Great moments in music today at Guero's. Great dust and wind, grooves and songs. Applause. Guest band, The Fire Ants, were awesome, expecially, well, all of 'em but the keybord looked nine and had quite a right hand. Somthin happend to his left. He mostly rested it.
Erik sang a T Texas Tyler tune, Leah play Nuages and it was a very long cloud, but pleasant. Many folks were there: Greyhound, Obermeyer, Myra Spector, the ring girl from the Cont. Lounge, special friends of special friends.
Tomorrow I will slide outta bed, shower, shave, make a CD of new BOB S material to learn by 3 as I fly around central TX seeing waht might have happened to Ringo. I picture him behind bars or dead. No tags, on the street, lotsa traffic, so splat.
WE MISs HIM. Again our home is discombobulated. The pack has turned neurotic, depressed, dysfunction reigns.
That means the prevailing attitude is "The heck with the word, There gonna turn us into sweaters for cats any day now.
They never liked me anyway. (thinks Oscar)
Sad sad sad, bab bababba. Sad Sad bababababababa. I want my baby, Ringo, with the healed pelvis and the whiny aspects too.
Come back to me my Ringo, you really make me singo. You dingo.
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