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.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
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.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Prodigal
Having been prodded, I am now prodigal.
The last entry was in July 2015. I am rusty. It was hot in this hemisphere. I was not. I was incredibly stupid (i will not explain this). What's different now is that I got worse and worse until just a few months ago, when an enforced stint behind bars jolted me into a bit of better information and an open mind.
So, I am moved to show you this open mind. Pieces of its grey matter -- dark matter. Don't matter.
For one thing, the purported best bestest most awesomest time in my life- the early 90s - sure had its nice qualities. For example, I pretended to believe in God and be His humble servant. I even think I bought my own BS on that (though I drank no KoolAid). I got to hang with some really awesome humans: my former wife, my younger 3 children. Even had actual friends (by this I mean humans other than musicians with whom I conversed and ate food occasionally -- other stuff too: I successfully sold them on my BS. Maybe. Of no consequence really....)
You know that old saw "Keep it Simple!" ? Stupid? Yes. Because it's NOT simple. I like (really do) "My son, look for God within you." But, dad, ego is in there. Is Ego God? "No, look again."
Then everyone fell asleep,
and a great cloud swept over them and
deposited nickels on their eyes
and their heads were each worth
ten cents! adjusted for inflation.
The early 90s were not that great for some folks.
The last entry was in July 2015. I am rusty. It was hot in this hemisphere. I was not. I was incredibly stupid (i will not explain this). What's different now is that I got worse and worse until just a few months ago, when an enforced stint behind bars jolted me into a bit of better information and an open mind.
So, I am moved to show you this open mind. Pieces of its grey matter -- dark matter. Don't matter.
For one thing, the purported best bestest most awesomest time in my life- the early 90s - sure had its nice qualities. For example, I pretended to believe in God and be His humble servant. I even think I bought my own BS on that (though I drank no KoolAid). I got to hang with some really awesome humans: my former wife, my younger 3 children. Even had actual friends (by this I mean humans other than musicians with whom I conversed and ate food occasionally -- other stuff too: I successfully sold them on my BS. Maybe. Of no consequence really....)
You know that old saw "Keep it Simple!" ? Stupid? Yes. Because it's NOT simple. I like (really do) "My son, look for God within you." But, dad, ego is in there. Is Ego God? "No, look again."
Then everyone fell asleep,
and a great cloud swept over them and
deposited nickels on their eyes
and their heads were each worth
ten cents! adjusted for inflation.
The early 90s were not that great for some folks.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
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….."
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….."
Sunday, April 19, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Passwords
Please enter you Reader Username and Password before proceeding.
Thank you.
Now type the encrypted message: #$%^)(*&^%$#%^&*(*&^%$%^&*()
Thank you.
You know, I respect the crap out of you, but I have to protect my sacred personal information from hackers, ex-wives, drug dealers and the government.
Oh, wait… the government can get in just fine.
Good old government.
I actually love you all. I have nothing to hide from anybody. Do you hear???
In any case, we ALL are ONE. What, haven't taken LSD? Trust me, we're all one.
Privacy is highly overrated.
I'm old. It took me about 3 hours today to circumvent my privacy protection merely to purchase a new telephone. Of course, many of the basic functions of the phone are neutered by my failure to recall a mere 5 or 97 passwords.
Thank God my sacred data is inaccessible.
To everyone.
I had issues with my data.
Thank you.
Now type the encrypted message: #$%^)(*&^%$#%^&*(*&^%$%^&*()
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.
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