It's that kind of Monday morning...

The universe has conspired against me. I think. I have found myself here. Not really of my own own volition. Or at least I don't remember giving the "go ahead" to my conception and birth, although some of my "spiritual" teachers have informed me that I really did choose to be born, I did choose my parents, I did want to actualize myself on this little blue planet.

Maybe. I can't be sure either way. I mean, "it's all my doing" isn't really any more implausible than to think that my reality is the result of a many billion years sequence of Rube Goldberg-like accidents and coincidences.

Bottom line, I'm here.

And I've had some good times and also gotten into some shit too. I was wandering the neighborhood and noticed there are monuments to people who were born after me, and now are dead and gone before me.

It's a strange feeling, to realize that you are sort of out of time. And then there are times when I can see that time has altered me. And is continuing to alter me. By the time time gets through with me, I may be unrecognizable.

And then there does seem to be a part of me that is "out of time" or beyond time. Untouchable by time. Not sure what part, it just seems that there is something at the core that can't be altered or touched.

Maybe. Can't be sure. That's just how it feels. And I want to sort of protect it, make sure it doesn't get harmed, but really, I have no control over it. I don't even know what it is, or where it resides, or if it really exists...

Guitar Circle

So what did I do on my "day off?"

It wasn't really a day off from being me. I mean, how does one get a vacation from being themselves? And I'm not talking about that long, dark permanent vacation, I'd like to put that off for awhile.

It was restful day. A day of rest. A day to sit and reassess. I didn't really reassess. Just sat and watched and listened. Too tired to do much more than that.

The highlight of the day was our little Guitar Circle. It's an every other Saturday kind of thing. Down at the local church. The only way you are ever gonna get me in a church.

I've always been little skeptical of the guitar circle idea. Sit around in a circle, play guitars. Usually it's kind of the "lowest common denominator" kind of thing. Simple songs, 3 chords, songs that everyone can track with.

But it's actually always pretty amazing. You kind of drop your ego, or if you want it to be an enjoyable experience you should. The circle is about communication, community. It's about connecting with other players. It's not a place to show off your chops. It's a place to kind of let go and play. Simple chords, in time. It works best when you enter the circle and just "reach out!"

Music happens. It's a very human thing. Perfect for a day off.

My Life An Odd Job

I've been working some odd jobs. Maybe my life has basically been an odd job. Never really thought I had a career, even when the job I was doing was considered by others to be a career. I had a job, just an odd job.

Some jobs payed pretty good. The best paying jobs were usually the worst jobs. I mean, I ended up doing shit that I didn't really want to do, didn't believe in. Maybe I was paid good money because I agreed to do shit that I didn't want to do, and didn't believe in, and worked with the absolute worst people in the world.

I used to take lots of showers when I had really bad, good-paying jobs. I think I was always trying to wash the job away. Sort of like Lady Macbeth.

I've also had some really great jobs that paid pretty poorly. These jobs entailed lots of physical work: walking, lifting, riding a bike. These were usually very "low-level" jobs. Didn't pay lots of money, but I didn't have to do anything I didn't believe in: delivered a package, walked a dog, carried stuff around.

If I took a shower after these jobs, it was usually to wash off the sweat.

Most of my life has been an odd job. The best ones, I was basically me, being me, doing something in a time and place that I wouldn't normally do, except I was doing it because someone was paying me.

Today, after many days (every single day) in a row of doing odd jobs, I'm "off." Today I get to do my normal odd job of being me, on my own time. I wonder what I'll do? It will probably be a no-pay odd job!

A Note

She said, "You don't have to leave a note."

I said, "If I don't leave a note, it's like I never existed."

Yes, I would be like a ghost, or a specter, or a visitor from another dimension. A distant passenger with no stake, no hold on this existence.

Like leaving no footprint. Like seeing no image in a mirror.

I must leave a note. Even if she doesn't read it. Even if she just balls it up and tosses it in the trash. Even if the note is false, or it just skims over things, or isn't actually relevant to the things of this world, or it's just silly made up stuff.

Yes, I must leave a note...

The Trouble-Makers

Yes, it probably always comes down to the "trouble-makers." Those who make trouble. They may have good reasons for the trouble they make, or maybe no good reasons at all.

They can stir up trouble just about anywhere, and at any time. They are unpredictable, unless you predict that trouble is right around every corner - and then in that case, you'd be a pretty damn good prognosticator.

Sometimes the trouble is just annoying, and sometimes it blows a hole in the fabric of our reality. It's the same impulse. The idea of stirring things up, upsetting the apple cart, turning the world upside down. Just because.

The Double-Life

One advantage to be always moving, you seem to be perfectly in the flow of the day. One disadvantage, your body can only expend so much energy, and find yourself bone-tired.

There is something "clearing" about a total physical exhaustion. There is a certain joy in making it to the end of the day. Still kicking.

Maybe this kind of existence connects you back to the Neolithic past? It's a more primitive, primal way to live. And it's the simple pleasures that drive you forward: a good meal and a refreshing sleep.

Strangely to live so totally in a physical realm releases the mind to kind of float. You can actually imagine yourself floating above yourself and observe how a human exists. Interesting double-life!

And there is still enough energy to imagine other worlds and other ways to live.

The Fun House Narrative

The Narrative of a life. It seems our narrative is in the hands of an "unreliable narrator." How post-modern! There is a narrative arc - born, lived, died. But then there are all those little detours and details.

Then again, some say that we are our own narrator, that we are the authors of our own destinies. Still this doesn't let us out of the conundrum. We may be be the authors, but we too are unreliable, unknowable, inscrutable. Even to ourselves!

We end up doing all kinds of shit that we can't explain. Oh yes, we try to explain our actions. We come up with all kinds of reasons why we did this or that, but really, there is no rhyme or reason for much of what we do...

So we live in a story where we can't even trust our own inner monologue, our motivations and explanations. It is sort of a Fun House tour of giggles and frowns. Some really funny shit happens, and then of course, death and tragedy sneaks up and grabs us too.

Failure of the Nation-State

Others have been on this case for a long time, especially Global Guerillas. But if you peruse the news over a pot of coffee, it's easy to see that "failure of the nation-state" seems to be endemic across the globe.

There seems to be an invisible hand pulling the strings towards a massive debilitating entropy. Maybe it's globalism itself, or it's just a planet straining under the bulging human horde.

Too many mouths and hands and heads. Rich countries, poor countries, it doesn't seem to matter.

And the rich are trying to hold onto the reins of power with all their money and might, and the poor are starting to wake up to their dismal futures. You wonder if it's always been so.

Still, it's never been this crowded on the planet. And we've never been this connected. And all the usual institutions of power have never seemed this corrupt and clueless, and discredited.

It's time for a new picture. There's a glimmer somewhere of a different vision. But the coming of the vision could be really painful and ugly. Or maybe it's could be surprisingly easy and beautiful...

You must believe...

Your Life is Worth Something

And they think that you are different and have some kind of "magic," and you don't really know what it is they want from you, but they want it. Maybe to use it for themselves, or to kill it.

And you think you don't really have any magic, (not sure what it is), and whatever you do have is not something you can control, or bottle, or sell, or loan.

You do think you do have "something," and you don't want it crushed or dead, but it's not what they think it is, and it's not a big thing, it's a little thing, and it comes and goes, and it descends when it wants to, no matter what you think or want to do about it.

And they hate you and envy you and want to crush you for something you don't even really possess. Which is good to know. It's good to know that you have enemies. It's good to know that there are assholes in the world. And they will destroy you and other delicate things just because they can.

This is good to know. This knowledge reminds you that your life is worth something.

That Makes Sense!

"Life is in ourselves, and not in the external." - Dostoevsky

More & More Mixing (Sessions #8,#9 & #10)

We've been doing mixing sessions on our new music at the recording studio on a weekly basis. 3 or 4 hours at a time. One session results in about (give or take) one finished song.

It's a weird way to do it, but it also allows us to mix and then listen to the results all kinds of ways: iPod, home stereo, boom box, headphones, car stereo; good systems and not so good systems. We can then go back and tweak the mix as necessary. The goal is to have a track that sounds good no matter what.

Mixing is a long, arduous and meticulous process. There's no way around it, no way to fake it. Since we are "producing" the album, we are there for every last second of the process. What's amazing is that our recording engineer is also an amazing guitar player, a sonic avant-gardist, and a recording technician of prodigious talent.

It's kind of like working with Robert Fripp, Brian Eno and Tony Visconti all rolled up into one big bear-like dude. Last session we asked our recording Guru to add more guitar flourishes to a track. It was an intense session and the results were stunning.

I think of myself as a pretty competent guitar player, but our Guru really does play a different instrument. He's a true lead player and a creator of sonic landscapes, kind of Fripp, Zappa, Belew and the Edge, with something totally his own too.

It's weird, I don't really want to just "talk up" our project, I'm really just kind of reporting the process, the music will have to stand on it's own, but the actual process has been thrilling. We are so close to it, don't really know if it's as brilliant and beautiful as it seems...

Lighting People Up

The Lovely Carla: "Jimmy, you are in the business of lighting people up."

Sunnyjimmy: "Holy crap! You're right!"

Jumble of Madness

I surfed the news this morning. It's all such a jumble of madness. No need to point to the particulars. Makes you wonder if everyone is just fiddling while Rome burns.

And maybe we are all secretly rooting for the fire? Those hearty souls talking about solutions or answers seem to be overwhelmed by the lying and thieving hordes of nothingness.

Finally it seems we are left to our own devices. If there are solutions or answers to our dire straits of existence, well I guess we're gonna have to imagine them ourselves.

Happy?!

Happy?! I think it was Dylan who said happiness was like the rain; it occasionally descends upon us unbidden.

Certainly if you are looking for happiness, you are on a fool's errand. It's not "out there." Out there is chaos baby. And chaos is not happiness.

And it's not "in here" either. Look inside and there's a war going on. A war of emotion and crazy-ass thoughts burning and churning.

My best advice on the happiness front: throw yourself head first into something that fully, completely, madly engages you.

I'm not promising happiness, but most likely you will be so deep into whatever you are doing that you will forget about that mad quest.

And then maybe, just maybe the clouds will open and some glimmer of something will light you up.

A Matter of Focus

Yes, well, some times it helps to have "tunnel vision." You focus on one point in the distance and trudge to it. This can also be problematic, because the tunnel is actually illusory.

There are all kinds of detours and obstacles along the journey. And if you are tunneling, they may whap you upside the head because your focus is a little too focused!

On the other hand, if your vision is too wide and far-reaching you can be paralyzed by the options and risks and contradictory data that is constantly streaming towards you.

What with the 24/7 Global Behemoth constantly streaming data down upon on our heads, it's easy to get distracted and side-tracked. So sometimes tunneling is absolutely necessary.

That's how little men in black pajamas once endured a long-term hellacious carpet-bombing campaign in the jungles of Southeast Asia a long time ago.

So tunneling is sometimes our friend. Until, of course, it isn't...

Iggy's The Idiot

I've been listening to Iggy's The Idiot obsessively lately. I think it has something to do with Iggy's uncanny ability to embody both unlikely success and inevitable disaster.

Iggy was the primal, punk rocker from Detroit, who flamed out with the Stooges and found himself without a band or career. He was walking down Sunset Blvd. in L.A. and David Bowie riding in a limo pulled over and picked him up.

That was the start of a pretty amazing and productive collaboration between two very unique creative souls. Bowie had worked with Iggy previously on the Stooges Raw Power, but it had failed to keep the Stooges together and then they all had a falling out.

Anyway, The Idiot was an experiment for Bowie, he wrote the music for most of the tracks and played guitar, sax, keyboards. Iggy wrote the lyrics and sang. It is dark, cold, icy music, very much influenced by the music coming out of Germany at the time (Faust, Cluster, Kraftwerk).

Very un-Stooge-like. Iggy was kind of wearing a Bowie straight jacket. It is some kind of dark masterpiece. Sort of funny too. It was the beginning of a pretty creative period for Bowie (Low, Heroes, Lodger). Iggy went on to do Lust for Life, another really good disc.

Bowie and Iggy kind of do a mind-meld on The Idiot. Really strange. And cool.

The Cracker Jack!

Yesterday someone said to me: "You are a Jack of All Trades." And I replied: "Yes, and Master of None." That's what we in vaudeville call a "routine."

It's true I have tried my hand at many trades. I have hustled and schemed. I come from a long line of hustlers and schemers. I wonder, can that kind of thing be passed down through your DNA?

My father had the "gift of gab," and was a hustler par excellence! My uncle, also a legendary conversationalist, was known as "the Artful Dodger."

What happens when you mix a little Irish with a little German and a little Polish? You get a little bit of a mutt. I come from a line of mutts. That is my tribal affiliation. Not exactly White Trash, but sort of white trashy. Kind of a shining example of the great American melting pot experience.

So yes a Jack of All Trades. That would make me The Cracker Jack! And don't you just know there's a surprise lurking somewhere inside the container?!

The Precarious Ones

Things are going relatively well...

Still there's that weird, unsettled-like feeling emanating from the solar plexus. A turbulent queasiness. Not an overwhelming feeling, just a slightly disturbing aura, kind of hovering within and without.

The radio tells me this morning that there is a generation of youngsters in Europe who call themselves "the precarious ones." Me thinks we are all really part of that club. The desire for security, the wads of money squirreled away, the social safety nets constructed to catch those who fall, are all ways to help tamp down that bubbling "precariousness."

But of course, all that is illusory. Our precarious situation comes from all quarters. There are the spiritual and physical pricks and kicks, and the waves of energy generated from the teeming, wanting, needing, grasping masses all colliding against each other.

It is such a turbulent soup of energy. So easy to lose your heart and head. Precarious is just part of the deal.

No Longer Works Era!

How do governments govern?

If you are a Dictator or Police State, fear is your tool. If you are a Democracy, trust is your tool.

So no fear - government no longer works. No trust - government no longer works.

Sort of looks like the era of no longer works!

And if this is true: the richest 1% own 40% of the world's wealth, well something is really, seriously wrong. A systematic Redistribution of Wealth is gonna be necessary! Anybody smell Revolution?!

Serfs of the World Unite!

Letter to Arc Angel

Dear Arc Angel - The question you must ask yourself: how much humiliation can one being withstand? Just a reminder: humiliation is a state of disgrace, a loss of self-respect. The first part of the definition concerns those who know you, the second part concerns your own inner picture of your self.

Scars, broken bones, failures of every kind make up a life. How do you weather the weather? Can you stand up, face the music, take the humiliating blows, the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune?"

Be careful. Do not puff yourself up. The loss of self-respect is probably the hardest cut. You can handle the opprobrium from the gathered masses. They are the baying hounds of mediocrity. They are simply herd animals. Their job is to shun those who are different, those who seem weak, those who stand out for their shiny heads and bright colors.

The self-respect part is hard to get around. There you need some serious work. What is your life? Who are you? What do you want? What is your purpose? Do you understand to your core that although you live and die in the physical realm, you are on a spiritual journey?

Your sense of self is malleable, it can morph, it can shrink and grow. It all depends on the circumstances in which you find yourself. If you must crawl, crawl! If you must beg forgiveness, beg! If you must beg for mercy, beg some more!

So be it. You can't actually die from too much humiliation. And the humiliation is not permanent. It is only a dark cloud in which you have temporarily lost your way.

Round and Round

Yeah, well "planned obsolescence" comes to us from industrial design, where a product is built to become obsolete or non-functional over time; a product with a limited useful life.

But of course, industry learned this concept from nature. We build a better mousetrap, nature builds a better mouse. Nature keeps generating forms and individuals within these forms and they live and crash and burn, and then more forms and more individuals, and it all just churns along.

You see carcasses along the road. A little starling kicked out of the nest too early, all mouth and long spindly legs, trying to brave the elements alone. A storm comes and well, he just isn't gonna make it.

He becomes mulch or fuel for another round of life. It's seems sort of cruel, but it's part of a larger, grander design. And of course, we're part of that design too.

No judgement. It's not really a failure, although it might look like it. Just life and death and death and life, round and round it goes.

Mixing Session #7

This one was extra-ordinary. We're in the recording studio, talking about our track "Factory of Dreams." Not sure if it's good enough to actually make the disc. We recorded it twice, once with the full band, once with just vocals, bass and guitar.

It's kind of a hushed moody track. Anyway, we all thought it needed something extra to make it fly. So our recording engineer, who also happens to be an amazing guitar player (think the Edge, think Robert Fripp, think Frank Zappa) pulls out a Steinberger guitar (a very strange looking guitar, made from some "composite" material) which he just happened to have on loan, plugs it into his little pedal board and starts "painting" in sonic colors.

It was cool. It was breath-taking. Sort of sounded like a pedal steel guitar. A big sound. A sound of canyons and sunsets. Adding a completely new dimension to our little song. We mixed it down, and suddenly our little song found a place on the disc for sure.

Sunday Morning Fog

Early morning walk in the fog. The hood is so quiet. A few black silhouettes; ghostly, shadowy figures off in the distance reveal themselves to be human beings with actual human features as they get closer.

Little bunny rabbits, flee from our approach, white-tails bobbing along green lawns. Silly little squirrels rooting around in the dirt, looking busy, ignoring us.

A beautifully complex spider-web glistening with dew in the branches of a tree. It is empty, waiting...

The clouds at street level. Everything has a glow and a hushed quality of expectation.

Sunday morning coming down...

The Decline of America in 3 Easy Steps!

This is a great example of the "decline of America" in three easy steps...

From Washington to Lincoln to Palin?!?

I mean, maybe this is just an elaborate joke (she isn't really running for President, is she?), and maybe Tina Fey is behind it all? That voice, you have heard it before: nails on a chalkboard!

Why post it? I am amused and flabbergasted in equal measure. Extra-ordinary!

Bubble in the Firmament

If I lived in a mansion, I'd rise early in the morning because the sun's golden rays would tap me on the shoulder as I slept on the big comfy couch. I'd brew up my coffee with the Flaming Lips (the CD with "She Don't Use Jelly") blasting out at maximum volume.

I'd page through the Wall Street Journal to see what the enemy was thinking and would marvel at the mendacious, calculated stupidity of their editorial page.

I'd make friends with two big gentle labrador retrievers and tell them that "this is what you do when you are a people." I'd feed them first. Before anything else. Just like John Wayne did in that movie, that I never actually saw, but that my father told me about sometimes, when we talked about movies and John Wayne.

I'd take a steam bath in their marble monstrosity of a bathroom. I'd turn the steam full on, and see how long I could stand it. I'd think that the steam was healing me; that the heat was making me sweat out the tiredness and pain and hell yeah, even leaching out the sins of my life. I'd actually think "sins," but it would bring a smile to my face and I'd tell myself I was just being "ironic."

I'd pretend the mansion was mine, and I'd invent reasons for why I'd own and be living in a mansion. They'd be silly and far-fetched reasons, still they'd be reasons that would make me forget the cold reality of my precarious existence floating like a little bubble in the firmament.

The Iliad and Odyssey

The NBA playoffs. There are no Cinderella teams. The playoffs are a long, hard slog, three rounds of best of sevens to get to the finals. Best of seven means there are no surprises. Each team exposes their strengths and weaknesses.

Young inexperienced teams are brutally exposed. Aging stars not quite able to match their previous form are unmasked. There is no sentimentality in the NBA.

A team going through the playoffs is kind of like someone experiencing their very own Iliad and Odyssey.

We have watched our young Chicago Bulls battle through Indiana, Atlanta, and now they are in a death struggle with Miami. The Bulls have had a remarkable season. Best record in the regular season, the coach of the year, the MVP, best defensive team in the league.

But it looks like they've topped out. For some reason they are not hitting the shots they hit during the regular season. They are a little less sure of themselves. Maybe a little intimidated by their opponent? They are young, maybe not enough "seasoning," haven't experienced enough pain, loss, and disappointment yet, haven't "paid their dues," and they are now matched against a formidable opponent who has finally found itself.

And this formidable opponent happens to be the dreaded Heat, led by the notorious 3 Amigos: Wade, Bosh and James. These three guys actually did a remarkable thing, they decided they wanted to play together, they wanted to join forces, and they all conspired to take less money for the greater cause of being on the same team.

LeBron James walked away from his hometown team, the team that gave him everything they could to keep him, for the chance to play with two of his best friends. And these three pissed off a lot of people by acting as if their friendship, their desire to play together, trumped all other concerns.

And it all looks like it's paying off. The Miami Heat totally dismantled the Boston Celtics in the second round, and they are dismantling our young, brave, Bulls now. It's real ugly, it's a brutal battle, and it's a great show, even though it hurts to watch our young stars get knocked around.

Bulls are down 3-1 and it's coming back to Chicago. It's not over yet, but it's getting pretty dark for our young, upstart heroes!

UPDATE: Well, our young Bulls went down in flames. All season they were able to put the hammer down, and "bulled" their way to the best record in the league. Well, Thursday night the hammer came down on them. LeBron James put the dagger in deep in crunch time. So a fine season ends. Is this just a first step to a new young championship-caliber Bulls team, or a blip on the horizon? I guess we shall see.

D-ROSE!

The Doomsday Biz

I suppose you can understand why the Doomsday biz seems to be booming! Lots of people want the whole she-bang to just come to some flaming grand finale.

I think it's a desire for some kind of closure and a grand comeuppance. There is some hope-infested idea of justice: the evil will die, the good will live forever.

People actually throw money at these creepy prophets of doom. Thinking what? Doom insurance? Somehow they will get a good table up in Heaven?

Life kind of rolls out like a long, very confusing movie. Lots and lots of actors, lots and lots of plots, lots of conflicting stories - good people struggle, bad people thrive.

And we've joined the movie in the middle, lots of stuff has happened before we entered the theater, and lots of stuff will happen after we exit.

And we are at most bit-players. Of course we star in our own little dramas, but our dramas are barely a whisper of a drop in the big ocean of experience. It's sometimes all too humbling.

So we imagine grand conflagrations! We imagine a Big Daddy up in the sky who is gonna sort it all out for us. We imagine lots of silly things. And stake our lives on them.

Mixing Sessions #4, #5 & #6

Yes, we keep mixing our new songs @ the recording studio. It is a slow, meticulous process. We have three sets of ears, all listening intently, deciding what sounds good and what doesn't.

We are all pretty much aligned. As our recording engineer put it, we are in a "creative collaboration," and even though it's work, and it costs money, it's been a very eye-opening and rewarding experience.

Sitting on a couch, listening to music - I realize I've been training for this type of work since about 3rd or 4th grade, since whenever I scored my first transistor radio. I remember lying in bed, in my pajamas, transistor radio to my ear, listening to Simon & Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" on AM radio. That seems like another time and universe. And in a way it is/was.

We have 6 songs completed. Every time we finish one, we think, "that's my favorite song," which is a good sign. 5 or 6 songs to go. Not sure which ones will actually make the cut, but songs that I wasn't sure about when we recorded them, have emerged from the mixing sessions sparkling, beautiful and powerful, at least to this set of ears.

I'm pretty sure more surprises await us.

Monumental & Mundane

Our lives are filled with the monumental and the mundane. Momentous events come careening past our heads, sending us spinning up or down depending on the flavor of the moment.

Then again, we are left to pick up the pieces, to clean up the messes left in the wake of all that monumental sound and fury.

We hitch up our pants, comb our hair, brush our teeth, tie our shoes. Put one foot in front of the other.

Just plain old carry on until the next harrowing and awesome moment waiting round the corner just itching to pummel us.

Saturday Night Calculus: 2 Busts and 1 Rousing Success

Yeah, well, the Rapture was a bust. Maybe God got bored, or he's dead like Nietzsche said, or he just didn't think any of us qualified to be raptured up!

I guess we're just stuck here with each other for the duration. Let's make the best of it!

Animal Kingdom was a bust too. No Triple Crown horse this year. I've watched from the sidelines this year. Didn't get a Racing Form, didn't do any analyzing, didn't make any wagers. The simplicity of Bartelby's "I prefer not to."

But our Bob Dylan Birthday Bash was a smashing success. 14 acts, 30 Dylan songs, a packed coffee house, lots of rousing, beautiful and heartfelt performances.

We have actually created a little roving community of artists/musicians who all support and inspire each other. And we've been lucky to draw a large enthusiastic audience for our events.

What nice vision, a little utopia of like-minded people here on this little spinning planet. Sort of like a little piece of heaven - but oh so human.

Jesus Was a Long-Haired, Socialist, Jew

So much for the Rapture. Too much ink and energy devoted to a bunch of freaking bible-thumping idiots. I did my share of bible studying during my enforced Catholic up-bringing and the guy I read about was not a Conservative, Republican, Tea-Partying, Asshole.

I came across this Left Behind Dude in the Daily Beast and he really pissed me off. He throws around the word "socialist" like it's a dirty word. It's not. He accuses Obama of being a "socialist," he clearly is not. The Dude that he professes to believe in was more of a socialist than our current President!

To state the obvious, that Jesus guy in the New Testament was a long-haired rebel. He had a soft spot in his heart for hookers and wine. He seemed to like dead people too. He lived in a commune with a group of shaggy-headed men, they shared bread and wine, they liked to party, they liked to stir up shit. They challenged the status quo. And they hated rich people!

He was a goddamned, dirty, hippie preaching love and forgiveness!

Jesus and his Disciples were Jewish. They did not know anything about "Christianity;" that was a later invention that pretty much corrupted and subverted whatever that Crazy-Ass Dude was preaching. He was a strange and interesting character who got nailed to a tree for his beliefs.

Jesus was a long-haired, Socialist, Jew! Deal with that Born-Againers!

Counter-Factual History!

Expanding on yesterday's post...

So yes, our hope resides in human beings. They are always the source of the trouble, and they are also the source of remedies to our troubles.

So we look to each other. Who will stand up, who will emerge? Usually it's someone from outside an established system, think - Mandela, MLK, Gandhi, or that street vendor (Mohamed Bouazizi) who torched himself in Tunisia.

One man (or woman) can be the spark for massive movements and change. Usually they have their eyes on a higher vision that lots of other folks can buy into. Usually these "leaders" are self-less, willing to risk everything for a grander vision of society.

And it's happening every day, all around us, although sometimes it's hard to see. It's always much easier to see things clearly later, sometimes decades later.

Now here in the States, it's all a little dicey. Change is supposedly built into the system but much of the establishment is so entrenched that even when we change the people in the suits, the actual on the street change seems minimal.

Our political system provides us with choices. We vote and take our chances. Still sometimes the choices have been stark, and you wonder how things would be different if certain contests had been decided differently (counter-factual history!).

What kind of country would we be if these contests had turned out counter-factually?

Humphrey vs. Nixon

McGovern vs. Nixon

Carter vs. Reagan

Mondale vs. Reagan

Gore vs. Bush

Kerry vs. Bush

And oh god no: McCain vs. Obama?!?

Rotten to the Core

Yes, "the system" is corrupt. Rotten to the core. The rich and privileged get more rich and privileged. The rest of us get pummeled from every corner. That is not a society that can thrive.

Whatever "hope" we have resides in individuals, not systems. Recent and not so recent events remind us that one man, or small groups of like-minded people can bust the status quo.

So yes, it's easy to be cynical, but cynicism is not really our friend. We can see that things are untenable.

We must do our best to see clearly. Some folks are well-intentioned, some folks want positive change, some folks are trying... the system is swimming in dirty money and bad intentions, but some folks stand against it.

Their stand is our fleeting hope.

The Good and The Bad

I suppose there are no "good" or "bad" people. There are only people who commit "good" and "bad" acts. It's the actions of people that we judge.

And good and bad are relative terms, they are not "absolute" except maybe in some far off land of abstractions. Everything in our realm seems malleable or situational.

Lying, cheating, stealing, murder are all "bad" acts, but then you could think up scenarios where lying, cheating, stealing and even murder might be "justified" or at least "understandable."

Still, I do think we know what's "good," it might actually be built into us, and most of us do have some concept of conscience. But then again our powers of self-justification and self-delusion are remarkable.

Sometimes it's easy to see when someone else goes off the ranch. Then again, as they say, "don't throw stones if you get stoned," or something to that effect. We are all both judge and jury of our own realms. It seems some of us are hanging judges when it comes to others, and supremely understanding and compassionate judges when it comes to ourselves.

Double standard to the max.

Precognition

Precognition. I think it happens often. In fact, I think it happens all the time. And that can be clarifying or mystifying.

I think a lot of our confusion, frustration and befuddlement comes from the clash of what we consciously know and what we "unconsciously" perceive.

Our rational and irrational signals are in a constant flux. I'm pretty sure our brains are like radio stations, (or two-way radios) we are constantly broadcasting and receiving signals. And other brains absorb these signals at an under the radar level.

It's like a back-channel communication. But it's one that we hardly acknowledge. And some of us have been taught to deny it's existence.

But then there is a "bleed" of knowledge that kind of seeps into us. That's what we think of as intuition. You can learn to cultivate it and to trust it.

And as it gets stronger, this intuition clarifies, it sheds light on everything. Sometimes then you can see things so clearly. Things that are "invisible." Things below the surface, things that have not happened yet...

The Dream World

Big or little dreams. Doesn't matter. Takes energy. There are those who "dream up" stuff all the time. They can't imagine or dream of an existence without the constant stream of dreams running through their heads.

New dreams, old dreams, borrowed dreams, wacky dreams, pedestrian dreams... worthy and unworthy dreams.

Then there are those who ride with the dreamer and the dream. They sign on, just to see if the dream goes anywhere interesting. Sometimes you find that these "hitchers" stay for the duration, but they can easily bail when things get weird or heavy or the dream takes a detour.

And then there are those who can't wait to shoot holes in the dream. That is their one and only purpose it seems. Maybe because they have problems with their own dream factory. So they shoot and sabotage and nit-pick, and basically harass the dreamer with the intention of squashing the dream like a little bug.

And it's easy to kill off a dream. So dreams are basically crashing and burning all the time. But a good dreamer just keeps on plugging. Kind of like nature itself, always making new copies to see if anything will stick.

And the dreamer learns, and refines and if he's a good dreamer he sees the playing field and relishes the opportunity to foil the anti-dreamers!

Eye of Newt

Ah the "Eye of Newt" is a-gleam with the image of a Big White House shimmering in the distance. You just know that he refers to that shimmering whiteness as his "precious."

Yes, end times must be near, when a man this overtly loathsome can be taken seriously by anyone.

Then again, is anyone taking this cretin serious? Who knows?! Kevin Drum recalls some Newt History. Not a pretty picture. And what does he stand for, except his own blabbering mouth and balloon-like ego?

I'm sure there's something about how we need to be nicer to big business and less nice to poor people.

And I hate to say it, but really, you mean to tell me that this guy has had multiple wives?! Yikes, I mean, what self-respecting woman would actually submit to the guy? Just asking!

Do we really have to pay attention to Newt? I think not. Hope dies hard, hope dies last!

From Monkey to Mogul!?!

It has been pointed out to me that I have been thrust (or thrust myself) into the role of "Mogul." Which I Googled to get clearer definition. Now it's possible that I'm really just a bump on a ski slope, or maybe, possibly, but probably not, an important or powerful person, (I mean I have some meager powers and importance is kind of a relative concept), but certainly not a steam locomotive.

Now if only I could put in for a Mogul's salary!

Definition of mogul:

1. A bump on a ski slope formed by the repeated turns of skiers over the same path

2. An important or powerful person, esp. in the motion picture or media industry

3. A steam locomotive with three pairs of driving wheels and one pair of smaller wheels in the front

The Day Blogger Died

Wow. Blogger died, and my post from yesterday was scratched from the universe. I don't have the heart to re-create it. Just be assured that it was funny and brilliant.

Today's post isn't all that great, just catching up, was unable to blog this morning with my trusty pot of coffee at my elbow. Whatever happened to Blogger seems now to be fixed.

It's weird, blogging has become as essential as brushing my teeth. Although, hopefully more interesting, for both me and you. Let's pray no more hiccups. Although, now that I think of it, this may be just another "Sign of the Rapture?!"

UPDATE: OK, that's weird. Now yesterday's post is back with the living. So you can see for yourself if it's funny and brilliant. I just re-read it myself. I'm not so sure.

Unknown Sender

I don't know, maybe it's the end of days/rapture shit that's been swirling around in my head, but I've been in a really weird "metaphorical" frame of mind. Nothing is what it is, or nothing is only what it is, everything is itself, and points to something else too.

For instance...

Last night, near midnight, (sleeping soundly!) I received a text message from an "unknown sender." And even "unknown sender" sort of reverberates inside my being. The text message read...

R U CLOSE IS GAME OVER

Now I suppose there is an innocuous reading of this text. Mistaken identity. Right message to wrong person, whatever. But alternatively, this seems portentous, ominous, and possibly a query of existential proportions...

And leads to a number of soul-searching questions...

Close to what? Exactly what game are we talking about? Over? Like end of the world over? Is this a personal question? Is it a question at all? And who or what sent this little missive?

I didn't answer. I read it, re-read it and saved it. Still, I realize I do not want to know what I don't know. And I can't put my finger on what exactly it is I don't know.

Bob Dylan is a Hard Case

Bob Dylan is a hard case. We've decided to host a Bob Dylan tribute night and in the process we found out that the guy is still quite the divisive figure. Some folks love him, some folks hate him. There isn't much middle ground.

This is in contrast to the response to our Lennon (gunned down - universally loved!) night tribute. Seems death, tends to "beatify" our pop culture icons (see Elvis and Michael Jackson). A dead icon is not a threat. Suddenly the quirks, the disappointments, the very human flaws of a live human are forgotten upon their demise.

And if it's "death by misadventure" so much the better.

Anyway, I'm one of the "love Dylan" crowd. I can't imagine my life without his voice and songs in my life. Of course, when you say you are a Dylan fan it helps if you tell us which Dylan; the young, edgy folk-singer, the rock & roll poet and boundary breaker, the Basement Tape Old Testatment Prophet, the Born Again Christian, the Rolling Thunder Gypsy, the dark and moody old timer, or lately the indifferent, erratic-performing, shredded-voiced Krusty the Clown version.

It's not surprising that Dylan was played by multiple actors in Todd Haynes film!

Yes, Dylan can be disappointing and maddening. But he's also so inspiring. His catalog of songs, which is as thick as a telephone book, is filled with humor, wisdom and dark prophecies. Poetry of the highest order.

God Can't Be French

Can I really squeeze out two posts about Rapture Day and the End of the World? Yes, indeed, I can!

So those in the know have crunched the numbers, and it's clear that, just as the Bible predicted, Judgement Day (May 21) and the End of the World (Oct 21) are coming to us this year.

It seems since 1988 we've been living in the age of the "great tribulation:" worldwide hardships, disasters, famine, war, pain and suffering. Check, check, check, check, check and check!

Supposedly about 2 million of us are going to be Raptured Up on May 21 and the rest of us are basically fucked! But I'm wondering if maybe that's based on God grading us on a curve? That number sounds a little high to me.

I mean really, from my experience, I'd say maybe one or two people I know might qualify for ascension. And since some of them are of the wrong faith (Dali Lama anyone?!) they aren't actually gonna make the cut!

So who knows. Maybe God ditched the curve. Maybe no one gets Raptured, and the joke's on us?!

Anyway, ever since I stumbled upon this story I have been exceedingly happy, no, not because I am to be one of the soon to be Raptured, I think that's highly unlikely, but that there is going to be a definitive ending to our story.

I was beginning to worry that life was gonna be like one of those baffling avant garde French films where there's no real resolution, and at the end of the film you are left with a bunch of questions, including "What did it all mean?"

You come to the word FINI and you are scratching your head thinking, "This freaking French Auteur is pulling my leg!" God can't be French, can he?

Significant Conflict!

We are planning a Bob Dylan tribute night on May 21. More on that in a future post.

But I found out that we have a major conflict on that date. It seems that it's "Rapture Day." That's the big judgement day thingy, where Jesus comes back and the righteous are raptured up to heaven and the rest of us get left behind to wallow and burn in our own iniquity.

Sounds like a busy day...

Oh boy. I hope we are able to at least finish our set that night. Is it a coincidence that we are planning on ending our set with "Knocking on Heavens' Door?" I think not.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm not one of the lucky raptured ones. Ever since 3rd grade, I've kind of lived with the assumption that heaven is not for me. Sister Mary Aquanata made that very, very clear!

And what is in store for us "unraptured ones?" I guess it's not such a pretty picture...

Job 20:7-8: "Yet he shall perish for ever like his own dung..."

OH Shit!

Blowing Smoke Up his Own Ass

A couple years on, it's clear that the George W. Bush era was all about blowing smoke. It was all about a reformed alcoholic, a bible-thumper, a mentally-challenged underachiever blowing smoke up his own ass. And the guy was so clueless, he really couldn't tell his ass from a hole in the ground.

America elected the guy, (twice!) which says something profound about all of us too.

And as Krugman points out, in his post Shadow of the Torturers, the Bush, pro-torture crowd was a bunch of little creeps puffing themselves up and pretending to be big tough guys willing to do the dirty work. So laughable and sad. They demeaned themselves, the people they tortured, and all of us too.

So glad that era is over. Hopefully...

Mixing Session #3

I'm probably keeping track more for myself, than for you...

So, yes, another mixing session at the recording studio. You realize that mixing could theoretically go on forever. There is no definitive mix. All mixes are choices, approximations. The more instruments and voices you have on a track, simply means the more choices, more approximations you have to work through.

Mixing is an art not a science, just like much of the stuff of our "human world." We approach this task as if it's the most important thing in the world. Even if it isn't. The more you listen, the more you hear, and then the more you listen, the less you hear.

I do think your ears, your brain can get so acclimated to a track that you no longer actually hear it, and you fill in and fix things. Kind of a weird phenomenon.

So we mixed and mixed and mixed again. Very little tweaks can have big effects. Another lesson.

The Dumbing Down of Conservatives

So my post yesterday had me ruminating and googling. Which is a dangerous combination. I was concerned that my conservatism = stupid formulation was a little too broad brush. I mean, there has to be some "smart" principled American conservatives out there, right?!

I must admit that for me conservatism suggests: pig-headed, backward, small-minded, fundamentalist, nostalgic, jingoistic, insensitive, pro-big business, dogmatic, greedy, selfish, nationalistic, militarist, anti-scientific, irrational, racist, anti-immigrant, anti-minority, anti-diversity, rigid, inflexible.

My personal experience has been that arguing with a doctrinaire conservative is very similar to arguing with a profoundly ignorant and/or religious person. Facts don't matter. Evidence doesn't matter. They cling to core beliefs that have nothing to do with the real world. There is a willful and intentional "dumbness."

They are the kind of people who cling to "core principles" even in the face of overwhelming evidence. Which in a debate sometimes seems like a certain bold clarity, or a simple certainty, but also comes across as an ignorant arrogance which some (Palin, Cheney, Bush, etc.) wear as a badge of honor. I googled "famous conservative thinkers" and came up with this list. I mean, wow, it is sort of a rogues gallery of rogues, except for maybe Eisenhower, Jimmy Stewart, Frederick Douglas, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln (OK, Lincoln is more my kind of conservative!).

But when it comes to the famous contemporary conservatives, sorry, case closed! What a Clown Factory of over-bearing, willful idiots!

The Secular, Humanist, Liberal, Scientific Vision is the Winner!

So we have all these freaky talking heads and pundits blathering on about everything under the sun all the time. Most of them seem to just add to the constant white noise of pop culture.

Do any of them have a clue what they are talking about? Well, it seems that if they are conservative and have a law degree too, no, they really don't have a clue. And maybe that makes sense. Someone with a very rigid, fixed, conservatively ideological view of the world (think George W. Bush - the man, who when he touched it, turned it to shit) really is clueless when it comes to our complex, every-changing reality.

So anyway, a college class analyzed political and economic pundits and their predictions. Turns out most of them did really poorly. If you wanted to predict the outcome of a particular event, you might as well as have flipped a coin.

Who scored best as a prognosticator? Paul Krugman! The liberal! And this too makes sense. A liberal thinker would be more flexible, change-able, maybe wishy-washy, someone who will change their mind based on the evidence! If you ever read Krugman, you realize he is always looking at the underlying evidence. Sifting the facts, trying to understand the nuance. He is flexible and quick-thinking, which is a much better frame of mind in which to see the world clearly.

He is clear-headed, and has a heart.

Sometimes it is frustrating read Krugman, because he often seems so right, and yet, no one seems to be listening. I guess it's easy to tune the liberal out. That would be just what the conservative mind-set would tend to do.

I can't help thinking today conservative really does equal stupid!

Incentives and Disincentives

I suppose if you were a nation state that sends big bucks to another nation state to find a particular individual, that beneficiary of the big bucks might be motivated to find that individual, or alternatively that beneficiary of the big bucks might actually be motivated to not find that individual, assuring that the big bucks keep flowing.

So then you might find that that individual is living in the relative lap of luxury in a nice part of town near a military academy or some such place. And then when you do track the dude down, and engage in a bold operation to smoke him out and waste him, that beneficiary nation state may look complicit in actually hiding him all these long years.

And then said beneficiary kind of ends up with egg on their complicit faces. Or something like that. And well if that nation state is a teeming nation bulging with people and nuclear arms, well, a little humiliation goes a long way, with who knows what kind of consequences.

Still, in retrospect, that little SEAL operation looks pretty slick and successful. And it was a really risky, gutsy move that could have easily gone seriously wrong with all kinds of unforeseen consequences. And the guy who made the call now looks like a smart, cool operator who rolled the dice and came up smelling like roses.

Sometimes one man's fall can be another man's rise.

Skeptics and Cynics

Skeptics and cynics.

I can go there too. But I was surprised to be out and about yesterday, and to hear people who are relatively intelligent and politically aware, expressing skepticism about the major event that went down in a compound in Pakistan.

I do think an empire crumbles when the citizens no longer believe or trust their government, their press, their media machine, and the motives of their fellow citizens. Of course, much of this skepticism is well-earned. We have often been lied to and misled by those in authority, and we've been lied to and misled by each other too. We almost expect to be lied to and misled. Any action is suspect. We wonder, did this really happen? What is the real motive? Why now? Who got paid off? Who benefits?

And we live in a world of information over-load, ideological spinning, covert operations, black budgets and double-dealing. Often we can't even agree on the basic facts. All information is subject to spin and warp.

And then there is that great conspiratorial frame of mind that ties everything up into some kind of grand narrative. Almost like there is an invisible hand guiding events. Not a god-like entity but some all powerful CABAL that manipulates and orchestrates events in some secret room somewhere.

We've all seen lots of movies. And in a way, we want to believe that there's some coherence to the way events unfold. Maybe it's biological. It's built into us that we want to discern some kind of coherent pattern. Even if that means we can't take events at face value.

And sometimes an all powerful CABAL does sit in a room manipulating and orchestrating events. That's how they got the Bad Guy after all.

Big Time Bad Man Sleeps with the Fishes

You turn on the radio, you hear the news that a Big-Time Bad Man has been gunned down by Special Forces. You think Justice has probably been done; that it was a very neat, in the moment, execution.

You can't really celebrate another person's demise, but it does sound somehow like good news. But then, surprisingly, (even to you), you wonder if it's all really true. That's the kind of freaky world we live in, where everything is suspect, even when the word comes from people you think you trust.

Then you hear that the Big Time Bad Man's DNA (maybe now they can recreate him in a CIA lab and re-engineer him to be a Hip Hop artist or something?) has been taken and preserved, but his remains have been buried at sea. And this information is so weird, so unexpected. Really? Buried at sea? He now sleeps with the fishes? Really? Strange...

Beat Up Old Coat

Belief was a kind of shabby and beat up old coat that he would occasionally wear. He would spruce it up, put a flower in the lapel, attach shiny new buttons; anything to give it a little class and gravitas.

And just what was this shabby coat, this heartfelt "belief?" It was all about transformation, and energy, and change. And how most of the things of the world were shrouded in a shiny, glowing and colorful mystery. And this was a good thing, a hopeful thing.