The Capitalistic Cry-Babies!

Millionaires and Billionaires. You figure they got it made. Probably thank their lucky stars every morning that they live in a wonderful country like the good old USA. Every morning they ask themselves how can they make this country a better place. How can they give back, how can they contribute to make life better for all of us? Just like all of us, every morning they must wake up and ask "not what my country can do for me, but what can we do for our country?"

You'd think the rich, the privileged, those who have it knocked, those who have benefitted from living in the most prosperous nation on the planet, would be eager and glad to give back. 

Nope.

Turns out, of course, the Millionaires and Billionaires are a bunch of privileged cry-babies. Spoiled, arrogant, paranoid. For instance all those hedge-fund Billionaires were all hurt and upset that Obama wanted to rein them in after their "casino capitalism" (thank you Bernie Sanders) nearly brought the whole financial world to it's knees.

Now they are shoveling all their excess cash to the GOP. Bernie is right. Catering to the whims of the Millionaires and Billionaires is no way to run a country.  It is time for a "political revolution." Democratic Socialism sounds just about right.

The Spectrum of Craziness!

It's probably easier to see the madness in others. Not so easy to see it in ourselves. Although if we were honest with ourselves, we could document our own endless string of little madnesses in detail. I was recently sitting at a table with a confirmed looney, and two other folks. Four of us. And really we represented a spectrum of madness.

How closely do you want to look? How deeply do you want to probe? Logic, and reason, and common sense? These things seem skin-deep. Get past the surface calm and you will find a boiling cauldron of wildness.

The "confirmed looney," lives in the local nuthouse. He knows he is considered to be a madman. But sitting at that table over a cup of java, he seemed reasonable, funny, interesting. My other two companions? They seemed like the crazy ones. And as for me? I know I've got some irrationalities that totally consume me.

Who spins out? Who gets violent? Who stops being able to maintain? Is it all luck and circumstance? How many slings and arrows push one into the crazy column? I sat at that table thinking about craziness and the things that make us crazy.  No clear lines. A spectrum, a rainbow!

We Live in Faux Times!

I didn't watch the "debate" last night. I read a little bit about it this morning. I am for any of the folks on the stage last night. Any one of them, no doubt, would be better for our country than anyone in the Republican Party. That's easy!

But pretty sure, it wasn't really a debate in the real sense, a "formal discussion," in public. No instead it was most assuredly another "faux" event. You know "artificial, fake, an imitation." We live in faux times. So much of our lives are filled with the fake, the artificial, the imitation.

We gin up events. Companies. Business models. Entertainments. If we fill ourselves up with enough fake stuff, will the fake fool us into thinking it is the real stuff of the world? Yes. I think so. We embrace the fake, we love the artificial, we fall for, and hold dear, the imitation.

When we bump into something real, something genuine, something heartfelt it's kind of scary. Sort of homely and odd. Seems less colorful, less lively and less attractive than the faux.

Open Borders Now!

Yes, contrary to lots of the political hot-air, hub-bub and hurly-burly "open borders" seems like a good, noble and very humane idea. People should not be condemned by the circumstance of their place of birth. Let my people roam free. No borders! Open borders!

Missing Out on the Living?!

Nothing makes me happier than to find a blog post referencing Jean Paul Sartre on a Monday morning. How existential! How many JPS sentences have I struggled over? I must say, that a beret just never sat upon my head very comfortably, but JPS is definitely one of those thinkers, and cultural figures, that captivated me, opened my head. Helped me find a way out of my "Catholic guilt" and regret phase.

How to live? Do you tell stories, or listen to other's stories? Do you lose yourself in the moment? Or do you observe and recount every moment that you live? Do you lose yourself, or watch yourself? We now live in the "Age of the Selfie!" But if you are always watching and documenting are you missing out on the living part?

JFK - Mob Hit!

I tracked with "Assassination Theater" by Hillel Levin. The title of a Playboy article Levin wrote in 2010 is more direct: "How the Outfit Killed JFK." My partner dozed a few times during the presentation. I hesitate to call it a play. I didn't doze. I followed every last rabbit down every last hole.

It helped that I drank a cappuccino before entering the theater. Plus I was bringing a lifetime of dogged interest to the subject. How many Thanksgiving dinners did our family discuss the "single-bullet theory?" The "lone assassin" theory?" The importance of  the "Grassy knoll?"

Levin makes a pretty good case for a mob hit. I always thought it was the most likely scenario. Watch the Zapruder film - no doubt there is a shot coming from the front of the motorcade. And I just can't believe that subsequently Jack Ruby gunned down Oswald because he wanted to spare Jackie Kennedy from a trial. Just not believable.

So Levin names names. Actually names the guy - James Files who admitted to shooting Kennedy from the grassy knoll. It's kind of the "holy grail" moment. But there's no "aha!" to it. Most of this all sounds plausible. But we are now in the realm of "myth." This is such a "cold-case."

And there are so many contradictory theories and facts. Murk and muck. At the end of the night, just as we're about to wrap up, Levin also tells us RFK was gunned down by the mob too. This seemed sort of tacked on. A few sentences, a picture of Sirhan Sirhan and call it a night.

So yes, the Mob. Sure. Probably. Too bad. So sad. And well, guess that's it. But there is no ending to the story really. Just the loss. The counter-factual fantasy of "what if." It's kind of a hall of mirrors that you just can't escape.

Folks. Spinning. Out.

Folks are spinning. Out. When is it time for the strait-jacket? The rubber room? What point is made, what line is crossed, that compels others to finally decide that they have heard, and seen, enough, that it's time to send in the goons to spirit you from your apartment?

How many goons does it take to take one Crazy One from their humble abode? How many squad cars? How many paramedics? How much strong-arming and man-handling? How much fury and fear, terror and rage? How much screaming in the night? 

Who is next?

How Does it End?

How does it end?

If it ends well, then we will say it was a comedy with a few tragic overtones.

If it ends badly, then we will say it was a tragedy with a few comic overtones.

Extraordinary Being!

I have met some extraordinary beings in my life. Human and otherwise. I recently met a Greyhound. A former racing dog. For three years this dog spent her time in two places, two places only - a kennel and a racetrack. She was born to race, born to train to race.

I was told she had a pretty good win/loss record. Lucrative. But then, well, her racing days ended, and she was on the list to be terminated. A young couple adopted her. Rescued her. Brought her home, and gave her a new name, "Biscuit."

I have been spending some time with Biscuit. Imagine a wad of gum, stretched out into the form of a dog, impossibly long, impossibly thin. When she stands in the sunlight, her legs are translucent. So thin, where there isn't bone, sunshine bleeds through her skin and soft tissue. Her tail is like a whip. She is all bone and muscle. She is a moving structure of bone.

She is gentle. So gentle. Quiet. She seems "not of this world." I have stood beside her as she has discovered a new world - flowers, grass. Is it possible she has never before sniffed a flower? We ramble around with no agenda. Just experience the day. She has helped me to see the world with new eyes.

When I come to see her, she looms up in front of me, expectant. What an exotic creature. Those deep, dark eyes - bottomless. I talk to her. Show her I am so happy to see her. So happy to spend some time together. We can walk. Just walk the day.

Alone, and Never, Ever Alone!

Yes, this makes more than sense... we are never alone, even when we are alone. And all the relationships in our lives, affect our lives, our health, our well-being, our immune systems, and how we deal with stress. And life, well, brothers and sisters, "life is stress!"

And when you lose someone close, it is like losing a limb, an integral part of your being. That's how it feels, that's how it is.

I think of all the people I carry with me - mother, father, siblings, cousins, etc. (we all come from a long line of dead people), and also all those folks, those voices, who have had an impact on me from afar, voices, beings that I carry with me always - Dylan, Melville, Neil Young, David Foster Wallace, John Lennon, Kurt Vonnegut, Patti Smith, Sam Shepard, Kerouac, Poe, Allen Ginsberg, Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, Paul Bowles, Charles Bukowski, Vince Lombardi, Joseph Heller... oh yeah, lots of others I can't bring into my viewfinder this morning.

No wonder I am a jumble. And full of words. Always. Alone and never, ever, alone. Are they all good for my immune system? Don't know, but it's an interesting mix for sure...

A Poorly Constructed Thing!

Words. Hurled like daggers. It is amazing how deep they can cut. A key word, slipped in at the right time, can be deadly. Funny. Surprising. And you think you can hold onto your "dignity," some sense of respect, or nobility, or worthiness, but no, every last shred of dignity will be ripped from you. And it's surprising how easily it can be done. So yes, that dignity you'd like to cling to is a flimsy thing. 

So. What's left? A sense of the "absurd." But maybe this sense of the "laughably foolish" can be a positive state? Accept the irrational. Swim in the sea of meaninglessness. Embrace it. Thrive in it. Face up to it. And don't cling to anything but the absurdity of your being. Accept that you are a silly entity. Irrational. A poorly constructed thing. Go with that...

You Wonder if You Are Talking to A Crazy Person

You wonder if you are talking to a crazy person. How would you really know? He's telling you about being captive on an island. Working for a large, multi-media entertainment corporation. He can't leave the island. He is being paid prodigious sums of money to be on that island and to do what he has to do. His time is not his own. Once in awhile he can make a call. His phone only works if he walks from the compound to the beach. He is captive in a house, an $80 million mansion. $80 million. The doors are made of marble. Marble. Yes, the doors are made of marble. It takes three people to open or close a door. Three people. Don't ever slam a door. Don't do it. People will come running out and give you dirty looks if you slam a door. 14 people run this mansion. 14 people. This is the same guy you were supposed to meet, to sit down with, but instead, he has been whisked away to another place. He's a talker. And he calls at all hours of the day. People, lots of high level people all over the world are waiting for him to complete the work he is working on. He's making more money than he can imagine. It is a wild ride. He has to go. People are waiting on him. He will call back when he can.

Improvise!

Improvise.  Make it up. In the moment. As they say, "on the spur of the moment." Hit your head against the wall? Don't do it again. You'll just knock your brains out.  Move the wall. Or will it gone. Or bring out the hammer and saw and get to work. We need less walls and many more doors and windows.

Finally Words Fail?

Words. They have gotten me into trouble. Sometimes really deep trouble. I have learned you must be careful what you say, what you write down. Everything can and will be used against you. Words. They have also totally empowered me. I love to talk, and to write. I do think words have been a sort of personal salvation. I have been lucky to easily tap into the flow. Not everything I say or write is important, intelligent, or necessary, but having the ability to reach for a word has been a life's work, and a life's pleasure too.

Sometimes I wonder if aging is just the inevitable running down of energy of "imagining the universe?" We are in dialogue, in a dance with this large, unwieldy beast. We bring our minds, our bodies to the task, but there is only so much energy and imagination we can draw upon. Finally words fail? And when they fail, the game is over? Don't know...

Train Whistle Blowing for Me

Up late playing music at a bar and grill in Nashville. Up early anyway. Sleeping in someone else's bed. I hear a train whistle blowing, always makes me sad, reminds me time is passing, people are coming and going. Being in a new town is always sort of refreshing, new things to see and do, but at the same time I fall back on all my usual routines - good meal, good coffee, up early writing, playing my guitar, reading a rock and roll book. You can't really get away from yourself. Maybe that isn't the point. Maybe getting to know ourselves is the point. And putting ourselves in many different situations to find out what is the essence, the core of ourselves. And maybe find out what it is you want to do, and do that with all your might, energy and enthusiasm.

Old Gods With No Place to Go

On the road. In Nahville. A music town. Thriving. It's younger, hipper, funkier, friendlier than I imagined. Lots of out of towners live here, which makes it seem like a city just like other cities. It's small and circular. Easy to get lost here. The ghosts of country music stars past haunt this place. But they really seem from another country, another planet, another time and place. I mean, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, June Carter, Patsy Cline, Jerry Lee Lewis, Ernest Tubbs, etc. Seem like a different kind. Not really part of the new Nashville. Their images are invoked. Their icons are everywhere, but they are like those old Greek Gods. Nice mythology, but no longer believed in, or worshipped. So a lost-ness kind of hangs over this place. It wants to be something, but it isn't what it pretends it wants to be.

Jammer - Destroyer of Strings!

I have a new nickname. Jammer - Destroyer of Strings. At band rehearsal I broke 3 strings. The high "E" and "B" and amazingly, the thickest and hardest to break, the low "E." It was humid, and I did a lot of up-tuning and down-tuning, plus the strings were on the guitar for a little over a month, but still, that is some kind of dubious record.

I am a heavy-hitter. Exuberant! But some of it might be attributed to bad technique. Or crummy strings. But in this case, the strings are actually quality. So yes, I admit, it's the player, not the play. Destroyer!

Live and Die for It!

Road-blocks. Dead-ends. False starts. Stones in my Passway. Cross-roads. A bump in the road. A hiccup. A blow-up. A crash. A total fuck-up.

How to deal with that shit?! My usual mode: "damn the torpedoes." Full speed ahead. Try to make lemonade out of lemons. You know, all that positive thinking hurly-burly. Takes a lot of energy. And bravado. False bravado.

Sometimes I know I'm bluffing. And sometimes I just fall into bluff mode without even realizing I'm doing it. And it's only later I realize, I bluffed my way forward. I even bluffed myself.

I always fall back to one of my father's favorite sayings, via Vince Lombardi: "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." 

And yesterday, trying to rally myself, I thought: "They didn't just give Frodo the ring, did they? He had to earn it, to journey for it, to fight for it, to live and die for it. Didn't he?"

And then I remembered. No, they did give Frodo the ring. He was the ring-bearer. He carried it, it was his, and then he lost it, and had to recover it. Oh yeah. Different story. But still, right, the ring. You have to journey and risk and be brave and go forward. And get tough when it gets tough. But maybe not too tough.

Bootstrap Our Own Meaning/Light!

I studied Psychology in College. Kind of just fell into it. I was studying literature, and realized if I was gonna write anything of substance, I really needed to study people.

And I discovered some real interesting stuff. Especially Jung & Freud. But Psychology/Psychiatry is kind of a discredited thing now. Who needs "talk therapy," when you can get brain scans and drugs?

All that brilliant and provocative insight from those two totally engaging minds kind of gets flooded over and out by the drugs. 

But you know, maybe instead of being "drugged up," we need stories, symbols, we need to talk to it all out to try to make sense, and to give meaning to our lives. Even if that meaning is fleeting, elusive, illusory. Whatever.

And this Psychiatrist reminds us we need uncertainty too. I always thought that the best of psychology/psychiatry was not so much a scientific endeavor, but an artistic endeavor. We are creatures of art and science. We need both. 

Life and our place in the great stream of life is poetry, art. It seems we do need to bootstrap our own meaning and light. As Stanley Kubrick put it: "However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light."

The Creators!

Bumped into a fellow "creator" yesterday. And had an amazing, enlightening, inspiring 15 minute conversation that resonated all day long. 

Anyone can be a creator. But the folks who actually spend their lives creating really are a special tribe. Really they are. Now this tribe has no special qualifications, as they say, "don't need no ticket to get onboard."

But you do need a bit of optimism, and energy and "stick-to-it-iveness". You have to be a bit stubborn and focused,  determined, to decide to bring things into existence. You can be a creator with mud, yarn, or plants, or food, music, art, dance, etc.

Put a couple "creators" together and watch the sparks fly. Really. It's that lively and kinetic. It's something really cool and special. There's also an element of hot air, talking about the ability to defy gravity, and the odds, and the naysayers. But when it comes down to it, it's about doing the work. It's just a human thing. Human beings being humans. Fully.

What's Gonna Happen Next?!

And then you sometimes wonder, what's gonna happen next?! Like this is all some grand narrative, and you have your part, and you're waiting for the next scene, the next episode, the next season.

And for much your time on the planet it seemed like there was no theme or purpose, or end point, stuff just happened. Some of it happened to you, and some of it happened to other people, and well, that was the kind of  show you found yourself in.

And you wished for things, and planned things, and sometimes your wishes came true, but mostly they didn't, and sometimes your plans panned out, and often they didn't, and sometimes you just floated along, and you realized you were really good at floating. And this was a "double-edged sword." A blessing and a curse.

And often you watched to see what came down the river, what was around the bend. And you realized, you weren't really all that good at "farsightedness."  You did your best to see what was in front of your nose, and did your best to deal with that. And you realized it was that kind of show too.

Heaven or Hell? Google It!

Lately I'm finding everything funny. Not in a cynical, sarcastic way. Really. Just funny. Like Ha, Ha funny! For instance this, "Googling for God." Totally cracks me up.

People are often searching for Heaven, less so for Hell. Except those who live in Retirement Communities. Those folks are searching for Hell. Maybe they're hoping Hell will be better than the Retirement Community? Or after a few years in a Retirement Community they just know that Hell is their next move?

And people want to see visuals. What does Heaven and Hell look like? Will I enjoy my stay there? What kind of amenities do they have? Will there be bingo? Air conditioning? What kind of Joy, or suffering? What's on the menu?

Folks also Google Jesus and the Pope, but those crusty old-time dudes can't hold a candle to Kim K.

Reward the Stunt?!?

I wrote about Ryan Adams covering Taylor Swift here. Just weird enough to be interesting. But also kind of a "stunt." And if I buy the Ryan Adams record of Swift covers, don't I also have to buy the Taylor Swift record? Just to see what he did and didn't do?

And is that just a bridge too far? 

Still, you do realize that this new record by Ryan Adams will be his biggest ever, a sort of breakout record. And he will, for sure, be riding Taylor Swift's coattails. Is it the kind of stunt that we should be encouraging?

I'm torn. One part of me says... buy both records... another side of me says... avoid with extreme prejudice...

Conflicting Realities!

I love it when I find out that things that I think I know, are things  that I don't really, really know. It happens often. It happens especially when we are talking about those deep, primal, fundamental things. I realize I make lots of assumptions. Most of my knowledge is partial, fungible, and open to revision. It doesn't exactly make me feel stupid, although, maybe it should. Let's just say I'm a seeker after knowledge, and knowledge is always running out ahead of me, waiting for me to catch up.

How about "reality?" Physicist David Bohm tells us reality is not as simple as we think it is...

"Reality is what we take to be true. What we take to be true is what we believe. What we believe is based on our perceptions. What we perceive depends on what we look for. What we look for depends on what we think. What we think depends on what we perceive. What we perceive determines what we believe. What we believe determines what we take to be true. What we take to be true is our reality."

So I guess it isn't all that surprising that human beings are often in conflict. And that conflict is not just of ideologies, but actually and really a conflict of realities.

The Pope vs. Fossil Fuels

The Pope vs. fossil fuels? That is an epic battle. The Pope has no army, but he does have a flock. Not infallible, but I like that he is speaking out about a "bold cultural revolution." Good to see a Pope not afraid to speak for the poor, the little guy. Sends the hard-core right into a tizzy. Funny!

Those who make their money via fossil fuels will fight till the last drop of oil, the last shovel-full of coal, but a change of consciousness can come to us all in a flash. Love that the Pope is selling a revolution. That may be salvation for human beings on this little blue planet.

Jeb! Fool!

The Punditocracy is waiting, hoping, expecting Trump to say something so stupid, so putrid and so horrifyingly ridiculous, that finally, finally, please god, he will implode like a bloated, gaseous, dirigible. They want to see that comb-over dude totally disintegrate into a million tiny pieces.

But it looks like the hard-core Republicans actually want a bloated, gaseous dirigible for President. They are searching for the "anti-Obama." And since they think Obama is a good-government Apparatchik,  they want an anti-government schmuck instead. Obama is pragmatic, competent, consistent, steady, intelligent, dedicated, patient, successful, etc. So yes, their dirigible alternative needs to be an anti-everything Obama.

Enter Trump.

Still, there's another guy running on the Republican side, and he actually did say something stupid, putrid, horrifyingly ridiculous, and oh so wrong...

That would be Jeb! Think: Fool! "He kept us safe."

That is a howler of epic, biblical proportions... Hey Jeb! Take your ! and stick it "where the sun don't shine..."

"Sail Away" - The National Anthem!

Yes, Greil Marcus' great book about music and America (see previous post), reminded me of Randy Newman's great, great song "Sail Away." The Slave Trader, the Confidence Man, coaxing folks to get on the great big "slave ship" and head off to the shores of America.

This song really should be our National Anthem. There are other good candidates, Jimi Hendrix's "Star-Spangled Bannner," Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land," Dylan's "Masters of War," but if we are talking about "promises and lies," Newman's song takes the cake.

And the promises and lies are so seductive... makes you want to get on that ship... "you'll just sing about Jesus and drink wine all day, it's great to be an American..."

Promise and Lies of America!

Dwight Garner writes about his trusty companion, Greil Marcus' "Mystery Train."  When I hitchhiked across America I carried a rumpled copy of  "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in my backpack. That was my constant companion.

Recently I read Garner's tribute to "Mystery Train," in the New York Times, and it compelled me to pull my copy off the shelf and re-read it. I'm about halfway through, and the 2nd time around is deeper, more profound, revelatory. What didn't hit me the first time around, hit me this time. I always thought it was good book, but now every sentence seems to hit some bullseye deep in my solar plexus.

Now the theme of America's "promises and lies" totally hits home. Maybe because I've lived more? And the idea that Robert Johnson, Harmonica Frank, The Band, Elvis, Sly Stone and Randy Newman are in the same company as Mark Twain, Herman Melville, and F. Scott Fitzgerald seems completely self-evident. And don't forget those mythical figures that hover over and haunt us all - Huckleberry Finn and Ahab.

I am not the same person I was when I first read this book. The person I am now, totally, really understands and embodies the story of America's promises and lies, successes and failures, myths and realities. The dreams and the nightmares of our American thing. 

"Mystery Train," is a wise and enlightening book about America. And myth. And music. It is a great, great piece of work. And everything it says has relevance right now. Maybe more so than when it was written. At least for me. Which if you think about it is truly an amazing thing.

"When Stuff Goes Wrong..."

Yes, wondering about when things go wrong. A friend of mine, very good with statistical analysis and abstract thinking commented: "It is amazing to consider the variety of ways that things can go wrong. And when stuff goes wrong, rarely is it what we considered likely. The Universe is far more perverse in it's ways than the troubles we can think up."

Yes, right. That's the thing, right? And we are always trying to bail ourselves out of the wrongness of things. And we try to make what's wrong, right. But you can only vamp and improvise so much, for so long.

Joy Division's Works of Art!

It was after reading Peter Hook's great book about Joy Division that I ordered up a beautiful 2 CD package of Joy Division's first 2 (and only) official releases from a boutique music vendor from Germany. $14.00

As they say, CDs are now the new vinyl.  I still love the format. And it's a great time to be in the market for CDs. They are now at a price that really makes them a bargain. I love owning the physical thing.

I realized that I never really explored the best of Joy Division. Way back in the distant past I had owned a vinyl copy of a compilation of their work. The compilation had "Love Will Tear Us Apart," the band's last great single on it, but the compilation obscured just as much as enlightened. 

So listening to the original records in sequence, one after the other has been a real revelation. Two records - diamond hard, brilliant, unique. A tight band pushing the boundaries, making singular sounds.  Martin Hannett pushed the band to create something truly extraordinary. Dare I say perfect? 

Still it wasn't until I played "Closer," over and over on infinite repeat that I realized how deeply in debt Ian Curtis is to Iggy Pop's "The Idiot." But what a tribute.  And this realization made me love the record even more. What a great band. Two absolutely, superb, essential records. Works of art.

Why Did We Choose Not to Copy Our DNA?

Childfree! Who knew we were living like Shakers, Cathars, Skoptsy, and Manichaeans? What does it take to be a childfree couple? 

Why would a pair of biological/genetic entities choose to not copy their DNA and pass it on to future generations?

Is it a great act of foresight? Or selfishness? Or pessimism? Don't know. It just worked out that way. Probably a little bit of luck (good or bad is up to you), and blind determination too.

Lots of our friends are childfree too. Many of them are "creators" - artists of all types. Is that a thing, a phenomena? A choice or a circumstance. Fortuitous, or tragic?

Childfree does open space in our lives for other things. We fill that space with other stuff. 

Sanctuary for "Lost Causes & Hopeless Cases"

I have been uploading some stray whitewolfsonicprincess tracks to Sound Cloud. Decided to make Sound Cloud our sanctuary for "lost causes and hopeless cases." Kitchen demos, band rehearsals, live tracks, cover songs. You can stream these to your heart's content.

What started it all? I was staying in "someone else's kitchen, playing someone else's guitar," and I realized it would be really cool to capture the sounds. Lately I've had the chance to play some really beautiful, vintage acoustic guitars - a Rod Bellville Custom Dreadnought (No. 32) and a 1972 Martin D-18.

This also led to a search of our "archives" to see if there were any other songs worth surfacing.  I own a little digital recorder, nothing fancy, sort of lo-fi. Some of these songs are a little "oversaturated," not the best sonic conditions, but I love the looseness, the energy of these tracks. Some of our finest moments have actually been working out songs in kitchens or in our band rehearsal room. Always looking for that lightening in a bottle.

God is His Promoter!

Why do I think Justin Bieber is ridiculous? I don't know. Why do I think Justin Bieber finding God funny?  I don't know. I guess God really, really wants the Bieb to be #1 on the Pop Charts. He/She is known to work in mysterious ways.

Everything Interesting is in Collaboration!

You look for your insight, your knowledge, your hard to define cool factor where you can. You realize it can come from any quarter. You might surprise yourself just by picking up a magazine and reading any little old article.

For instance, Cate Blanchett in the New York Times Fashion Magazine.  Not only does she look amazing, chiseled from the finest stuff, but her mind is a formidable, admirable thing.

And I just love this: "So much of Blanchett's life and work revolves around a careful calibration of control and chaos."

And this too: "... how to practice and prepare and bind together all the 'Eureka moments,' that recapture the spark of the first reading. The way she explained it, when a scene is working, the actors are equally aware of the person unwrapping a snack in row G and the other bodies on the stage.

She hates monologue. For her everything interesting is in collaboration.'That's the dangerous side, she said. You really don't know where you're going to go.' "

Damn the Diabolical Ideas!

Dread lifted (see previous post), don't know why...

Jean Paul Sartre (damn him) tells me that I am responsible for everything. Every act, every decision. Everything.

Decisions. You get one chance. Make the wrong choice and you have to live with the consequences. You have to decide things you have no clue about. It would be nice if you could make decisions knowing the outcome in advance. That would be much more fulfilling and equitable and fair. Living with the consequences of the decisions you made, knowing the consequences of the decisions you made. That seems like the way you should run the Universe.

No such luck.

What if we are not responsible for anything? Not one thing. What if everything is fated? There is so much is beyond our control. Doesn't seem right we should be held accountable for things we have no control over. Who decided where and when we were born, what our biological entity would look like, our early life experience? Are all our experiences subject to the whim of the Universe?

Are we just leaves blowing around on the planet? Damn that diabolical idea too!

Living in the State of Dread!

Can't explain the "dread."  Not a "fear" to pinpoint. More of a cloud of apprehension that settles inside, or seems to well up from the solar plexus, up and out.

I wonder if it's a precognition of something bad? Or a residue of a past debacle? The dread multiplies because there is no reason, nothing to point to. That's part of it, the mystery. And in this sea of dreadness, waking/sleeping are the same thing.

Living in the state of dread.

"Wheel in the Sky Keeps on Turning" - Journey

The wheel. It turns. And sometimes you think it's all about the wheel and it's turning. You are on the wheel, you are turning too. After awhile all you see are "cycles" , things recurring in a sequence, a long series of occurrences.

So there is the constancy of the wheel, but everything is also always different - changing, morphing, growing, breaking-down, aging. So the wheel turns, the wheel always turns, but all that is on the wheel is in a continual state of change.

Another one of those odd paradoxes.  Seems we are stuck in an endless, looping, series of paradoxes. That is sort of what passes as wisdom.

There is the way. The Tao. "...the flow that is everywhere. People moving around, nature doing whatever it does..."

Be Prepared for What You Can't Be Prepared For!

I've thought this before, said it, and probably wrote about it too. That's how it goes. You get older, and things you said before, you say again. Hopefully not all the time. You don't want to be one of those folks who tell you the same stories over and over and act like, or maybe really think, that they never recounted what they've recounted to you a million times over again. 

"Did I ever tell you the one about...?"

But the thought is this: life. It's a long-form improv. It's not a scripted play. It's not a fully-plotted novel with footnotes. It's not a poem. It's not a Rap song.

It's a basic set-up. A room. A place. With people in it. They come and go. And "anything can happen day," happens every single moment!

And this improv thing has been going on for a long, long time. Long before you even existed. And it will continue for a long, long, time after you are gone. And you can disappear any time too. Hustled out the door by forces you don't know. You don't really get to decide. It is sort of decided for you.

And what are you left with? "Yes, and..." You get to keep the game going. You get to try to be present. In the moment. Eyes and head open. Light on your feet. Be prepared for what you can't be prepared for...

Pinter Distilled!

Many years ago I was on a major Harold Pinter kick. I didn't just read, but "absorbed," many of his plays. Over the years, I have seen some great productions of his work, but it was the reading of the text that consumed me, inspired me, fired me up.

Funny. Confounding. Disturbing. Mystifying.

One of his later works is called "Ashes to Ashes." A play he wrote in 1996. "Later Pinter." It is Pinter distilled. Not a wasted word.

There is a shimmering, dazzling production of this play running in Chicago right now at the Intuit Gallery, by the 2 person collective Citizens Relief. Two actors doing the best work imaginable. Perfectly realized. Perfectly embodied. Every word, every gesture, essential.

A tiny corner of the gallery serves as the claustrophobic living room. You are sucked into the vortex of Pinter. Simone Jubyna and Mike Driscoll sink into these characters, transform themselves. 

The play flies by. It works it's way into your being. It's a fever dream, a homemade hallucination. A fascinating human combat. 

I left thinking this might be Pinter at his best. No fat. Every word, every gesture, knife-edge hard and revealing. Citizen's Relief will transform you. Highly recommended.

Maybe My Last Post About Miley!

I think what I mean to say regarding Miley Cyrus' tribute to her dead blowfish (see previous post), is that whether she is acting like she is "genuine," or really is being genuine and open and vulnerable and sad about her blowfish friend, either way, it's a pretty great music video. I mean impressive!

"But watching my friends, eat my friends, ruined my appetite..."

Miley Cyrus Pop Cultural Auteur!

I'm thinking it's possible Miley Cyrus is some kind of musical, pop-cultural genius. An auteur of her own life-time film. She has certainly perfected the art of "growing up in public." 

I came across this video of Miley singing about her recently deceased blow-fish Pablow. It is either an excellent acting job and put on, or a really heartfelt tribute to her fishy friend. I read it as heartfelt and genuine. It's really quite touching. Maybe the best song I've ever heard from someone wearing a Unicorn outfit.  Can't imagine Dylan or Neil Young pulling this off...

Youth is Used Up by the Young!

Thoughts after a long, hot, sticky, humid day pushing (metaphorical) boulders up (metaphorical) hills. My thoughts don't usually run away from me like this, but there it is...

They say "youth is wasted on the young." They are wrong. The young use it all up! For sure. This article in the New Yorker tells us teenage brains are different. Everything is heightened, nothing tastes better, everything has a greater impact. Young brains are more sensitive. And impressionable.

And you realize our world, our lives, are a perfect paradise for the young. Really. Maybe that is obvious. As you grow older you begin to see cycles. You don't see "the new," you see things that remind you of other things. After awhile, everything reminds you of something else.

And it's less of a paradise, and more of a mixed bag...

You live in a weary body, looking through weary eyes. You can't un-experience what you experienced. You can't un-learn what you've learned. You can't make things new, when in actual fact, and experience, they aren't new to you at all.

You do hope you can stay flexible, alert, pliable, changeable, adaptable. But time starts to shape and take away some of those attributes. For sure.

Maybe you can trade some of that lively "newness" for a well-earned wisdom? "Will they say he was a wise man?"

We are Always in the Age of Wonder

What the world needs now.

Yes, as Freeman Dyson points out, we always live in an "age of wonder," and we need more human beings to open their eyes and heads to acknowledge and celebrate the wonder.

We need scientists who think and see and write like poets. And we need poets who think and see and write like scientists.

And it does happen. I love when I read physicists and cosmologists who sound like visionary poets. 

Describe the world clearly, vividly - it is a place of signs and wonders. Open your eyes and heads!

A Friend and An Enemy!

We schlep these bodies around with us. They are our vehicles, and our baggage too. I am often of the mind that I am much more than my body, but at the same time, like all of us, I am bound to this construction of flesh and bone. So much of our time is spent in the care and feeding, the keeping cool or warm, depending on the elements, of these vehicles.  Sometimes I can't help but think: body - friend and enemy, both.

Mother of All Modern Conspiracies!

Conspiracies. There are conspiracies and then there are conspiracies. And there are conspiracy theories. You don't have to be a nut to believe in conspiracies, but it probably helps.

Who shot JFK? That is the mother of all modern conspiracies. How many Thanksgiving meals were taken up with an all-consuming goulash of conspiracy theories?

Now there is a play that supposedly tells the story. It all comes from a long-time reporter with deep sources in the FBI. From what I understand, just like I always thought, that day in Dallas was a Mob hit. And yes, think Grassy Knoll!

Definitely need to check out this play...

Polling the Idiocy!

Polls. Not sure if I believe them. It's not a science, probably more of an art. Polling firms still do their thing. How to take the temperature of a population? 

But if it's true that polls tell us something, then I think they tell us that many of our fellow citizens truly are idiots. Is it true that 54% of Republicans polled think Obama is a Muslim?

If so, this is just stupidity. And prejudice. And a concentrated idiocy. And it makes you sort of despair about your country and fellow citizens. If there is a "silent majority" they are pretty damn ridiculous. What a joke.

Thanks For Being!

Yes, so sad to hear that Oliver Sacks has died. And what's the best eulogy? "Thank you... for being you."

Pick Up a Guitar - Everything Transformed!

This is a phenomena, I know, because it has "happened to me" multiple times. Put me in a new place. New surroundings. Pick up a guitar. Not my guitar, a guitar owned by someone else, start strumming. Just mindlessly strumming.

Find a new riff, a new chord progression, a new song.

I love when that happens. It's always a surprise. I am always amazed how a new guitar will lead to new things. The feel, the sound - all different, all unique to that particular instrument. It could be a beat-up, crappy guitar, with bad action and cheap wood, difficult to play; or it could be a fine instrument - well-made, aged wood, sweet action, easy to play.

Sort of doesn't matter. Or, I mean, of course it matters, but each type of guitar can offer up something unique. Yesterday I found myself with an old Martin D18 in my hands. The serial number tells me that it was made in the Martin Factory in mid 1971. Old, resonant, mellow. A really fine instrument. A work of art.

And I played it pretty much all day. Sat in a foreign kitchen, notes ringing out in the loneliness. I found a new song, a long, melancholy lament, a haunting instrumental. Hope to come up with words that can match the mood. 

That D18 offered it up. It's the only way I can describe the process.  I picked a guitar up and everything was transformed!

Ryan Adams Covers Taylor Swift?

Okay, this sounds just weird enough to be interesting. Ryan Adams does an album-length cover of Taylor Swift's insanely popular 1989 record. Wow. Strange.  I own a couple of Ryan Adams' records: HeartBreaker, Ashes & Fire, and his last one Ryan Adams. I was sort of disappointed by the last one. Don't exactly know why. I guess I think Heartbreaker is amazingly great and Ashes and Fire too. My first intro to Ryan was Ashes and Fire and that one was quite captivating. And I love the loose nature of Heartbreaker.  Not a fan of Taylor Swift. I mean, I guess that's wrong, I'm not not a fan, just don't listen to/haven't listened to her music, and not really all that interested.  But I do find Ryan Adams sort of fascinating, and this sounds like it might be worth a listen.

Reactionaries!

I love this from Paul Krugman. There are no "conservatives" anymore in USA. Only reactionaries. Trump is Big Boss Man. Reactionaries are all about power & privilege. Protecting the hierarchy.  Makes so much sense. All falls in place. As Krugman says, "Trump isn't a diversion, he's a revelation..."

Crisis Point!

"Yes, well, the thing is, and it's a tricky, and delicate thing. What happens when you get to the point where you no longer believe your own bullshit? It is some kind of point of no return. A crisis point. I suppose it's some kind of break-through, or break-down."

You. Are. Lost.

I forget. Does bullshit float? I couldn't remember. So, I Googled it. I came up with "Life & Bullshit." Not exactly an answer. That's how it goes. You ask a not exactly a question, and come up with a not exactly an answer. What happens when you don't believe the bullshit anymore? You. Are. Lost.

What's Wrong with People?!

Yes, I suppose it is stunning and disturbing that hate and misogyny (see previous post) are a winning combo in the marketplace. But, then again, it turns out that hate is a market and a pastime. Haters are empowered by our latest technology. This young woman in Chvrches has to deal with a barrage of hatred every morning in her mobile feed.  Terrible. Absolutely appalling! What's wrong with people?!

Derogatis Calls out Dr. Dre for a Life-Time of Misogyny!

Dr. Dre has an Ike Turner problem: famous musical legends who enjoy beating on women.  I am so pleased that Jim Derogatis of Sound Opinions takes Dre to task for his "disgusting" misogyny.  It is surprising how many people just want to look away. Derogatis truly is a "critic" or music appreciator with heart and integrity. He's not just a business shill or cheerleader. Glad he isn't afraid to speak up against the vileness.

Dr. Dre is a billionaire, a mogul, a key figure in Apple Music. You'd think his past of beating women, might make him a little more circumspect about singing about beating women now, but I guess that is not the case. Misogyny is just part of his tired schtick.

And it's a money winner!

And what of the "Straight Outta Compton" biopic? Derogatis tells us it's "the lamest kind of gloss-over!"

And well, at least Derogatis has always been consistent. Here he is on the original album release in 1991: 

“This is an album of hate-filled songs that glorify gang rape and beating women to death, an album so nihilistic that its lyrics brag about making money from these topics. It’s the most vile, rancid, festering pile of crap I’ve heard in my life. It is also one of the top-selling albums in America for the third week in a row.”

A Lost King in a Lost Time

This may come as a shock to some of you. It came as a shock to me. I swear it happened. I mean, I swear on a stack of Bibles (no, that's seems pointless), I swear on a stack of Korans (no, I mean, hunh?), all right, never mind, I swear on a fresh, hard-bound copy of "Infinite Jest." Yes, okay, see, I'm deadly serious.

I saw an apparition walking the streets. Alive as you or me. 

It was in a "hard" neighborhood. A neighborhood known for drug deals, and gang shootouts. The part of town where the police vehicles with sirens ringing, and cherrie tops flashing are always rushing towards. It's where those unmarked cars (you can always spot an undercover vehicle) are speeding off to.

Anyway, I have been riding my bike through that part of town on my way to do a job over the last 2 weeks. I ride with my head down, with a purpose, hoping not to call notice to myself, or ruffle any feathers. I am riding like a guest, I know this is not my turf - just passing thru!

Anyway, on Clark Street, across the street from the grocery store, there is a liquor store, and that liquor store is the anchor of the community. There is always a steady stream of foot traffic, going to, or leaving from, that liquor store. People buy liquor (of course), but also cigarettes and lottery tickets too. A very popular destination.

There are always old-timers and hard characters hanging out in front. It's a sketchy place, again, I zip by trying not to see or be seen. But this where I had my vision. Or where I saw my vision. What vision?

I saw a man dressed as an impossibly ancient warrior. A desiccated, old, Viking, a crusty being, more ancient than the hills, looked like he had been recently dug up out of some primeval burial ground for Kings. A long kilt-like garment, long, gray, flowing hair on his head and on his chin. Gold and silver dangling from his ears and arms. He looked to be about 300 years old. He walked slowly, steadily, with purpose, towards the liquor store.

I am convinced he leached in from a breach in the space-time continuum. A ghost, an apparition, a vision, my warrior, spirit-guide. He looked like a King. A Lost King from a Lost Time. He had a real-ness, a gravity, and at the same time he looked like he was striding in another reality.

I didn't stop, but slowed down. Took him in, in all his faded, blazing, time-less, glory. My thought in the moment, "Is this real?"  It was sort like experiencing a lucid dream in the daylight. I wasn't sleeping, but, I wonder, was I dreaming?

This was an impossible vision. Totally. Contrary to everything else on that street. Contrary to logic and rationality. And now that I think about, I seemed to be the only one on the street who even noticed the Warrior King. How is that possible? I have no explanation. But I am now convinced he was a messenger. My glimpse of him was a sign, a word, a reminder, a prophecy, from another place and time. 

Now, of course, every time I pass thru that part of town I look for him. And every day that goes by, and I don't see him, the more I realize he really did appear to me. His absence now, makes his presence then, that more real. Weird. So weird. But true.

Connecting the Unconnected!

Yes, I do like the "scientific method."  It has led us to all kinds of marvels and wonders. And I do love some of the grand theories of science - evolution seems like a great saga, and I love cosmology too.

But I think I want my universe to also be filled with signs and myths. I like things pointing to other things, and I love a good story. And I'm big on making connections. Connecting things that at first seem so unconnected.

There is endless entertainment and insight in doing that kind of brainstorming.  And once you start connecting, well, it really is an endless, all-comsuming, very rewarding occupation.

Bucky Fuller Does a Yoda!

How does little old me have any impact in the world? That might be one of those hopeless-seeming questions.

I love this from Buckminster Fuller. Be the "trim tab!" And how to do it? You will be "getting rid of the little nonsense," and "getting rid of the things that don't work, and aren't true."

So I’m positive that what you do with yourself, just the little things you do yourself, these are the things that count. To be a real trim tab, you’ve got to start with yourself, and soon you’ll feel that low pressure, and suddenly things begin to work in a beautiful way. Of course, they happen only when you’re dealing with really great integrity.

Variation of Rollins

A variation of a Henry Rollins' lyric: Really sad things happen some times. Some times happens all the time.

Two Sentences

Two sentences from a conversation yesterday. Out of context, they seem like bright, shiny ideas that a person could live by...

Don't fear anything.

Be hopeful.

Making the Unknown - Known

Georgia O'Keefe on being an artist - "making the unknown - known." Exactly.

Abbie Fest 27 - Day 3 - The Stuff of Myths & Legends

Still wearing my yellow performer's wristband from the Abbie Fest this morning. A little reluctant to take it off. There is a rumor that this 27th year of the Abbie Fest could be the last one. I choose not to believe it.

As Rich Cotovsky, as Abbie, always tells us, "the myth looms larger than the reality." And I choose to live with the myth. And myths never die. They live as long as there are people to pass them on.

So yes, we spent a good portion of the afternoon & evening at the 3rd day of Abbie Fest as "the audience." And there were glorious, mythical happenings all around us.

We saw a man eat fire, walk on glass and pass 150,000 volts of electricity through his body to light up a fluorescent tube. We saw another young man defy gravity and juggle bowling pins. We watched three large nubile women totally command a room, conjuring laughs and tears - messing with our heads with tales of alcoholism, suicide and disease.

We saw a young man become a wizard, time-travel, have sex in a laundry room, and take a cupcake, which he splattered on his forehead, and declare it "semen!" We watched a stage-full of young enthusiastic comedians blow up all our preconceptions about what's funny and what's not funny.

We were entertained by the human spirit in it's many bodily forms - old, young, hairless, fat, lithe, beautiful, interesting. We were dazzled. Exhausted. It was sublime and absurd. Funny and tragic. The stuff of myths and legends.

Our Show @ Abbie Fest

Last night at Abbie Fest Day Two, as Black Forest, we did our performance piece entitled "and now..." a nice open-ended title. Left us the ability to do whatever we wanted to do. Which is our strength. We do what we want to do when we want to do it. No commercial concerns. No doubts or worries. It took us a long time to get there. 

Maybe "no doubts or worries" isn't quite right, a little too strong. Of course we have doubts - can we do the work to the best of our ability, remember our lines, bring emotion and honesty to the moment?

Worries too - will our cast and crew turn up on time, will my guitar stay in tune, can my partner sing and vocalize even as she's battling a cold? Will anyone be there to listen and take in our performance?

Pretty much "yes" on all counts. 

We went for an honesty, a genuineness, a certain heartfelt beauty in our performance. It all seemed to work and connect. And lots of the old-timers and performers that we know and respect responded enthusiastically.

Very, very satisfying.

Abbie Fest - The First Time!

You're in Chicago. What to do? Check out Broken Hearted Toy - the options are endless!  We will be at Abbie Fest 27 - Day Two.  

Last night, I bumped into a woman dressed to the nines, waiting to get in the restroom at the Mary Archie Theater after watching Rush Pearson in Diary of a Madman. She was a little giddy and breathless, and gushed: "This is my first Abbie Fest."

I replied, "It's a wild ride." I was a little envious, trying to remember what it was like experiencing the fest for the first time. I know it was a powerful first experience. I've been hooked and haven't missed one since.

Abbie Fest 27!

Here in Chicago, Abbie Fest 27 kicks off tonight @ 7:00 p.m. Terry Flamm at Broken Hearted Toy has a nice little preview of the 3 day festival. 

Our little theater group Black Forest will be doing a "performance piece" on Saturday, Day Two. Monologues and music. We usually do an original work for this fest. We have presented new work for more years than I can count, more than 10, less than 20.

It is a wild carnival sideshow of an event. Lots of talent and creativity on display. One act following another. The energy of the event, the collective consciousness of the thing, transcends any one act. 

There are always surprises along the way. Highly recommended! Nothing quite like it.

That's What We Want Our Artists to Do

Terrible, traumatic events have happened around here.  Losing loved ones is one of the most unexplainable, hard to reconcile events you can conjure up. We all lose loved ones, so I guess it's part of being human.

How to deal? 

We turn to what we always turn to - art. The making of art (also of course, the consuming of art created by others). Yes, I subscribe to the school of art as healer, art as religion, art as therapy. No apologies. And it turns out that if the person doing the art, is doing it for very personal reasons, those same reasons can be powerful reasons for others to relate to the art in a very intimate, powerful way.

Art is a human thing, and it is the working through the human thing that brings us the greatest art. Do artists need to suffer in order to create great art? Probably. And why? Because to suffer is a human thing, a deeply profound human thing. We don't need artists to seek suffering, we need artists to live a life, and in the course of life suffering is inevitable. The really great artist uses that suffering to create work, just like they use everything else in the human arsenal.

The true artist takes that suffering, that pain, and transforms it. It's a personal and a universal thing. That's what we want our artists to do.

Calls and No Calls!

I love this song & video from Mr. Mo. Telephones. And more telephones. What a perfect song!

Yesterday, I had the opposite situation. I was waiting for a call. A very important call. A call I studied for, prepared for, anticipated, and looked forward to, etc. And the call didn't come. No explanation. It just didn't come. Total silence. And it seemed like some kind of death or final judgement. 

Can a life be summed up by what didn't happen?

The Radicals - The Genuine Kind

It's funny. 

Our culture rewards the loud, bold, audacious, outrageous. Those who push themselves to the front. Those who love to talk and to primp in front of mirrors. We reward the loudmouth, the blowhard. We applaud the big gestures, the dazzling, the overwhelming.

Turns out the counter-cultural choice is to be simple, small, meek. To be clear-headed, clear-eyed. The "radicals" are those people who tend to silence, contemplation, humility, grace. Those who practice genuine kindness. Those who don't always yammer away. Those who do less, buy less, live lightly on the land.

Trump's War with Fox

This is excellent - Trump's war with Fox.  

As heterodox conservative commentator David Frum said, "Republicans originally thought that Fox worked for us and now we’re discovering we work for Fox."

Why is all this interesting? Partly because it's all so ridiculous, and also partly because it exposes Fox News for the crazy propaganda machine that it has been for so many years. 

Nate Silver thinks Trump can't win against Fox... Still, I think Josh Marshall is correct - Trump is not done. This absurd saga has legs!

Cultural Leap to the Abyss of Ridiculousness!

Can a whole Culture "jump the shark?" It seems to be a logical question. Just open your eyes and ears and look around. We kind of do live in a TV show. And the decline we are all feeling in every aspect of our lives is palpable.

It all probably happened long ago. Maybe we should wait for future historians to pinpoint the exact point of no return. But there is no doubt that we have made a collective leap over a hungry, finned, predator.

Can a whole culture succumb to ridiculousness? That's easy. Yes, of course!

And So On...

Haven't seen this movie, "A Pigeon Sat On A Branch Reflecting On Existence," , but I do love the title, and it sounds like a movie I would enjoy. And I love this from Ray Pride:

"Andersson seems also to hew to Emil Cioran’s shrugging, “Better to be an animal than a man, an insect than an animal, a plant than an insect, and so on.” 

Yes, maybe we have this evolutionary tree thing all wrong. Maybe it's the microscopic, single-celled, short-lived organisms; the beings with focus and simplicity who are at the top of the chain. And maybe Human Beings are actually at the bottom. We are so complicated, conflicted, contradictory. Almost like some malignant collection of dislocated parts.  Of course, we are so Ego-inflated we think we are the best, smartest, most beautiful. Funny.

The Bullshit Detector Hangs it Up!

It takes a "fake" newsman, a "fake" pundit to tell the truth. Because  you can't bullshit a bullshitter. And as he says, "bullshit is everywhere."  So our best bullshit detector is a guy who pretends to be what he isn't, but he does it in a way that shows us that he knows, that we know, and it's all very entertaining and enlightening, and refreshing. The Bullshit Detector warns us all to be vigilant. Brilliant. We will miss this guy. Wonder what he will do next?

Change isn't slow...

Change. It seems so slow. That's an illusion for sure. Change isn't an illusion, the slowness of change is an illusion.

I'm beginning to think (this came to me slowly) that change is so fast, so small, so incremental, and so all-inclusive, that it's almost invisible to our senses.

Everything is always changing, right? But it's not noticeable, or it is noticeable, but we don't notice it. Our cells are changing, every microscopic particle is in a state of change. 

And everything else? Yep, changing too. In a million ways. Every moment. The changing nature of everything is so deep and complete, it's not even all that interesting. Much less perceptible.

Then, one day dawns, you wake up, and you realize everything is different. And has been for a long time, I mean, it has been changing all the time. 

You are changed, the world too. And just as you register that reality, you and it, have already moved on from that moment too.

Every Single Day is Anything Can Happen Day!

"Anything can happen day." I guess it was a Micky Mouse Club Show thing. Before my time. "Today is the day that is filled with surprises; nobody knows what's gonna happen."

Of course, you find out that every day is anything can happen day. Every single day. And that means birth & death and everything in between. So in one sense we are all Mickey Mouse Club members, whether we want to be or not. "Nobody knows what's gonna happen" can start to sound pretty damn ominous.

Lots of our days have the "same day" feel, maybe human beings try really hard to make their days the same. We thrive on routine. Society demands routine. If you have a job you lock into a daily grind. We hate it and love it. Gives us something to do, fills our lives with sameness.

And then Anything Can Happen Day comes along and knocks a hole in your reality. And you realize there is no sameness at all. Every day is chock-full of surprises. There's the joy and the horror. The sorrow and the pity. We get ice-cream and cake, and bullets and funerals too.

Teachers & Teaching

Teachers. And teaching. This post made me put on my thinking cap. Over my life I've had a handful of influential teachers. It wasn't about mastering a topic, it really was about inspiration. Learning how to learn.

I can think of three teachers who really made me excited about writing, and spurred me on to write. And to read. Two of them were writers themselves. They shared their writing with me. Made me think that we were on the same road together. They inspired me and challenged me, and read my work with real enthusiasm.

I had one guitar teacher who taught me very basic music theory and notation. But this was a young man who looked like George Harrison and played a Gretsch Country Gentleman. He just exuded cool. I learned enough to plunk along, but was inspired to acquire that same coolness factor.

I took some acting classes. Had one great acting teacher. She always called me and my partner "rock stars." She didn't say much about my acting. Lot's of silences and long looks. Her best advice about acting: "You have to really, really, really want to do it."

Meditation. I learned Transcendental Meditation and "psychic" meditation from a few different teachers. I learned the basic tools. The how to. It was a total revelation on all levels. I still use my "mantra" that I acquired in the 70's, but it was the "psychic" version of meditation that I picked up in 2000 that totally transformed my life.

"Creative Visualization."  Not sure if I have successfully transformed the world, but the technique has transformed me.

I also remember that contingent of Nuns in grade school. They taught me guilt, and pain, and fear. And I learned how to read. And acquired the love of reading. Maybe as a tool to flee the guilt, the pain, the fear. So I guess I owe a "thank you" to those scary old penguins too.

Harden or Deepen

You bang up against reality. Like someone said, (who, I can't recall),  you do trust the realness of reality. So you bang up against it. Get knocked around. Knocked off your stride. Large holes are drilled into you. Big places where you used to know things and people.

You realize somewhere along the line that life is an experience. You gain and you lose. You pretty much lose everything you gain. Hopefully, at the end, the two things balance out, but there are no guarantees. Some gain more than lose, and some lose more than gain.

You get two choices. You can "harden your heart," or "deepen your heart." You don't get to do both. Your heart just isn't that big or resilient. So harden or deepen. That's your choice. What you choose defines you. Gives your life the color, the tone, the feel of your existence.

I recall that "voice" that came to me in April 2013... so I guess deepen it is for me.

Art As Prayer...

Art as a form of active prayer. Yes. 

My take would be the art-form does not matter. It could be painting, sculpture, dance, music, theater, writing, pottery, weaving, whatever...

And the content of the art doesn't matter. Trivial, profound, exuberant, melancholic, silly, somber, enlightening, darkening, whatever...

The act itself is the act itself. It's already life-enhancing. "The expression of creative skill and imagination..."

And the prayer can be to an empty void, or a big daddy, or nature, or family of gods, or some great cloud of unknowing, whatever...

Playing Wrong is Sometimes So Right!

I am so happy I sought out and bought Peter Hook's wonderful book on Joy Division "Unknown Pleasures." It is truly a pleasure to read. And Hook has such a great narrative voice. A true character, not afraid to say what's on his mind. And he tells the story of this band as he remembers it, and pulls no punches, he lays it all out for the reader.

I love how he talks gear, and band dynamics, and rehearsing, and playing gigs, both the great and not so great. He tells us how his distinctive sound evolved, how he learned to play "wrong," using only three fingers, and why he played up high on the fretboard  - because his amp was so crappy and sounded so bad when he played low notes.

Practicalities and luck gave us his totally distinctive and creative style of bass playing. There's a lot of humor in the book. And there's darkness and sadness too. Knowing what we know now, you wish Ian Curtis would have slowed down and taken a break, and maybe somehow he could have made it through. You are driven to go back to the music, just to listen to a totally unique, influential, and original band.

And you marvel at how Hook and company (minus Curtis) went on to form another great and influential band - New Order. A kind of incredible saga.