A Bleak Series?

Closing out 2022. Fuck. It was a bear of a year. No doubt. I saw a few folks out on the hustings yesterday, folks I haven't seen in quite awhile. They all looked a bit rumpled, ragged, beat. I am sure I looked the same to them. Is it possible 2022 aged us, you know, more than just one year, maybe like a bleak series of years?

Maybe.

The last few years have been a bit of an ordeal for all of us. Typing now, there is a flash of victory: Survived. Maybe that's enough. Still conscious. Still walking around. Still dreaming. There is possibility in that. 

Out of Tune, Back in Tune...

Sometimes things don't work out. As Henry Rollins once sang: "Sometimes happens all the time." You know, you get locked into a loop of failure. Suddenly you are out of tune with the Universe. All wrong notes, lots of dissonance, flirting with chaos at every turn. I'm not thinking of apocalyptic failures, just an accumulation of little fuckups, a mole-hill of fuckups. There really is only one way forward. Take a deep breath, still your warring mind, and decide to take one tentative step at a time. Pay attention to all the little details. Do one thing at a time. Logistics suddenly becomes super-important. You can re-tune yourself. Tune in to the true. Even in the middle of the madness, it helps to remember that nothing lasts. The next moment could be gold.

The Schlepper's Way...

Schleppers got to schlep. That is the schlepper's way. No sense in resisting, that just saps your energy. Carry the load, do it gladly, no questions asked.

You will be rewarded. After a day of constant, willy-nilly, here and there schlepping, sleep comes easier. You may not feel satisfied, or gratified, but maybe a little cleansing emptiness opens in the core of your weary being. There is a glimmer of light in that emptiness.

Last night, in deep sleep, it was Nick Cave's voice rising from the void, swirling in my head, probably as a consequence of my current, very fruitful and rewarding obsession with all things Nick Cave & Warren Ellis and the Bad Seeds too.

"It's only Love, with a little bit of rain."  

That is a great, resonant line for a long-time, dedicated Schlepper. Think of yourself navigating a landscape of love with a gentle sprinkling of rain. Sure. Why not? Thanks Nick...

Ode to the Dread...

I must admit yesterday I was filled to the brim with dread. It was a complex dread mixed with a dash of optimism, after having re-emerged healthy, after a bounce-back bout with covid, (Paxlovid is a life-saver, but also can lead to a rebound-case),  I was "negative" yesterday, which is "positive," and health-wise, body-wise, I was feeling pretty damn good. Except for the cloud of dread.  

Why the dread? I had a gig (booked months ago), with my long-time "most dangerously under-rehearsed band" in the USA. The last time I had a r&r gig I got sick with covid, and the sickness and return to health was a bumpy ride. So the thought of going into a small saloon with a crowd seemed daunting and maybe kind of stupid. But, lots of people were counting on me. I may not be the greatest guitar player in the land, but my band can't make it without me. Really, no one else knows my parts. They would be DOA. I helped put the bill together, so if I opted out, not only would I be disappointing all my bandmates, but also the solo opener, and the closing band too. All wonderful musicians and superior, classy human beings. If I cancelled, I'd be killing the gig.

So, with gritted teeth, mouth and nose covered by a mask and a bandana, I made the gig. Small, comfy room, nice crowd. There were only two of us wearing masks, me and the girl behind the bar serving up drinks. I was a bit nervous, jumpy, but, of course, playing r&r is one of my loves. 

How did it go? It was magnificent. We were under-rehearsed, and for some reason that made everything fresh, and dangerous, and our ragged, jagged set rolled out beautifully. I was playing thru one of the house amps, a vintage Fender Deluxe, they really don't make them like that any more, and my Telecaster never sounded better. Wearing the masks kind of freed me, and focused me. Plus, for this gig I decided to wear glasses, something I never do. I think I looked like an old, weathered, desiccated, brought back from the dead Buddy Holly, big fat black glasses. R&R nerdy. The revelation? With glasses on I could actually see my fret-board and the set-list. Clarity. Clear-consciousness. 

Anyway. It was exhilarating to do the show. All my dread evaporated into the frozen night. "Hey, hey, my, my, rock and roll can never die…"  - Neil Young.  Exactly! You know, "rust never sleeps," damn the rust!

Angels Amongst Us...

Thinking about Angels. I haven't seen any of those classic, old-fashioned ones, the ones with wings that we all think of when we think the word "Angel," you know the ones hovering over and around Human Beings as depicted in Wim Wender's "Wings of Desire," which was admittedly inspired by the poems of Rainer Maria Wilke. 

I do love that Angel imagery. "Wouldn't it be nice?" I think Angels reflect our better Angels. If we could imagine the best of a human being, we'd come up with something like an Angel. Not overly emotional. Silent much of time. Observant. Kind. Graceful. Seemingly carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, but lightly, even sort of fashionably.  That weight gives them gravity, but, of course, they can defy gravity. We hope they are living amongst us. We imagine them. We imagine ourselves, and others being that good, beautiful, resilient, quietly powerful.

My thought, yes, of course, Angels really are living amongst us. They are rare. But the do exist. Just like us. The wings are metaphorical. You can't see them, only imagine them, or if you squint really, really hard you can make out a hint of a feather, the invisible outline of a wing. My Angel is the Human Being kind, living far away, in a much different land. A Soul Friend (Anam Cara), someone who would order up a pizza and have it delivered to your door when she realized you were sick, down & out, and grappling with forces beyond your control. Someone who always has a kind word for your weary ears. Someone who has endured her own hardships with grace, and an unbearable lightness of being.

Yesterday, this Angel commented on yesterday's post. She reminded me that Mother Nature (Gaia), can also be difficult. She is a hard Mother. It's true. Mother Nature, she gives us everything, and snatches it away too. Life/Death, Spring/Winter. The Rising/The Falling. Human Beings have a Love/Hate relationship with Nature. No doubt. Sickness, disease, nasty viral creatures are all part of Nature. 

It's complicated. Sometimes it takes an Angel to remind you that there is more to the story, without lording it over you. Just a bit of wisdom sent your way on wings of kindness.

For the Butter...

My friend and I chatted over the phone yesterday. A long, rambling conversation about many things. At one point, she asked me, but more in an asking the wind kind of way:

"How did Human Beings get so disconnected from Nature?"

This is one of our great, never-ending, sort of maddening, and kind of numbing, dead-end conversations. We are both deeply concerned, and worried sick over our Species relentless destruction of our interconnected, life-supporting, Web of Life, and although we try to limit our carbon foot-prints, we are vegetarians, we recycle, we compost, we don't own a car, we rarely ever fly in an airplane, we try our best to avoid plastics of all kinds, we have a garden, we commune with trees, we write and sing songs about Gaia, we know deeply in our hearts and minds that it's not enough, not even drops in an ocean, adding up to absolutely nothing in the bigger picture. Still, we do our best to be responsible, sensible, caretakers; Citizens of Planet Earth. We can't imagine any other way. And we hope beyond hope that maybe somehow, magically, our good practices multiply across the globe. One of my go-to quotes: "A change of consciousness can happen in an instant."

Still, there's that question: "Why?" 

We are Children of Mother Nature. We live and survive by the good graces and bounty of beautiful Gaia. Why are we so intent on disrespecting her, and destroying her?

Yesterday, my short off the cuff answer? THE ONE TRUE GOD: "Money."  Can it really be that simple? We all only really honor one God on Planet Earth: Money in it's various guises. Seems too simple an answer, but, you know, it has the hard ring of cold truth.

And then I quoted Black Philip (the Devil figure?), in that great, creepy Robert Eggers movie "The Witch." (2015)

Black Philip: "Wouldst thou like the taste of butter? A pretty dress? Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?"

Yes. Of course. We all love the taste of butter. We do want to live deliciously. What will we not do to live deliciously?

Open to the Real...

Not down. Just tuned in, and open, to the real this morning. 

Today we pretend it's Jesus' birthday.

Jesus was born poor, and died, poor.*

Also, thinking...

Rust Never Sleeps.

Things fall apart.

Entropy rules the roost.

The center sometimes will not hold.

Everything is moving.

You make plans, but no one is listening.

Best to go minute to minute.

The a.m soundtrack - No music this morning, my head is overloaded with my swirling, hurly-burly, thoughts about the "historical" Jesus.  *Yes, he was poor, and a good friend to the poor. He was a child of refugees. He was a working man. He lived in a commune with other men. He spent most of  his time with fishermen, lepers, liars, criminals and prostitutes. He was not a friend to rich folk, or to church folk. He fed the poor and needy. Jesus was fond of a free lunch: fishes and loaves for everyone.  He liked a good party: he turned water into wine. He was basically a socialist, sort of a hippie. Jesus was a Jew. Money was not his thing. He preached Love & forgiveness, and "turning the other cheek." Maybe he had a bit of a Messiah Complex? No one is perfect. He paid dearly for being who he was. He kind of summed up the Human Being dilemma/conundrum: "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."  Aye. There's the rub.

The Narrative Stage...

Narrative. As soon as we get to the narrative stage, which happens in a blink of an eye, we are telling the story of our lives. All those sense perceptions we are given by our senses five, are translated into interlocking threads of a story.  

"I saw this, I said that, this happened, and then that happened and well, I was never the same again." 

Events. Great and small. Tiny, epic. When it happens directly to you, it feels important. Primal. Essential. Bad shit, good shit. You take it all in, and deal with the deal. What can we endure? What we can.

Rewritten on the Wind...

Well, you make plans, but they can vanish in an instant. Best to be ready to improvise at the drop of a hat. Life really is a long-form improvisation. Whatever you have in your mind, you must be willing to morph, to change, to evolve, to back-track, re-think, re-formulate, come up with a new plan, which of course, may also need to be rewritten on the wind.

Tired but True...

My mind is swimming in tired phrases this morning. Tired, but maybe true?

The calm before the storm.

That was then, this is now.

The end is near.

Whatever happens, happens.

No one knows nothing.

Liars gonna lie.

We don't see things are they are, we see things as we are.

Fuck it, damn the torpedoes!

Fool's Game...

A fundamental problem with our discourse...

It is so easy to float a lie. It takes work (time+energy+curiosity+logic+commonsense), to debunk it. 

This explains so much of the confusion and idiocy in our political/cultural/social air-stream. Idiots floating big lies that sit out there like enormous blimps on the horizon. The bigger the lie, the more work required to take it apart. Also, of course, the big lie is often seductive, it's the falsity that some people desperately want to believe in. An intrepid truth-seeker has to take the time to sift thru the evidence, discover the facts, and shoot holes in that blimp until it finally comes crashing down in flames. And often the truth is messy, complicated, inconvenient, hard. By the time a full debunking happens, many folks have already swallowed and digested the lie, and have moved on to the next idiocy. It is not an easy thing to change a made-up mind. Sometimes it is pretty damn-near impossible, like arguing with a very dense boulder. I mean, arguing with an Idiot who thinks they know what's what, that is a fucking fool's game right there.

The USA vs. Donald J. Trump - Facing the Music...

The January 6th Committee delivered their report yesterday. A pretty comprehensive overview of what happened on that terrible day. You know, basically confirming what we all know. At least those of us who have been paying attention. But, you know, even the ones who want to pretend that it didn't happen, know what happened. They are just burying their heads in the sand. Trying to "gaslight" the rest of us.

Jan. 6 Committee's Elaine Luria: "In summary: President Trump lit the flame, poured gasoline on the fire, and sat by in the White House dining room for hours, watching the fire burn. And today he continues to fan those flames. This was an extreme dereliction of his duty."

Criminal Referrals from the Select Committee:

The 1/6 committee refers Trump and his Henchmen to the DoJ for

• 18 USC 15129c)(2): obstruction of the vote certification
• 18 USC 371: conspiracy to defraud the US in the form of obstructing the certification of the election
• 18 USC 371 and 18 USC 1001: conspiracy to present false statements — in the form of fake elector certifications — to the National Archives
• 18 USC 2383: inciting, assisting, or aiding an insurrection

Why did Trump unleash the MAGA hordes on the Capitol? Maybe as simple as this:

Former President Trump told his then-chief of staff “this is embarrassing,” and “I don’t want people to know that we lost.” 

What a fucking narcissistic Cry-Baby. Trump just couldn't stomach the reality that he lost fair and square to Joe Biden. So pathetic. The Cry-Baby was willing to burn down the Constitution, trash our Democracy, just because he was embarrassed. Yikes. It's time for the DOJ to charge this very sick, deluded and corrupt human being for crimes against U.S. Democracy. Let it come down!

Idiot Tales...

So much of our lives, quoting Will the Great, are Idiot tales of "sound and fury signifying nothing." We must navigate the waves; gravitate to the silence, seek the quiet spaces in between, eyes peeled for the something in the nothing.

That was Then, This is Now

Finally, totally, completely post-Covid. It's feels marvelous. Can it be by getting sick, having your immune system kick and in do it's work, the sickness finally runs it's course, you suddenly revive and feel better than ever? Sort of like a Lazarus  thing? Dead  >  Living. I was blind now I see. I was lost now I'm found. I was sick and now I'm ready to fly. Ha. Sure. Why not?

Bono on My Mind...

I finished the Bono book, "Surrender," and it left me in my own little existential crisis. I was thinking of writing about the book, and my reaction to it, for a few days after putting it down, but I hesitated. I thought, "Do I really want to knock the book, or judge the man?" I mean, I think I like, and admire this guy; I absolutely love much of his work with U2, and I applaud his work as an activist for human rights, the poor, and those with AIDS. But at the same time, I find Bono and his pumped-up, blimp-like personality a bit repellent. Really the title should be "No Surrender." This fiery little Irish man is unrelenting in his ambition and quest to conquer the world.

His unbound, untethered, always pushing forward ambition is quite off-putting. Think of the shark in Spielberg's movie. It may be that Bono's constantly striving for more, his rarely ever being satisfied, may have been a big reason U2 became a monster success, and also propelled Bono into the corridors of power around the world, but I find myself turned off by his glad-handing, over-driven, bible-verse-quoting, pumped up Evangelist, and knock down every last door Salesman. I couldn't help asking myself: "Who the fuck does this guy think he is?" Even if his intentions are good, (and they usually are), his over-heated methods leave me cold. Bono is a world champion name-dropper. He has rubbed shoulders with pretty much everyone. You get the sense he is always measuring himself against the famous figures he meets. Not pretty, a total turn-off.

Turns out the answer of who he thinks he is, was revealed in a session with a hypnotist. Bono has a huge, life-long crush on Jesus. In fact, it's obvious Bono has his own, self-admitted Messiah Complex. The way Bono tells it, Jesus is his special "best friend." I think it's clear Bono thinks he and Jesus ARE EQUALS!  Ha. Ha. Ha.

So funny. Dig deep enough into the molten core of Bono's psyche, and you find the inconsolable pain of losing his Ma at young age, and the unremitting rage in his life-time war with his Da. They drive his audacity and his risk-taking. He is fundamentally a melodic, raging, holy fool. A blessing and a curse.

So, yes, artistically, musically, poetically, Bono's drive has paid off big time. There is just an after-taste of distaste when you observe how he sees himself, and how he leverages (often admirably),  his fame & celebrity, the Full-Metal-Jacket Bono, propelling & promoting himself, and his causes, out into the wider world. Bono is no hypocrite. He does put his energy and his $ and cultural capital where his mouth is, he just can't stop himself from over-flowing, relentlessly.  A river runs thru him.

These songs titles from other artists popped into my head while I was reading the Gospel According to Bono: "I Want to Be Adored," (Stone Roses), "It's All Too Much" (The Beatles), "Everyone Wants to Rule the World," (Tears for Fears), "Amazing Journey" (The Who), "Who are You" (The Who), "Mr. Big Stuff" (Jean Knight).

Luckily. I can separate this man from his work. My conflicted feelings about the man, do not put me off from U2's best work: "The Joshua Tree," "Unforgettable Fire," "War," "Achtung, Baby," "Zooropa," "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb," "All that You Can't Leave Behind.," "No Line on the Horizon." A pretty damn amazing discography.  Some of the finest music ever recorded. No doubt. I still often, even obsessively, spin these discs, and I do enjoy them immensely. A fucking great band. Bono is lucky (he admits it), to be making music with Edge, Larry Mullen Jr. and Adam Clayton. It's the sum of the parts that creates the bigger magic. U2. Yes. Quite the journey & story. But for me, the best of U2 is to be found in the grooves, not in Bono's wooly, never to be satisfied mind.

Easily Over-Look...

You know we look for that burning bush, that lightening bolt from the sky, the moment where our head is split open-wide and the Universe reveals itself to us in all it's fiery, powerful, illuminating meaning & glory.

But, you know, I think we easily over-look, the glittering speck, the brilliant cloud, the enveloping fog, the tiny glint, the homely mud & stone of insight. Moments of illumination so insubstantial, ephemeral, transitory, infinitesimal, that we don't even notice them, or if we do notice, we don't realize what just happened. A dream, was that a dream I had? What was that flashing, sparkling, little thing in the corner of my eye?

The a.m. soundtrack - Captain Beefhart's "Mirror Man" (1971). One the great American odd-balls. Captain Beefhart pushing the envelope. These are long bluesy jams. Beefhart sounds like a scattered Howling Wolf to my ears. A bit more avant-garde arty version of the Wolf. Pretty cool shit. Not easy listening. Noisy. A bit dissonant. Spiky. Elemental. Raw. Mud and stone of insight, indeed.

Swimming Towards Health, Thoughts on Bullies...

One upside dealing with a nasty virus?

More time unplugging. Reading. Listening to music. Thinking. My body is a battlefield, my immune system is busy gathering forces to knock out the intruding virus culprits. Wading thru waves of congestion. Finally, this morning, I feel like I am emerging from a black cloud, or a dark wave. My energy ebbs and flows. This morning a bit of a surge of energy, and that seems incredibly positive.

Swimming towards health.

In the middle of it all, I disconnected from the wider conversation. Too much energy to engage with the madness swirling in our culture. Taking care of business seems to be the business I want to be in.

Still I came across this quote from Brianna Wu, it seems so smart and on-target:

"That’s this era of politics. Grievance wallowing. We all do it. But the billionaires, and the shitty comedians, and the Nazis and the men who genuinely think they are too smart to be sexist are drowning in it." - Brianna Wu

Yes. A scourge in our public square. Loud-mouth bullies, armed with $ and the glare of celebrity and notoriety.  Bullies. Punching down on women, people "of color," LGBTQ+, etc.

Funny thing about bullies, at heart they are total cowards. They have to win all the time. Once they "lose" the game is up. Bullies have to pretend to be all-powerful, they can never lose, it's all a big lie and a bluff. My very personal experience: one lucky punch, one bloody nose, and those bullies will scatter, clam up, and never bother you again. I don't think it has to be a literal punch in the nose. Calling out their cowardice, laughing at their foolishness. There are many ways to escort the bullies out the door.

The Vibes...

 String-Theory - "String theory is the idea in theoretical physics that reality is made up of infinitesimal vibrating strings, smaller than atoms, electrons or quarks. According to this theory, as the strings vibrate, twist and fold, they produce effects in many, tiny dimensions that humans interpret as everything from particle physics to large-scale phenomena like gravity."

Maybe not surprising Human Beings love music. Maybe Pete Townsend's rock opera "Tommy" ("But what it's really all about is the fact that ... he's seeing things basically as vibrations which we translate as music."), was right about the vibe thing? I mean, science and spirit tells us it's all about "the vibes." Everything in the Universe is vibrating. The Universe is one massive vibrating instrument. We are all notes and tones and vibrations. Some days we ring out with melodic joy and wonder, some days, it's all cacophony. But, you know, it's all vibes, baby!

Energy Ebbs & Flows...

Energy ebbs and flows. An invading energy enters, it's like a tornado inside. Once the storm passes, everything is rearranged, you must pick up the pieces, put everything back together. 

The Universe consists of a multitude of energies in a multiplicity of manifestations. As the great visionary poet William Blake said in "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell," - "Energy is Eternal Delight."

A simply profound line from one our great artist/poets. So, yes, all is energy, and energy is eternal delight. The Universe = Delight. Even in the sickness, the darkness, the wreckage, the refuse, the tumult and hurly-burly, there is a mad delight. We are just one manifestation among multitudes. We are the Marriage between Heaven and Hell.  We contain the sun & moon, the light, the dark, and all in-between.

It is sort of a mystical idea. But one shared by our greatest genius scientist too: 

“Everything is energy and that’s all there is to it. Match the frequency of the reality you want, and you cannot help but get that reality. It can be no other way. This is not philosophy. This is physics.” — Albert Einstein

The Marriage Between Art & Science, Poetry & Physics.

Kicks, Licks, Ticks...

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."*- Friedrich Nietzsche 

*This would be in line with the Conan the Barbarian approach to life. But, maybe it's worth pointing out  that poor Friedrich had a mental breakdown at age 44 and died at age 55. He liked to write about the over-heated concept of the "Super-Man," but it turns out he was a sensitive, frail, and vulnerable human being just like the rest of us.

"Friedrich Nietzsche's disease consisted of migraine, psychiatric disturbances, cognitive decline with dementia, and stroke. Despite the prevalent opinion that neurosyphilis caused Nietzsche's illness, there is lack of evidence to support this diagnosis. Cerebral autosomal dominant arteriopathy with subcortical infarcts and leukoencephalopathy (CADASIL) accounts for all the signs and symptoms of Nietzsche's illness."

At the same time, I do think we Human Beings are all quite remarkably resilient. And I take Friedrich's line as a supreme affirmation of our spirit of resilience. Maybe it's a bit of a bluff, but maybe its a useful one too? It is amazing how Human Beings carry on from life-altering illness, trauma, tragedy, maiming, losing limbs and other body parts, etc.  The will to carry on and to live is strong in our species.

"What doesn’t kill you just makes you crazier..." - Nick Cave

Yes. This rings true to me. We are all on a crazy-making journey, and everything that happens makes us crazy in our own unique and special ways. So, yes, everything that happens to us, happens to us, and that helps determine who we are; not only by what happens to us, but how, and if, we deal with it all. Like they tell us, it's all a test of character.

We all become character actors at some point in our lives.

I tested Covid-Negative today. It does seem like some kind of victory. Just to survive. My body and my mind took in, and took on, that nasty virus, and it seems to have run it's course, and like that old Timex commercial so memorably put it, I am another entity that can gladly claim: "Takes a licking keeps on ticking!"  Whew!

Alien Invasion...

A viral infection like an alien invasion. A live virus settling in a new living host. The host becomes something different. We call that sickness. You read - "Viruses: their extraordinary role in shaping Human Evolution." You wonder will that virus change me at some fundamental level?

"Around half of the human genome is made up of millions of DNA sequences that can be traced back to long-dead viruses or similar ‘jumping genes’, known collectively as transposable elements or transposons."

I think of Jeff Goldblum in "The Fly." There is something so primally creepy about the idea of a foreign viral code, making something new of a Human Body. Maybe primally creepy because it's true. What we are today has been shaped by viral invasions over millions of years. We become beings, a bit strange, and oddly funny too. "What is this strange thing I'm becoming?"

On my lips this morning: "I was sick, but now I will be well."  I'm pretty sure you can't will yourself to  wellness, but maybe that kind of thinking is a good mind-set to have in your kit-bag. I am willing a future that is not here yet. I guess that's another way saying I am harboring a nasty virus and a primal hope. We can go many ways in this primal game. 

Avenging Angel of Sickness...

Is it "ironic" or just an instance of supreme bad luck? 

Doing the thing we love to do most in the world, hosting (a week ago), a r&r show, playing music for a roomful of enthusiastic people, has resulted in an unwanted visit from the Avenging Angel of Sickness. She has invaded our bodies and our home. Yes, that nasty virus that has been navigating the globe, has finally found us. Luckily, both of us, my companion and I, have been vaxxed and triple-boosted. We were originally quite militant, and always, usually, relatively, quite careful over the last few years, but maybe, obviously, we were just not careful enough; we let our masks down at the wrong place, wrong time.  Sickness was in the room with us that night. Unaware, guard-down, we failed to dodge that pesky, troubling, little viral beast.

The Avenging Angel pronounces: "You once felt like that, you will now feel like this!" Sicker than a dog. Sicker than a very sick dog. Yes. Quite the state of sickness. Word of advice: If you can avoid this thing, you should. Pretty sure I feel as sick as I've ever felt. I flashed on being a Freshman in High School with walking pneumonia. That was a difficult time in my life. This morning: Difficult Time Redux.

The good news? 

I think we will live. At least, the signs are encouraging. We are taking all the CDC recommended remedies. We know that many, many people around the world, and those close to home too, have had a much worse time with this thing. The virus has unleashed death, destruction and lingering sickness worldwide. Maybe this recent strain is a bit milder? Maybe all that vaxxing, and boosting helped fortify our bodies with the anti-bodies necessary to put up a fight, preventing the virus from being totally deadly to it's current hosts? The jury is still out. We shall see. Hanging in. There are glimmers of light, thoughts of renewing and refreshing are dancing out there on the horizon. In the meantime, every free and easy breath now counts as a win. The breaths are coming fairly free and easy now, which is a major relief. "They" tell us that in every trauma  there is a lesson.  Today's lesson? Breathing is good!

Brave & Determined? Stupid & Risky?

"Take the Bull by the Horns."

Why was this phrase in my head last night? I don't rightly know.

It seems like a stupid and risky thing to do. I mean, if you were thinking of literally doing it, taking a bull by the horns. A bull, a wild animal, much bigger and stronger, than a human being. Would a smart person really put themselves directly in harm's way? The Cambridge Dictionary tells us it means "doing something in a brave and determined way." One person's "brave and determined" is another's "stupid and risky."  I mean, I guess it really would depend on how it all turned out. You know, after the dust settled? Would the bull and the human find peace? Or would there be blood?

Action > Reaction = Consequence.

Of course, this idea is not just a literal idea, it's metaphorical. Directly tackling a big problem or obstacle or nemesis. Isn't it obvious that the consequences of the action reflect on how we'd describe the action?

A peaceful standoff? Permanently maimed? Trampled underfoot?  Iffy...

Fail Better...

"Try again. Fail again. Fail better." - Samuel Beckett

Improvise!

Improvise! Life is long-form improvisation. There are challenges, obstacles, dead-ends, rabbit-holes. There is a vast landscape which we need to navigate. There is the sea of possibilities. Yes. Indeed. We have to deal with what we have to deal with.

Calm, Clear-Eyed, Cool...

I have to say that much of our current cultural/political/social conversation actually makes me feel better about myself. There is so much stupidity and idiocy running rampant in the human herd; the river of knuckle-headed-ness is over-flowing. I can't help but feel relatively intelligent, level-headed, common-sensical, rational; fortified with a clear head and two feet solidly planted on the ground. It almost seems like a new militant, radical stance: Calm, Clear-Eyed, Level-Headed, Cool...

A Really Bad Idea...

A really Bad Idea...

"Terminating the Constitution?"

Yeah. No. A Really Bad Idea. I mean, I know there is a whiny little baby-man, a multi-times loser screaming and ranting and throwing a tantrum at his garish, glitzy, no-class, faux-castle in Florida. He's typing with his greasy, fat fingers into his smart-phone, typing really stupid, dumb, crazy-ass shit.

It's not funny. Not smart. You know, it's gruesome, ranting, baby-stuff. There will be no constitution terminating any time soon. Even though there are thugs and lugs who would gladly try to make it happen.

That Cry-Baby Dude is pretty scared. The walls are closing in. Think of that time when Macbeth watched Burnham Wood marching forward. Those bad faith lawyers hired to save baby-man's fat ass have basically "shot their wads" into the void of pointlessness. We are getting closer to The Reckoning. I mean, really. Finally?! Maybe!?

Common Sense this A.m.

Yes. It is amazing, and a bit sad that this has to be floated into the conversation. You would think President Joe is just stating the obvious, and we could all agree best to get past that "demonic figure," but the political/cultural dialogue America in 2022 is a bit twisted, strange and retrograde.

I whole-heartedly & enthusiastically endorse this tweet from Joe...

 

Running Free...

I am paid good $ to spend an inordinate amount of my time with dogs. It's not a bad way to make a buck. Sometimes too, less time with Humans seems to be good for the heart, the head, the soul. These little furry beasts are some of my best, most enthusiastic and happy of friends. I do think sometimes I get a bit feral & rambunctious, when I match to the energy emanating from the canine beasts I hang out with. "If dogs run free, why not me..." - B. Dylan.  Yeah. Why not me?

Toxic Males...

I am usually an early morning writer, today, stuck in an undisclosed location with bad, low-tech in the a.m. I finally came up for air this afternoon.

The phrase kicking around in my head today: Toxic Aggressive Masculinity. It is celebrated and monetized in this wide-ranging, anything goes, dystopia. Being confined to the football field, or the wrestling ring, it sort of makes sense. 

But being a Loud, No-Nothing, Freakishly-Aggressive Male in the mainstream cultural air-stream seems quite ugly and misplaced. Don't need to mention names. You know the assholes I am thinking about. Throw in enough $, give them a tv show, record contract, or podcast, hitch them to a political movement, and, well, fascism, lawlessness, general mayhem, chaos, and disorder seems imminent. There are folks, clearly, unwell people, I mean folks with seriously toxic, defective, sadly-poisoned minds, who are getting way too much attention for saying really, really, stupid corrosive, soul-killing, shit. Gob-smackingly bad.

Cooler heads. Clearer minds. 

Our nation, and our culture, turns its lonely hearts, eyes, and ears to you.

Bees, Ants, & Me...

Projecting. 

Can we imagine ourselves as a "busy bee?" A "devoted ant?" You know just a little being doing its thing? Unaware of the grander theme, just living life in the moment. A dedicated purpose: build the hive, create the colony, support the Queen. No ego. No doubts. No worries. Knowing that we are just one little being in the great sea of beings. One of a generation that will give way to the next generation and the one after that too. Can we simplify and live like that? Is it possible to get our heads around that? Living a simple life, part of a fabulous, wide-ranging, fabric of being. 

OK. Maybe that doesn't sound all that ambitious. As that song tells us "Everyone wants to rule the world," but what if you don't? What if you choose not to want what everyone wants? What if you realize that the  dream of ruling over others is a grand illusion? No sense in living a life with delusions of grandeur. 

Ok. Maybe this kind of simplistic, simplified, thinking is impossible for Human Beings. We have big brains straining to do more. We believe, and maybe we do have a higher function kind of brain. Our consciousness, our minds are filled with ghosts, chimeras, shimmering visions, nightmares, guilt, worry, doubt, elaborate dreams, silly delusions, crazy-ass plans. We conjure up friends, enemies, grand narratives of success and failure. And we just don't know what to do.  How do we apply ourselves? We often ask: "What's it all about?" "What is the meaning of life?" "What is my purpose?"

This morning, I am thinking the trick is to find your inner busy bee, your latent devoted ant. Pick simple tasks, maybe even mundane tasks, find a simple job, or series of jobs, and do them, to the max. Surrender to the moment. Damn the torpedoes.  

The a.m. soundtrack - The Smith's "Strangeways, Here We Come."  (1987). Are The Smiths the greatest band ever? Maybe. Is this their best album? Maybe. It sounds amazing this morning. Recorded beautifully. Lush, full, shimmering, intelligent, graceful, catchy, funny, powerful. A band at the peak of its form. I am of the mind that every Smith records is great. All the studio albums, the singles, the live tracks. Just tremendous work. Great r&r music. No false moves. This was their last studio album as a band. A fabulous statement. Thrilling. Beautiful. Rousing. One of the best from one of the best.

Break & Fix!

It turns out I am easy to break, and easy to fix too. 

I would not survive more than a minute or two of torture. Really. I know this about myself. I would crack, break like an egg. Immediately. Does that make me a "bad" person? Probably not. I am just super-sensitive.  

So it's a good thing I don't know any state secrets or codes, the fate of the nation doesn't hinge on my sensitivity. I don't know nothing. What do you want to know?

Breaking me is easy. Deprive me of a good night's sleep, or waggle a dog-hair under my nose, dagger me with a cutting remark, make me feel bad, and I will feel bad.

I'm easy to fix too. I am resilient in that way. A good night's sleep, a full pot of freshly-brewed coffee, and great music playing on the box, and in my head, all is right with world. I can conjure up ideas, dreams, songs, blog posts, I can amuse myself by observing everything around me. This morning I am fixed!

The a.m. soundtrack - Neil Young's "Le Noise" (2010) Neil with his electric and acoustic guitars and a batch of new songs singing alone in a big old mansion in L.A. with Daniel Lanois behind the recording console. Lanois brings a little "ear candy" to some of the songs, but basically it's all Neil, stripped to the essential. Brilliant, unique, quirky, totally Neil. Inspiring. It will for sure fix what's wrong with you!

It's an Art...

Time to reflect and time to act. It's a balance, an art, just about like everything else. That's the thing, when it comes to the most important things in a life, we are pretty much on our own, just like everyone else is on their own too. There are no hard and fast rules. We live moment to moment and make decisions and move accordingly. Living life isn't a science, or a business, or a puzzle, or a journey even. Life is life. And we are swimming in an ocean of possibilities. We can ask questions, like, "What's the right thing to do?" But the "answer my friend is blowing in the wind," and really we are just making it up, improvising and seeing what happens. It's messy, complicated, and probably not the best way forward, but there you go... 

Head in the Game...

Ah… Monday morning…

Kind of not ready.  I mean, I have to get on with it. But there is a little island of not wanting to, kicking around inside of me.

I mean, shite, it's my life. I better get my head in the game...

People, Who Needs Them?

"I'm not good with people."

Ha. Let's call it the Bane of the Misanthrope.  OK. If you read the definition, "Hate Humankind," seems overly-strong. Dislike is more like it. So maybe a "Mild Misanthrope." Human Beings are so often, so disappointing. Much of the distress and dislike comes from miscommunication and misunderstanding. It's difficult to be always putting yourself in someone else's shoes, especially when you are busy filling your own shoes.

And then our culture, society, social network amplifies the loudest, most aggressive, biggest assholes amongst us. We give undue attention and all the accolades to the wealthy, greedy ones. It's a flaw in the whole she-bang. Think of it as the Big Monkey Man syndrome. These Big Monkey Men usually like to attack the weaker ones, or the folks who are a bit different from the dominant ones. It's so ugly. A trait that seems to have been with us since the Dawn of Man. Man's Inhumanity to Man is a long, ugly saga.

Being a Human Being is a complicated thing. A Mild Misanthrope would also, of course, sort of dislike or maybe even sometimes despise, themselves. Maybe that's a good thing? Although the Swamis and the Experts tell us we need to love more, to love ourselves and others, although, maybe not too much unqualified love, but maybe hard-earned love with a deep layer of dislike? Maybe a bit more humble and clear-eyed?

Maybe the trick is to love the weak ones, those picked on and harassed? Those without power? I don't know, love and hate, it's tricky too. Humans. Yikes.

The a.m. soundtrack - Daft Punk's "Random Access Memories." (2013) Disappointed in Humanity this morning, I turn to the French Robots. But, you know, really, these French Robots are really two creative French music-makers pretending to be Robots. So, anyway a bit of artifice. This is a truly great record. Lots of computer assisted sounds mixed with great live drumming and guitar. A magnum opus about love & loneliness, UFOs, the future, creativity, and yes, "getting lucky." Niles Rodgers shines on guitar. Fabulous. The album cost a shit-load of $ to make. But it's some weird kind of masterpiece. You can dance to it, but there is also a very human sadness and wistfulness suffusing the grooves; love and the failure, or absence of love. The little gnome Paul Williams makes an indelible impression. Highly recommended.

Marching On...

 "Marching to your own drum:" To do something, act, or behave in a manner that does not conform to the standard, prevalent, or popular societal norm.

That's pretty much me in a nutshell. It becomes clear that I am not leading any pack. I am pretty much on my own. Leading by example. But, really my example isn't compelling or attractive to anyone else. Charisma, if it really exists, only goes so far. I don't really think I can convince anyone of anything. I do my own thing and see what happens. Trying to make things happen seems a bit foolish. Maybe things just happen, or they don't, or, you know, I mean, who knows?

The best way forward, if you are trying to accomplish anything is to find allies, co-conspirators, others who are all marching to their own drum too. Hoping that sometimes, maybe, at least for a brief time, we are all going in the same direction. But I don't hold my breath on that kind of thing. You know, tune into the drum, march on, damn the torpedos.

Simplicities...

Back to simplicities…

Hah. I discovered a stash of frozen bagels in the big, overstuffed freezer. Food here is fair-game for the "caretaker." It wasn't anything like a traditional thanksgiving over here. Isolation, lockdown and social-distancing was the theme. I'm still on "no-covid island," but it's getting to be a smaller, and smaller place.

It turns out a couple of nicely-turned, bagels, defrosted and piping hot from the micro-wave makes for a sumptuous feast. I had a few sides: soup and garbanzo beans. Note: no animals were harmed in the making of this meal. OK. Maybe it was sort of a "hobo" feast, but, really, think: a well-fed, very comfortable, happy, and truly luxuriating, hobo.

What else? Breathing easy. Another glorious sunrise. It's "Black Friday" which means absolutely nothing to me. The world is turning. I am hanging on.

The a.m. soundtrack - Damon Albarn's "Mali Music" (2002). It's kind of a "rare find." I hunted it down and purchased a pristine copy on Ebay about a year or so ago. Trippy, cool, an exotic vibe. Albarn collaborates with local Mali musicians. He doesn't dominate, he kind of melts into the vibe. World music. Bright, sunny, enchanting.

Powers...

The Power of Yes. You will go to a lot parties. People will like you because you always say "yes." You will become a professional "people pleaser." You will be busy. You will have adventures. You will be tired. You will find yourself in conversations and situations you wish you weren't. You will start to wonder who the fuck you really are. That smile pasted on your lips and that sparkle in your eyes will not be yours.

The Power of No. You will disappoint many. You will be alone often. You will have few adventures, go to fewer parties. Maybe no parties. You will be considered a bit surly and weird. You will have more time to explore your inner landscape. What you find there, might be interesting, but you won't really have anyone to share it with. If you sing a song it will be: "I Didn't Do it My Way, I Mean I just Didn't Do it."

The Power of Maybe. You try to keep all doors and options open. You never please anyone, rarely even yourself. You think about adventures, you waffle back and forth, "yes?" "No?" "Maybe so?" You think about going to parties, or not going to parties. You just sit and think. You punt. You put off. You decide, why decide? Maybe another day? The days run away like wild horses. You watch them run away. You are always conflicted. Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe, maybe not.

The a.m. soundtrack - Bob Dylan's "Slow Train Coming." (1979) When it came out I was thoroughly appalled. Dylan as a born-again, righteous, bible-thumper? Yikes. I wasn't having any of it. This morning the record sounds tremendous. Dylan as Fire & Brimstone Preacher. Another Dylan mask. A powerful, inspiring burst of creativity. Great songwriting. Great band. Mark Knopfler on snaky, slithery, electric guitar. Fabulous female backup singers. Recorded live, and beautifully, at Muscle Shoals in Alabama. Produced by the legendary Jerry Wexler. Supposedly, Dylan was at sea, grasping at straws, reeling from a divorce and substance abuse, and one day he found Jesus. He adopted a truly dark apocalyptic code. This was Old Testament, mysterious, Book of Revelations shite. A bleak and foreboding God of Judgment and Justice. Not much love and forgiveness in the mix. Think: plagues, rains of frogs, dogs walking backwards, flames of hell and damnation. Jesus coming back to sit on a throne. What cooky, fucking strange, madness. Still, Dylan sings with complete passion, and he brings it all off with style, panache, gusto. Pretty amazing shite.

Space & No Space...

I have all these tools, meditation, contemplation, concentrated focus, deep-breathing, creative visualization, which I use in order to "get my space."  I find that getting your space, expanding your inner landscape is essential. It's how you ground yourself, expand your soul, feed your spirit, cultivate the silence where you can basically get your shit together.  It doesn't come easy. It takes a bit of practice and discipline. But it's not something you should labor over. If you are using your tools correctly, getting your space becomes as easy as breathing. Sure, if you are a Swami sitting all alone on the mountaintop, it's easy to get your space, the trick is to be able to find that space when you are in the middle of the maelstrom, in the eye of the hurricane, in a roomful of chattering human beings. 

You can easily "lose your space." I mean, it's sort of amazing how easy you can lose your space, for instance, any of these little arbitrary things can send you reeling into a deep existential crisis:

A perfectly placed word.

A stray dog-hair.

A hard look.

A sad news story.

A stumble.

A disturbing memory.

A disorienting dream.

A foiled plan.

A simple misunderstanding.

Plus, you know, pretty much anything can throw you off. You will be made uncomfortable. You will get the heebie-jeebies. Instead of getting your shit together, you will lose your shit. All that focus, discipline and practice can go right out the window in the blink of an eye. It's true.

The a.m. soundtrack - Neil Young's "Rust Never Sleeps" (1979). Yes, well, another strategy for "getting your space," brew up a pot of kick-ass coffee and put this record on the stereo. Turn the volume up to "10." So good. It works. Every time.

Never Forget...

Draw a line in the sand...

That's a human thing to do. Make a mark knowing it will soon vanish. A big wave comes and washes it all away. Or a violent breeze. A line in the sand is a small, easily disappeared thing. Make a decision. Don't forget. Every choice we make is definitive. Every step we take is definitive too. We live like we have all the time in the world, but no one knows when, and for whom, the bell tolls. What is that ringing in your ears? The bell is always tolling. 

I made a decision today. Don't even want to write it down. The writing may take the sting out of it. I want to keep it in my head, front and center. Burn it into my consciousness. I remind myself, can't please everyone. Decisions, choices, resolutions must be made and kept. Remember this moment, this feeling, this decision, this raging decisiveness. I know it can fade, and it will fade, in the light of another day. My determination will seem arbitrary, emotional, flighty, I may forget. This time, this morning, I vow to myself, never forget.

Sorry Kid, It's Chinatown...

I don't have kids. I never raised kids. I was a kid. So my experience of "kid-ness" is only really from the inside. I think I still have some of that "kid-ness" in me. Basically, I am still that happy go lucky, sort of clueless, little kid stumbling around, trying to amuse my self and take in the world. 

If I was talking to that little kid this a.m. I would be saying things like: "Life isn't what you think."  And maybe "Don't worry, no one is really sure of anything, we are all just sort of improvising."

I'm pretty sure that little kid would just ignore those words, that is one of my "great" hard-earned, insights: "No one wants to be told anything."

Right. We want live our lives our own way. Make our own mistakes, and conjure up our own fuck-ups. I think that little kid thought he was going to figure it all out, that life and living was some kind of puzzle, or mystery to be solved. This adult, here & now, this morning, thinks that's kind of cute, and actually, not the thing.  "Sorry to break it to you kid." 

The a.m. soundtrack - "An Anthology (Duane Allman Album) (1972): One advantage to staying at a fellow musician's house, there is an incredible collection of vinyl and cds, stacked on shelves everywhere. I get to listen to lots of records I don't own. This is one of them. For some reason I always hesitate to buy "Best Of" or "Anthologies" I am a believer in the integrity of an "album," one of my favorite art-forms, but this collection of tracks is thrilling, totally magnificent. You could make the case that these tracks, especially the early tracks when Duane was a session musician at Muscle Shoals' FAME Studio, are some of the best of the best of Duane Allman's great work. Listen to Otis Redding sing "Hey Jude," or Aretha Franklin sing "The Weight," Boz Scaggs sing "Loan Me a Dime," wow. Exquisite. And Duane's guitar playing is a thing of uncommon power, soul and beauty that stands side by side with those fabulous vocalists. Real musicians and singers in the analog world bringing it. I do believe this music can heal the sick and raise the dead. 

Walking a Dark Hallway...

The walls are alive. I find myself in a foreign place. I have been here before. There is a ghost here. It's female, she has made an appearance from time to time. An old-world, matronly lady. There is always a hint of a shifting air, and a hint of perfume when she enters a room and leaves.

I am always so uncomfortable in this place. Something weird, strange, bad always happens here. I never breathe easy here. I've gotten sick here. One time I destroyed my phone by accidentally putting it in the washing machine. I have been hounded by the dogs of hell here. This time, I am staying with just one dog. He suffers from PTSD. He's jumpy. Sometimes surly. He doesn't trust Human Beings.

Sometimes street-people show up here at odd times looking for a handout. One time, two young ladies, apparently over-served at the bar, were madly chattering on the front porch at 2 a.m. That sent the dogs of hell into a barking tizzy.

There is dog hair everywhere. It's an old, toxic place. Last night, a small calamity. I found myself walking a dark hallway, I walked smack dab into a jutting wall. It wasn't supposed to be there. I was trying to avoid the void, a rickety, slanting stairway. I have a recurring vision that I will stumble and fall down that  stairway. It's old, unstable, slanting downward, it's easy to mis-step, I have had a few close calls.

Anyway, I have a new dime-sized, red tattoo above my left eye. So ridiculous. Walking in the dark down a strange hallway. Not recommended.

Update at 9:37 a.m. - Talking with a friend she repeated a line she heard from someone, "You only see ghosts if you believe in them." Yep. Seems plausible. If you can go with the idea of ghosts, when weird, unexplainable, shit happens, you might attribute it to a ghost. If you don't believe in ghosts you probably figure there is a logical explanation, even if the explanation isn't readily at hand.  For instance, this morning the stereo briefly went on, played a bit of a flamenco guitar, and then went back off. You know, maybe a ghost, maybe just an electrical anomaly? 

BTW - I retraced my steps down that treacherous hallway in the light of day. There is a place, right where the rickety, sloping stairway angles down, that's where the wall on the opposite side sharply juts out. I never noticed that before. A shiver went thru me. If I would have stumbled, slightly to the right after the impact, face to wall, I could have easily tumbled down three flights of stairs. Now that would have been catastrophic. No doubt.  Hah! Was it a warning? Beware of the dark, and things that go bump in the night.  Be careful with every step. Like I said, weird, strange, stupid shit often happens here. I mean, I know it's me, sometimes I truly am my own worst enemy. Still, I tread lightly. Maybe it's time to have a heart to heart chat with the ghost? I mean, maybe we can make a treaty of peace and co-existence? I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.

The Game of Schlep...

Up way before the crack of dawn. I mean it's gonna be hours before the sun even thinks of making an appearance. I set my alarm for an earlier than usual rise. I have "shit to do." It comes with the life of a schlepper. Yes, I come from the schlepper class. I may spend lots of my time writing songs (see previous post), pursuing leisure, and flow, but it's all a bit of a luxury kick. I still need to make $ to keep it all together. So I have appointments to keep, rounds to do. I don't really want to, but you know, I just have to get my head around it and get to it. No sense in complaining. I think maybe I can turn it all into a game to play, yes, that's right the game of life. No, scratch that, the game of a schlepper's life.

The early a.m. soundtrack - Mogwai"s "Happy Songs for Happy People." (2003). I don't think the title is meant to be ironic. But when I purchased it awhile back, post-pandemic, I feared that it was, thinking maybe it was going to be all corrosion and dissonance. Nope. Beautiful. Elegiac. Up-lifting. With some dissonance and corrosion mixed in, but mixed in nicely. Another one of my favorite bands who mainly do instrumental music. Cool guitars, powerful drumming. It's definitely r&r, with some hard edges, but overall, a knockout beauty, very satisfying record. Happy songs for happy people! Indeed. Makes me happy!

Push into the Flow...

I wrote a song yesterday. It happens once in awhile. I had a "vision," there were some images in my head that I couldn't shake, and I used those images as a starting point. You know, it's not an earth-shaking thing. Not sure about the song. Not sure if it will ever see the light of day, or make it to our band rehearsal room. The night before I watched Jim Jarmuch's "Gimme Danger," (2016) about Iggy Pop and the Stooges. Great movie, great, seminal band, and maybe not so surprising Iggy is totally inspiring. I mean, what an extreme rock and roller. Iggy said he was inspired by that TV comic Soupy Sales to write powerful, simple lyrics and songs in 25 words of less.

I tried to do it. I failed. My song is 102 words long. By Iggy's and Soupy's standards, quite verbose. I was playing a borrowed Martin guitar, a smaller-bodied one, mahogany, super-nice and easy to play. It sounds so good ringing out in the kitchen, high ceiling, hard surfaces, lots of nice reverb. I tend to use an alternate turning, it makes standard chords sound a bit foreign. I just tuned up and started banging away. I am always surprised when the words and chords start to work together to create unique lines of melody. I worked on the song for hours and recorded a demo on my little smart-flip-phone. Like I said, not earthshaking. But it was pretty consuming and exciting for me. That's the beauty of the creative thing, it's a flow activity. You push yourself into the flow and ride. Nothing better.

Signs & Wonders...

I tend to lean to the idea that we live in a Universe of Signs and Wonders. I think it's helpful and hopeful to read the Universe as if it were a poem. A long, rambling, improvisational explosion of energy and propulsion. Human Beings are here to see, to wonder, to navigate the vibes. We are just one of many species, and and one of the great multiplicity of beings who do the same. We observe, watch, take it all in. Best to let it flow within and without. To be here, totally present at all times. We have our own lines to write. We run out our own strings. But you know, this poem is much bigger than us. Best to drop the ego, carry on, enjoy the ride. Notice the beauty, the movement, the transformation of energy. It's the best game in town.

Of Course, We Were the Victims...

"I'm a victim." 

Hah. That's from the guy who tried to destroy Democracy in America. He's ranting and railing, huffing and puffing again, does that dude ever shut up, from his garish, no-taste, faux-palace in Florida. On the one hand you think, just forget about this toxic clown, but then again, this creepy dude does command some attention from the worst of the worst of America. It's a relatively small group of folks, but they are loud, and toxic and they sort of hold the GOP hostage to their anger and idiocy. The brain-dead MAGA minions just don't realize how pathetic, ridiculous and frankly desperate, this fat, blow-hard clown truly is.

The rest of us know. Yes. We do. The blow-hard is old news. A multiple-times (can't even count the times) loser. This fucker just has no clue. No. He is not the victim, it is all the rest of us. Anyone in ear-shot, anyone who listens to his garbage-filled blabber, and blubber.  This fat, corrosive cheese is past it's sell-date. He's dead. His movement is dead. The zombie-hordes don't know it yet. Maybe they will never know it.

Like I always like to remind some of my close friends: People cried when Stalin died. Yes. People ran into the streets with tears in their eyes when their brutal dictator and cruel strongman finally gave up the ghost. The type of folks who give their souls to the authoritarian strongmen, fall hard. The Florida creep is on a downward slide to madness and abandonment. Some folks just don't know when to quit. The true believers will never admit they were wrong to support this plague of a human. 

The a.m. soundtrack - What is the antidote to the ugliness? Beauty, intelligence, truth, grace, kindness, love. I turn to the fabulous, and great Icelandic band Sigur Ros. Their music has been so healing, so profound, so essential to my life ever since I "discovered" them in in 2001. This morning it is a thing of hushed beauty called  "Valtari" (2012). Gorgeous. Spiritual. Inspiring. It's like, you know, modern, sacred music.

The Doing Becomes the Meaning...

Are you surprised I always have something to say? I am too. 

Yesterday, my mantra was "It is good having shit to do." I think it's true. I was fully-engaged with the day from start to finish. And it was good. Not a lot of time to reflect, lots of time getting from one place to another. The "doing" becomes the "meaning," and the "purpose."

I remember reading something like "being an alcoholic gives one something to do." You are always swimming towards the next drink. I think it's the same with being a junkie, you are always searching for the next fix.  Your addictions becomes the doing, the doing becomes the meaning.

Best to pick your addictions & poisons wisely. I am hung up on coffee. Massive quantities of coffee in the a.m. Also music, totally addicted to listening, playing, thinking & reading about music. I can fill my days with coffee and music and I am full.

I force myself to be engaged with the world too. That engagement is the meaning and purpose. Right there.

"You Don't know Shit from Shinola."

I am staying at a very plush, comfy, luxurious residence for a few weeks. It's pretty epic and amazing. A large, beautiful mansion on the lakefront. Every morning, scratch that, every sunny morning, I can watch the sun rising over Lake Michigan. That lake is always changing from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour. This morning, it is calm, ghostly, a little blanket of fog hanging low.

I sit typing at a table, facing a big, open-faced, analog, clock. It looks like a clock that used to sit in a factory, or a warehouse, maybe in the front office, or even, possibly, in the executive suite. It is old-world cool. Big, well-made, heavy, bounded by shiny, thick steel. It looks like an artifact from another era, think late 50's or early 60's America.

Besides the hard beauty of the clock, it does look like the official oracle "father-time," counting out our minutes and hours. Siting right below the number "12" on the dial, is a little orangish lightning bolt, and just below that in bold all-caps letters: SHINOLA. Below that is the word in small type: DETROIT.

What is Shinola? It started as a shoe-polish company in 1877. Read the wikipedia and I realize all my assumptions about this clock are most assuredly wrong. This clock was probably made in Europe, China, Thailand. Maybe in the 2000's? Or, maybe not. I mean who knows? Is it old-world, or faux-old-world? I have no way of knowing. 

I do love typing in the shadow of this clock, every morning, I grab a cup of coffee, fire up the computer, and type.  And, inevitably, these words never fail to rise up in my head, like an insistent, humbling mantra:

"You don't know Shit from Shinola."  What is real? What is faux-real?

Indeed. A head-scratcher. Not a bad way to start the day in our little capitalistic playground. Keep your eyes peeled, keep an open mind. A good default mode: I know nothing, but I'd like to know… something…

Post-Update - Oh well, this afternoon I thought: "I have to know more about this clock," so I picked it up; hefty, solid, and substantial. Yes, indeed, it is well made. I flipped it over and laid it on the table before me.  There is a GE logo in gray, embossed on the back, and there are these words "Built in the United States." But then smaller type, not embossed, "Made in USA from Imported Parts." Ha. So, the answer to it's origin is Yes,  and, No. There's a serial number too. I checked it, it tells me that this clock was "manufactured" in 2001. Ha. So it is old, but not as old as I originally thought. It is sort of American made, and sort of not.  It does seem like authentic Shinola but not the authentic Shinola I thought it was. It's not shit. Very much not shit. But it's a complicated artifact with a back-story. 

The Sea of Positivity...

The Power of Positive Thinking. Growing up I resisted. I thought it was a load of shite. I mean, I actually was a relatively happy lad, but to think that it was all up to me, that the secret was to open myself to positive vibes, to walk on the sunny side of the street, to lean to the light, to smile, laugh, read poetry, listen to music, and to maximize the doing; that all of these things were things I must actively choose, just seemed too simple and simple-minded.

You know "the World" is hard. You find out you are not the center of the Universe. Lots of your dreams and ventures are going to crash and burn. You have to adjust, and reframe, and constantly improvise. And you know, it is inevitable, you are going to fuck up. Maybe often. Sometimes supremely badly. You will find out that there is sickness, and evil, and your body, just like all bodies will grow, change, morph and finally fail. Yikes. There are people that will hate you and want to take you down.

In the face of all of that, positive thinking seems a bit paltry and limited.

How do you deal with all that bad shit? Getting pissed off at God, or the world, or your parents, or school or whatever is kind of pointless. You really do need to have talk with yourself. You can choose to deal with Life, or not. You can choose to lean to the Light, or not. You can make do with what you have and give it a go or not. You really can just try to do your best. And if that doesn't work, try something else. It's pretty much the game. Do you want to play, or not? 

Being positive, creative, throwing yourself into activities, yes, that is the good life. Why wouldn't you want to take that road? All that negative shit is just a roiling ocean of turmoil, no more real than the sea of positivity. Where do you want to live? Really, it seems kind of stupid, but I think it really is all a choice.

"Good News for People Who Love Good News."

One of the great recordings and album titles, Modest Mouse's "Good News for People Who Love Bad News." (2004).

I love that record, funny, enthusiastic, beautifully recorded, but I am not that kind of "people." I, like many of us, like to avoid bad news. I am super-good at minimizing bad news, always trying to see the glimmers of light in the piles of dung.

I do know plenty of folks who love bad news. They love to tell you all the bad news that's fit or unfit to print. You see them coming, it's always a bit of a comedown, and I realize I have to charge myself up a bit, to find the energy to deflect, to reflect and to point out that often we are talking about things that haven't happened yet, and maybe never will happen. Sometimes the best advice: "Let's wait and see." No one knows nothing. And Joe Strummer's great line: "The future is unwritten."

This mid-term election we were swamped with all the pundits and experts who couldn't wait to smack us around with the rise of "election-deniers," and a triumphant Red Wave. We were told that Democrats were sunk, Democracy was on the ropes, it was all gloom and doom and it was all delivered with an smart, all-knowing, enthusiastically peppy, radio and TV friendly voice. Smug, smirking, oozing, slimy, smarmy, "conventional wisdom."

Ha. Fuck. 

They were all wrong. So I find myself this morning tuning into NPR radio happy and excited to hear "Good News for People Who Love Good News!" Yes. That's me. Looks like the Dems will hold the Senate, maybe even add another Senator to the mix, and also get awfully close to keeping the House.  Turns out Joe Biden is cool! Democracy is Good. Commonsense is ok. Maybe we are gonna muddle thru? Good news, no doubt.

A Bit Brighter this Morning...

"China has peaked, Russia is retreating, and Trump is done. There's hope, people." - Timothy Snyder (author of "On Tyranny - Twenty Lessons from the 20th Century").

Yes. Hope. For sure. Great minds. Great writers. It's important to study and to know history. I mean, not for nostalgia, not as a retrograde move, but as a way of understanding the complexity of the human thing, finding clues about where we are today, by understanding what has happened in the past. 

"On Tyranny focuses on the concept of tyranny in the context of the modern United States politics, analyzing what Snyder calls "America's turn towards authoritarianism".[6] Explaining that "(h)istory does not repeat, but it does instruct,"[7] he analyzes recent European history to identify conditions that can enable established democracies to transform into dictatorships.[8][9] The short (126 pages) book is presented as a series of twenty instructions on how to combat the rise of tyranny, such as "Defend institutions", "Remember professional ethics", and "Believe in truth."

Yes, indeed. This morning it seems that Institutions, the Rule of Law, Free and Fair Elections, Ethics and Truth are still with us in America. Who knows? I mean, of course, it's always a battle, there are the never-ending, always contending forces of  Dark vs. Light. But today the Light seems a bit brighter. Yes. It does.

Still Up for Grabs...

Yes. Well, everything is still up for grabs, but I am happy to find that we still live in a Democracy. Maybe the fever has broken? There is a fat man in Florida a many-times loser (he likes to pretend he is a winner, but of course, we all know that is a lie, a lifetime of lying), of epic proportions still raging and ranting, but really I think most of us have moved on and tuned out that super-loud, over-stuffed, immensely corrupt and disgusting toxic clown. Yes, and there are still a bunch of red-hatted, hyper-angry morons stomping around, spewing hate and amped up ignorance, but really, most of us just want to live a decent life of goodness & prosperity. We all want to see a positive, happy and prosperous America. 

I was born here, lived here all my life. Sure we have problems, some deep and difficult in-grained flaws, with a long record of tragedy and injustice, but I think we all want to lean to the light to turn to a shining city on the hill. Can we get there? It's worth trying: more progressive, more inclusive, more diverse, more welcoming. A government by and for the people, that works for all of us. Maybe it's a starry-eyed dream, but it's a dream worth entertaining. It's the great American experiment. This morning it seems the experiment is still alive and well. 

The a.m. soundtrack? I am on a Dylan kick (yes, again, it's a frequent thing). "Shot of Love" (1981) - a maligned record. I ignored it when it came out, the last of the "born again" trilogy of records late 70's - early 80's. But when I finally gave it a shot it bowled me over. 1st rule: never listen to the critics! Yes. It's raw, gritty, recorded live in the studio. Monitor mixes. All the flaws, and the aliveness is totally  thrilling. Dylan is in fine form, great lyrics, fired by biblical fury, it' a gospel of fire & brimstone, Dylan as prophet of doom and love. A few incredible gems: Shot of Love, Every Grain of Sand, In the Summertime, Groom Still Waiting at the Altar. Great band. So fun. One of my all-time favorite records. A great, flawed, shiny beast of beauty and creativity. Gives me hope, makes me laugh. Joy.

Whew… Democracy Wins...

Ha. Turns out it is a super-duper-close mid-term election. We were told it was going to be a big win for Republicans. Not quite. All that apocalyptic doom and gloom seems a bit silly, but then again fear is a good motivator. The main thing, folks voted, and that is a good thing. Turns out it's a "dog-fight,"as  always, Democracy is messy, it's a process, a battle between ideas and personalities. Still, lots of great news this morning. Democrats did come out to vote. Of course, lots of Republicans voted too. You can look state by state, region by region, locale by locale. Our country is so divided. But as of this moment both the Senate and the House results are up for grabs. "Too close, and too soon to call." It's actually a positive sign for Joe Biden, the Democrats and Democracy. Sure some states seem out of reach, thinking Florida for sure is lost, but look across the country and all the issues that mean so much to me, also seem to be so important to others too. Michigan that state that doomed Hilary Clinton is now solidly Democrat. AND many of the "election deniers" across the country went down to defeat. That is exciting & gratifying. Fingers still crossed. Hoping for the best. A big sigh of relief. I think we are gonna make it. America is a big, unsettled, wildly strange country, but, you know what, DEMOCRACY WINS!