There was nothing that wasn't cool and/or astounding about him. Except maybe the amount of pain he was willing to endure without complaint. Astounding, that, but not really cool.
After one of the strokes, I visited him up at Seton NW. Frosty said "Not doing too bad -- having a little trouble with this left-right thing"
Frosty lived in the old trailer at my place for about 5 years. We had an understanding. We would stay out of each other's way, not intrude. Mostly, we accomplished this. Except for the exceptions. The well guys stumbled on a rattlesnake in the well-house. Ran away, said it was above their pay grade. Hmmm. I called Frost to come out and lend a hand (heh). He emerged from the trailer holding his cane (he had been suffering from gout) and a glok and hobbled over to the scene, about 30 yards from the trailer door. It was tricky, but he was able to shoot the snake 2 or 3 times without destroying the well apparatus. I chopped the head off with a hoe. The snake head.
Casey Monahan brought Uzbek percussionists up to meet Frosty (in Buda) in about 2002. A visit to the guru for them. They jammed a bit.
A fun rhythm section we had in the earlier Danglin Wrangler days was Frosty and Cowboy Dick (Dale Dennis) on bass. Dale had a cool almost pitchless thuddy/groovy tone and never rushed. Frosty of course liked to sit on the back side of the grooves, but he did not drag -- unless he meant to. He caught my eye one night, nodded in the direction of Cowboy Dick (who was possibly doing some nodding of his own, noticeably dragging -- it was okay, it was Sunday at Huts), and proceeded to steadily slow the tempo of the tune til it was down to a crawl. Tex turned around and said something like "What the hell$%^&*()??" All in good fun. Cowboy Dick woke up at some point. (We lost him for good back in the early aughts....)
On an ad music session at Tequila Mockingbird, we were working on some funky thing, and I asked Frost to "put that back beat just a bit behind, like you like to do it." He proceeded to show me the available catalogue of options for "just a bit behind." There were more than 3 options. More like 7 or 8. "You want it here?...thwack...or maybe here?....thud....or tighter, like.....?
He admired Clyde Stubblefield. I preferred him (Frosty). He did things with his right foot that seemed illegal. Fast eighth notes, perfect. Let's face it. He rocked. Even with gout.
I made a record for fun in about 1990, some kind of jazz and some kind of country stuff. I had AD Mannion, a dear friend and great jazz drummer, play the country stuff. (I could be cruel sometimes) And I asked Frosty to play the jazz. He said "You understand I am NOT a jazz drummer." There are several tracks with Frosty playing his brand of jazz, with Jon Blondell on upright, Tony Campise on tenor, and me on the crappy piano over at (now gone) Lone Star Recording, at 12th and Lamar. The record sold well under a million.
He disdained drum solos. But was great at them. He played the songs. The grooves too, of course, but he knew, understood, MADE the songs. Used silence - kinda like Beethoven. Mike Flanigin reports that part of his audience came specifically to see Frosty. The Wranglers at Huts had the same thing goin on. Which made for quite a crowd, 'cause Tex had his fans too, as did Blondell, Junior Brown, Jimmy Day, Tomas Ramirez, Chris O'Connell.... but I digress. (This stuff is so far back in the past, did it even happen????)
When I asked Frosty what his real name was, he told me Barry, but the room was noisy and I thought he said Mary. And I occasionally called him Mary for many years, even though it felt dangerous.
Frosty probably had a classically tough childhood and was very strong. But reasonable. Actually my good buddies from that band are all that way, tough, brilliant musicians, poets, philosophers, and all were autodidacts. RC Banks as well.
A good friend and great audio engineer named Sullivan referred yesterday to "trying to deal with this chaos of no Frosty."
It feels as though the planet's axis is ruined.
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Feelings....Nothing
....more than feelings. I sent a mentality to my staff, and they mostly responded with dove ocean. Oh, she and ick! I asked for a poem about dolphins and James Brown, and Abigail said "Who's James Brown?" I said he was sort of like Michael Jackson but, well...., no. Trying to forget my feelings of love. (That's the next line of lyric - more evidence that lyrics absolutely wither without melody). I feel good, just like I new that I wood. My rod, my staff, they prepare EST, a table, long before me.
Here's a story of a ping pong table. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cIIW0p7bJg
That was the missing link. I stumbled upon a classy ping pong table at the Outlet Mall. (Picture a large concrete drainage pipe with hungry zombies dancing.) ((My grandson asked me something....I thought he said, "Grandpa, how many zombies are there, actually?" - nun, nun, nun!)). (((The real answer is: All of 'em!)))
I would buy this elegant table for its symbolism. I played when I was a child. It was serious. The table was in a small room in the cousins' house. We were all pretty good, but I was the most competitive. Now, I learn one of the great lessons: how to lose with equanimity. Seems like an oxymoron. What's the score? Even? Odd! "I'm losing, and I'm okay cool with that. -- you there, go ahead and win; you can even win by a lot; you can even cheat! Cheater! Cheetahs never win, at ping pong. They can't hold the paddles properly.
Tears, running down my face in streams
Dripping off my chin and things,
Nothing more than things. You can live without them, and you must, if you can't transport them. They'll just have to stay where they are, until dis assembled.
Here's a story of a ping pong table. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cIIW0p7bJg
That was the missing link. I stumbled upon a classy ping pong table at the Outlet Mall. (Picture a large concrete drainage pipe with hungry zombies dancing.) ((My grandson asked me something....I thought he said, "Grandpa, how many zombies are there, actually?" - nun, nun, nun!)). (((The real answer is: All of 'em!)))
I would buy this elegant table for its symbolism. I played when I was a child. It was serious. The table was in a small room in the cousins' house. We were all pretty good, but I was the most competitive. Now, I learn one of the great lessons: how to lose with equanimity. Seems like an oxymoron. What's the score? Even? Odd! "I'm losing, and I'm okay cool with that. -- you there, go ahead and win; you can even win by a lot; you can even cheat! Cheater! Cheetahs never win, at ping pong. They can't hold the paddles properly.
Tears, running down my face in streams
Dripping off my chin and things,
Nothing more than things. You can live without them, and you must, if you can't transport them. They'll just have to stay where they are, until dis assembled.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
What can happen, does
What can happen happens? No, not always. Suns don't burn out. Oh...wait. Aliens don't invade Earth. Not yet. People keep falling in and out of love.
What is the King? Love? Death? Money? Intelligence? Spirit? Serenity?
All of it, and none. It's not a car, or a set of golf clubs, nor a negligee, nor a smart phone.
Of everything I mentioned, only one thing is deeply scary.
Smart phone.
What is the King? Love? Death? Money? Intelligence? Spirit? Serenity?
All of it, and none. It's not a car, or a set of golf clubs, nor a negligee, nor a smart phone.
Of everything I mentioned, only one thing is deeply scary.
Smart phone.
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Truth, Rage, and Me - Redux
The earlier "Truth, Rage, Me" came out in 2008. Ah, the good old days!
The main thing I want to report/change is that frozen dinners no longer appeal. At all.
Even if I was stuck on a small volcanic island (atoll). Which I kind of am. And I've kind of gotten in this habit of cooking balanced, healthy meals for myself. Usually about once a week. And the dogs and I sort of enjoy them. (We eat meat) And we are all just fine. We hold our own against the rats, the fleas, the roaches. (I'm Holding my Own was Leroy Parnell's big hit, and it's still pretty funny.)
Anyway back to the atoll. There is an ATM on the atoll and it dispenses obsidian and ash. I got a piece of ash there fairly recently. It was perfect. Perfect ash. Kind of hot. And I did get burned. But I'm used to it.
Crazy time now, really. I spend a few hours a day starkly sane and in pursuit of sanity. The rest of the time I either do or do not notice how physically crappy I feel and worry that I'm going to mess up somebody's day. No one really cares. Specially me. In a word, INsane. (not a word)
There was a band, man. A famous top hand. That hailed from down ol Texas way. Way......
In the last decade there was the idea of the Sweet Bunch of Daisies, the band, and then the dispersal.
I loved that project. Me and three astoundingly talented players of the violin in lots of styles, all of whom sang really really well and in lots of styles. There was a City Hall concert in 2009. Perhaps there is an archive. I have it somewhere.
It is past. I had Bell's Palsy in 2009. It mostly passed.
It was a painful and lengthy drooping. Like lava flowing out of that ATM on the atoll. On my face.
Droopy. It was not a stroke. Who needs a stroke anyway? Don't touch me! I might erupt.
The main thing I want to report/change is that frozen dinners no longer appeal. At all.
Even if I was stuck on a small volcanic island (atoll). Which I kind of am. And I've kind of gotten in this habit of cooking balanced, healthy meals for myself. Usually about once a week. And the dogs and I sort of enjoy them. (We eat meat) And we are all just fine. We hold our own against the rats, the fleas, the roaches. (I'm Holding my Own was Leroy Parnell's big hit, and it's still pretty funny.)
Anyway back to the atoll. There is an ATM on the atoll and it dispenses obsidian and ash. I got a piece of ash there fairly recently. It was perfect. Perfect ash. Kind of hot. And I did get burned. But I'm used to it.
Crazy time now, really. I spend a few hours a day starkly sane and in pursuit of sanity. The rest of the time I either do or do not notice how physically crappy I feel and worry that I'm going to mess up somebody's day. No one really cares. Specially me. In a word, INsane. (not a word)
There was a band, man. A famous top hand. That hailed from down ol Texas way. Way......
In the last decade there was the idea of the Sweet Bunch of Daisies, the band, and then the dispersal.
I loved that project. Me and three astoundingly talented players of the violin in lots of styles, all of whom sang really really well and in lots of styles. There was a City Hall concert in 2009. Perhaps there is an archive. I have it somewhere.
It is past. I had Bell's Palsy in 2009. It mostly passed.
It was a painful and lengthy drooping. Like lava flowing out of that ATM on the atoll. On my face.
Droopy. It was not a stroke. Who needs a stroke anyway? Don't touch me! I might erupt.
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