Stuck on Wonder!

Aging. It happens to everything/everyone. You get older. Although, I like to think that really it's just our experience that is getting longer.  

That Dylan lyric rings in my head: "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now." And it's true. I feel younger than ever. Less sure, less set in my ways.

The things I was so sure about as a youngster, I no longer feel sure about. So much is tentative, everything is on the bubble.

I am much more comfortable saying "I don't know." To all life's certainties. Not sure there are any certainties. Oh yes, there's death and taxes. But there is the great cloud of unknowing and exemptions. Don't forget exemptions! 

So much of what goes through my head now is not definitive, not assured, not certain. I am open. Open head, open door... I wonder. About everything... that's kind of a young thing that I'm stuck on.

Not Weak At All!

I am pleased that Kevin Drum takes us through all the gory details. Those cads who try make out Obama "weak" on "national security" and terror, should take a stroll through Drum's latest post.  Not weak. Not at all.

And those who are criticizing Obama's approach really offer nothing.  And isn't that a pattern? There is an intelligent, engaged, pragmatic, cool-headed individual in the White House. Most of his rivals are just talking heads, speaking lots of words, saying nothing.

The GOP - Cringe-Worthy!

Yes, it takes a crisis to remind me how happy I am that Barack Obama is President of the United States. The GOP is a cringe-worthy entity. Their candidates for President are a bunch of mealy-mouthed idiots. Truly.

It is truly disgusting how they are using the terrible events in Paris to hype the fear and panic here. And of course some of them are pounding the table demanding we send more troops into harm's way. Does everyone forget how that worked out in Iraq? Isn't that how this whole thing devolved into the mess we have today?

Yes, as Obama says, a party that is fearful of 3 year old orphans kind of gives up their credibility as a viable party.  So pathetic! Kind of funny too. But really, really pathetic.

And yes, this is a good political doctrine to live by: "Don't do stupid shit!"

Consoling a Friend!

Yesterday, I found myself in conversation "consoling" a friend. I was consoling, but could have been very easily the consoled one. As I have said before, we are all one catastrophe from catastrophe.

A positive thing happens and you feel positive. A negative thing happens and you feel negative. A series of positive or negative things happen and you think you are blessed or cursed.

I found myself saying things like: "You must believe, in something, even it's just believing in something. I love clear consciousness, clarity, and I think we are all more than our bodies. Maybe you can turn this bad thing into something good? Use this time to heal and do something. Something greater than yourself."

Was I really talking to a friend? Or was I really talking to myself? Maybe both?

Exploiting the Terror!

Yes, of course, (no surprise), Paul Krugman gets it exactly right. There are people who will want to exploit our fear of the terror. So predictable. The conservatives see this as an opportunity to use for political advantage. Remember how badly they responded to the attack in New York? Cooler heads. We need cooler heads. Good thing our current President is a smart, pragmatic man with a clear head. We need to think and act with clarity. Not with fear, panic, or terror reverberating in our heads.

It's Personal

Sadness. It wells up. That's the main thing. People wreaking horror, death and pain on other people. Makes you wonder, "What's wrong with people?"

As a tolerant, liberal-minded person, I stand up for equality, liberty, fraternity. We do have to call out the hatred, the backward, the radical fringe. Some choices, some ways of living, some practices, some beliefs are just not acceptable. 

Still you wrestle with your empathy and compassion for all that lives. 

But what do we do in the face of hatred? The terror-makers? How do we call out those who stand against a free, democratic, liberal-minded, socially progressive world?

Enemies of freedom? Radical ideology of any kind. Fundamentalism. People with the idea that they have all the answers. That there is a better world than this one. Anyone who will kill another human for an idea or religious belief. These folks are seriously sick.

Do we harden our hearts? Do we strike out in retaliation? Do we hope for some fleeting, ephemeral, impossible "justice?"

This kind of attack is "personal." It's an attack on all of us. All who want to live. What do we do?

The City of Light Under Attack

A barbaric, terroristic attack on the City of Light. Sends one into a spinning vortex. The slaughter of innocent bystanders, people going about their daily lives. Unimaginable, unconscionable. Leaves one grasping for answers. No answers come. How to deal with human beings willing to die and take others with them? 

Our great experiment: a free city, open, tolerant, welcoming. Human beings of every kind living together. It's an attack, on all of us. Anyone who lives, and wants to live free and happy.  So sad. You fear for the future. It's easy to search for easy answers.  There are no easy answers.

Elvis C. - More than a Footnote!

Elvis C.'s book is long (see previous post), so a 2nd post about it seems fine to me. There is lots of bitter, "gallows humor" in the book. The kind of humor a lapsed Catholic of Irish descent always revels in. Seems all was not peachy keen for "Little E." Like most of us, much his pain and turmoil came from his own hubris and a long series of self-inflicted wounds.

Anyway a few additional thoughts and tidbits...

Elvis burst on the scene like a hyper-active, angry and guilt-ridden Buddy Holly. Bigger glasses, even more nerdy, certainly pissed-off and edgy. He became famous for his insolent smirk. Funny, bitter, witty. Maybe too witty, too self-satisfied. But really thoroughly guilt-ridden. A chip on his shoulder.

Some of it was a pose, but the essence was real. Elvis was funny & angry & guilt-ridden. Right out of the box.

Like he says in the book, I'm paraphrasing, he wrote bitter songs for a certain kind of creep. His sudden success blew his life to smithereens. There was lots of wreckage along the way - broken vows, broken promises, broken beer bottles.

He was punched out by Bonnie Bramlett in a bar in a Holiday Inn in the late 70's. Elvis was blind drunk and belligerent, and said some terribly derogatory things about Ray Charles and James Brown. Bonnie laid him out (You go girl!).  This event hung over Elvis like a black cloud for many, many years. Chalk it up to too much booze and hubris. 

Over the years there was a mellowing. And Elvis became a go-to collaborator. He's played with everyone, written songs with some of the greatest song-writers in the Universe. Most of his work has a melancholy mood. But he really, really knows how to write a compelling lyric. 

The last few years he writes about characters. Not so much his own personal history. He tells us it's better for his head and heart that way.

What I love about the book, it makes me want to listen to music - Joe Henry, the Pogues, Allen Toussaint, Solomon Burke, Burt Bacharach, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney.

Just like Elvis, my taste in music has grown over the years. Suddenly all those odd detours and unique collaborations that Little E. took are intriguing and compelling. The last few days I have been listening to the record Elvis made with Burt Bacharach. It has been sitting on a shelf for years. I dusted it off and it's been on infinite replay the last few days.

It's not r&r, by any means, flugelhorns & strings, it's some kind of brilliant, shimmering, chamber-pop, or something like that. Pretty amazing stuff. So yes, Elvis. This Elvis too. More than a footnote.

Calling Yourself "Elvis!"

Almost done with Elvis Costello's book. It's thick. But reads well. You might think this Elvis is a footnote to r&r history, but not many people can say they have co-written songs with Paul McCartney, Burt Bacharach, and Allen Toussaint.

Elvis (Declan MacManis) is a wordsmith. He has a way with words. You can hear it in his songs, and the music of his prose. The book jumps around a bit, which to me seemed like a good thing. You get a portrait of Liverpool, of Elvis' family, a deep and moving portrait of his big-band vocalizing father.

I consider Elvis one of my r&r "discoveries." I inherited the Beatles, Stones, Dylan, but discovered Patti Smith, Bruce Springsteen, the Ramones, Talking Heads and Elvis. I was at the first show he ever did in the Chicago area. A tiny club. Up close and personal. I was a believer.

Certainly "My Aim is True," and especially "This Year's Model," are essential records. I kind of lost touch with him over the years. I fell for the angry young man with songs of "guilt & revenge." He sort of lost me when he revealed himself to be a "song & dance man."

As a friend of a friend once sneeringly said to a friend: "You like music, I like to ROCK." But over the years my taste has morphed, and I'd say I do like to rock, but I love music. Music of all kinds.

So now, Elvis' range of influences, projects and collaborations are quite breath-taking and impressive. There is a sadness, "unfaithful," and "disappearing" are key words in the title. There are lots of scenes and events included in a busy life. But you also get a sense that much is left unsaid, or referred to only glancingly. Lots of pain and heartache worked out in lyrics.

Think a Liverpool-raised, lapsed Irish-Catholic, prone to drink, and anger, and guilt, and revenge, and "unfaithfulness." With a love of music, and an extraordinary musicality.  Yes, to take on the name "Elvis" was an act of hubris, arrogance, a joke, and a marketing gimmick. But much of his musical life has been pretty extraordinary. And music, songs, are central to all that happens in this life.

One Step, One Step!

One step. One step forward. One step back. 

Sometimes it means standing in place. Lately I've been involved in a range of projects, and all of them seem to require infinite patience. Maybe that's a good thing? 

But then, some days, it's clear that I don't have infinite time. So yes, patience, but then very impatient to get things completed. But everything takes time. More time than originally thought. It's like running in mud, or on a treadmill. Running. Running. Going nowhere.

Slowly, oh so slowly seeing some progress... but it's hard. I can hear that clock ticking, always, always ticking. Steady. Constant.

Just Play!

Work. Right. It's all we have. Well that's a little bit too Puritan. There's also play. We have work and we have play. You want to make your work as fun and creative and amusing as play, and you want to make your play as serious, all-consuming, rewarding and fulfilling as work.

In our creative realm we always talk about the "good work." If you are going to do the work, or if you have work to do you should try transforming it. Make work, work for you. Make work play.

Then you have it knocked. Right? 

Kind of that Zen idea. If you must sweep. Sweep. Everything is contained in that motion, that activity, that action. And if you give yourself totally to what you do, by that commitment you fill everything with meaning.

That's the idea at least. No mindless actions. All actions fully mindful. Make work play. And then play. Just play. 

Tell the Story Your Way!

When the legend becomes fact, print the legend. 

Memoirs. Autobiographies. People telling stories of their lives, as they remember it. Think the "unreliable narrator." Because of course our "memories" are not infallible. Just because someone remembers something, doesn't prove it happened, or happened the way they remember it.

And story-telling is an art. Not a science. What makes a great story? Editing. What you leave in, what you leave out. So we tell a story based on our memories, and it's an act of recall, an act of creation, an act of imagination, an act of discipline.

What's true, what's not true? Who gets to decide? If you are the writer, you decide. Then the reader decides whether what they read sounds true, seems true, is a good story. If it's a really, really good story, you are carried along and go with it.

Is everything "literally" true? Or is a really great story, told with verve and gusto better than true? A really good story is art, poetry. It's own kind of truth.

I think of Nabokov, Keith Richards, Amanda Palmer, Elvis Costello, Mary Karr, Patti Smith, Helen MacDonald, David Carr - I read their stories, and decide to ride along with them. Their truths shine through. The way they choose to tell a story. The way they choose to believe it all happened the way they remember it happened.

And yes, we all tell our stories. We tell the stories of the lives we want to live, want to believe we lived. We tell the stories of who we want to be. We pick and choose from a universe of facts. We tell a good story that we think people will want to read. We all get to make history. We tell it our way.

The Adversary Gave Us Evolution!

One of the guys running for President thinks that "The Adversary" encouraged Charles Darwin to come up with the theory of evolution! And who is the Adversary? Well, you know, SATAN!

And we really haven't recovered, have we? Darwin really did a number on us, he left us with a major, freaking head-trip. Dear Brothers & Sisters, we are not so different than Chimpanzees!  Humans and Chimps - oh so closely related! How diabolical! 

Once that thought is released into the land. All hell breaks out!

Jean Genet - Favorite Thief!

My favorite thief? We should all have a favorite thief, right? As Bob Dylan once sang, "You must be honest to live outside the law."

Ok. I will go with Jean Genet. Orphan, poet, writer, spent lots of time in prison. Sprung by Jean Paul Sartre. Genet wrote his first novel on toilet paper in prison. It was destroyed by one of the prison guards. Genet just wrote the whole thing again. That's determination.

Genet - favorite thief!

You Can't Really Say the Truth!

"Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" 

One of those very ridiculous questions. Always asked seriously. And a serious answer is expected.

You can't really say the truth, right? For instance, you can't say:

"I don't see myself at all. I see a blank, a blackness, a hole in the fabric of reality. I'm not there at all. In fact I don't see myself now either. Just don't see myself. I look in mirrors and I am always surprised that I'm still here. So yes, I struggle every day just to be here. In the moment. Hope that answers the question..."

After Reckoning - Denial!

Yes, so what happens the day after the day of reckoning? See previous post. 

Well, it's a new day. A new frame of mind.  And like my partner pointed out to me, the day after the day of reckoning you are free... 

Free to go back to your normal, finely-tuned, and oh so effective "state of denial!" Think Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein: "What hump?!"

Day of Reckoning!

Yesterday was a day of reckoning & accounting for me. Facing the music. Meeting with folks to discuss things. Folks and things I'd rather just forget. But forgetting just isn't going to cut it. So anyway, off on a wild goose chase across the city to take care of business.  At least it was a gorgeous day. So yes, even for me, head filled with worry and doubt - a beautiful blue sky, a sparkling afternoon, sunshine and color. People of all stripes dashing past me on their way to... wherever...

A Morrissey lyric kept running through my head, appropriate, and not so subtle: "What a terrible mess I've made of my life."

Morrissey is a "go-to" lyricist. And isn't he just one of the greatest songwriters of all time? Another day, and another mood and maybe this line would be keeping me company: "There is a light that never goes out." But no, it was not that kind of day.

If I were to sum things up. My life. I mean, I hate to do it, not my normal mode, the summing up is a gruesome frame of mind, a gruesome game. One I work hard on avoiding. But anyway let's see, where do I start...

At least...

... I'm not dead yet.

... I haven't killed anyone.

... Things could be worse.

... I still have all my body parts.

... Everything still works.

Maybe the bar is set a bit low? But anyway, that was my day of reckoning. You get down to the bottom. And then there's the looking up.

Amanda Palmer - Wind-Up Twitter Machine!

I was reading Elvis Costello's new book (he's a funny, intelligent, interesting writer), but then took a detour to read Amanda Palmer's book "The Art of Asking." Amanda is super-famous for her Kickstarter campaign for one of her records. She raised over a million dollars, with over 25,000 individuals donating to her campaign.

Amanda is a very, very unique individual. Her book has a few  simple, powerful ideas. Probably the most intriguing, is that it's OK to ask. It's a powerful tool. And surprisingly if you are open and honest, lots of people will be open to helping you, if you are willing to reach out. And Amanda has really lived this idea. Amanda has totally surrendered herself to "the crowd." Crowd-surfing, crowd-sourcing, crowd-funding. 

Human beings are social animals. We need each other. To ask for help is a risk, it's scary, there's the looming fear of rejection but all of us need and want to connect to others. No man or woman is an island. There are no "self-made" people. We come from a long line of others and those others help make us who we are. We can connect, it's as simple as being forthright, honest, vulnerable and willing to ask.

Amanda gave a TED talk that now has over 7 million views that pretty much contains the essence of the book. The book fills in details. You learn more about Amanda. Maybe sometimes you learn more about Amanda than you want to, but that's the way she lives her life. She shares. She tweets. Always. Obsessively. She is a master of sharing and "over-sharing." 

She certainly has used social media to the max. And she was ahead of the wave. Early adopter. Surfing social media for all it's worth. Pretty amazing story. She started out as a living statue, one of those folks dressed up, out on the street, performing for the crowd. And then she has gone on to a pretty impressive career, maybe not so much in music, but definitely in the "asking" and "self-promoting" biz.

I did wonder somewhere in the book if all this asking and openness and over-sharing is a bit too much? What's personal? What's private? When is it best not to ask the crowd for advice or help? And what happens if the crowd decides they don't like you, and don't want to help you? Amanda has some stories about that too.

When is enough, too much? I guess Amanda will find out. And she will tell us about it, in detail. For sure. Check her Twitter feed, she's probably tweeting right now.

Unanswerable!

The really, really big questions? Unanswerable. That's funny. Human. 

For instance: Ultimate Meaning, Purpose, Life, The Universe, Spirit. 

We can all hazard guesses. We can swear we know the answers. We can cling to theories. Pound on books of wisdom. Follow the thought-trains of other smart folks.

But really, finally, totally the big ones are Unanswerable. We get to ask the questions. And maybe that's all we really get. And we get to figure out how to live without really knowing.

We live with uncertainty. Mystery. We just don't know. Even if we really do want to know. And we will probably never really, really know the fundamental things we don't know.

So we live with that knowledge. The knowledge that our knowledge is quite inadequate, unsatisfactory, partial. And we deal.

So Much Hurly-Burly!

I for one hate to see that Grantland is no more. It was a daily must-read for me. So good on sports, pop culture. Long, in-depth articles. A few days ago ESPN unceremoniously pulled the plug. Is there room on the internet for long-form journalism? Hope so. 

But so much of what is happening out in our "social media" is so "short-form." Click-bait headlines, silly videos. Feeds our short attention spans. We are insatiable for the next click. So much hurly-burly. Less taste. More filling.