Yes... Never, Ever, Forget...

I wade into the political stream this morning. I do it reluctantly. Lately, our political discourse is so ugly, stupid, and corrosive. I am a Progressive Democrat who believes in Free and Fair Elections, in the Scientific Method, in Truth & Facts, in the reality of our unfortunate, Human-caused Climate Catastrophe, in the efficacy of Vaccines, in Human Rights for all.

I do think the National Press is failing us. They seem to want to convince us that Joe Biden is too old for the job he presently holds. They seem to forget that Joe is really, really, really good at the job he holds. Joe Biden's age is NOT the most important story to be mulling over, and worrying about, in the upcoming election in 2024.

Remember that Fat, Blubbering Idiot who lost the election in 2020, and then tried to stay in the White House, enlisting a bunch of henchmen & bootlicking minions, and hatched, and enacted, a plan to crash our democracy? You know, that Toxic Clown who has 91 indictments hanging over his head? Amazingly he's not in jail yet, the wheels of Justice grind really, really slowly. So, he's running around the country saying really, really stupid, toxic shit; trying to intimidate witnesses, and whipping up his followers to commit violence. Such a flood of shite, that it seems sensible folks, some of them press folks too, kind of get overwhelmed, their senses five seize up. They sort of treat the existential threat to our Democracy as quaint horse-race narrative. Mind-fucking-boggling.

And there is a still small, (hopefully getting smaller), lunatic segment of our country who think that Toxic Clown is just great. Those folks are truly, madly, deeply, seriously unwell.

I say, we must NEVER FORGET. 

The text below is excerpt from the latest filing from the Special Prosecutor Jack Smith, asking a D.C. Judge to gag that raging inferno of idiocy and toxic shite. 

Every day we should all remind each other this is an anti-democratic, lawless fraud of a man who inspired a bunch of slavering, brain-dead, MAGA-zombie fools, and racist, authoritarian-kiss-ass, creeps (many of them sitting in, or soon heading to jail), to attack the Capitol in D.C. This man is not an important person, he is just a common defendant, a man accused of very, very serious crimes. 

Cultivate the Beauty...

"Paradise" - "a place or state of bliss, felicity, or delight."

Right on. 

"The word Paradise entered European languages from the Persian root word "Pardis", which was the name of a beautiful garden enclosed behind walls."

Of course. We can build these beautiful enclosed gardens in our backyards, our homes,  our bodies, our heads. We decide what can be let in, what must be kept out.

What is enclosed, protected and encouraged to grow behind the walls? What is left outside the walls? That is all up to us. We can, and must, cultivate our own safe spaces, our own little secret gardens. We must be the diligent care-takers, the busy gardeners, of our own little beautiful gardens.

The crazy-ass, always-on, sound & fury,  hurly-burly of the 24/7 world is exciting & entertaining, but it's also totally all-consuming, chaotic, and can be deeply corrosive.

Discernment. Discipline. It is up to us to cultivate the beauty and to let it grow & thrive.

Validate...

"Validate your consciousness."

Ha. That sentence bubbled up in my head last night, it came to me in the middle of a deep sleep. It seems to me this morning to be a pretty obvious directive. Be consciously valid.

I wonder is this just "random access memory?" Or some message rising up from deep in my being? Or a missive directed to me from another realm?

I mean, like, who knows, man?!

The Flame of Being...

"Energy is Eternal Delight." - William Blake

Yes. Indeed. I find that my life is an ocean of energy. Sometimes raging, sometimes still. There are the ups and downs, the times of overflowing and cascading energy, and the times of depletion & stuck-ness.

I have to navigate all the hurly-burly, day to day, just like anyone else. I find myself in a constant, often-repeating pattern: total unbridled exhilaration, and then stark, deep exhaustion. 

Some of this roiling, boiling ocean of energy fluctuation is emotional, and some of it is physical and spiritual.

I turn to listening to, and playing, music, meditation, healthy, organic meals, bold, organic coffee brew, meandering bike rides on the path, long contemplative sessions on the lakefront bench overlooking the ever-changing ocean-like lake, with an over-hanging, always unfurling & morphing, wide-open sky. All are elements and ingredients in the recharge. It's all part of the process of being a fully engaged Human Being. 

It is so surprising, fulfilling and rewarding when the energy flow ramps up and reignites the flame of being once again. 

The "Resonance Theory of Consciousness..."

You know, you might think my last post (see previous post), is a bit "airy-fairy." Talking about the power of vibes, but then again, yesterday, I stumbled across this article from Scientific American: "The Hippies Were Right: It's All About the Vibrations,"  Which seems to validate my experience and intuition.

"Over the past decade, we have developed a “resonance theory of consciousness” that suggests that resonance—another word for synchronized vibrations—is at the heart of not only human consciousness but of physical reality more generally.

So how were the hippies right? Well, we agree that vibrations, resonance, are the key mechanism behind human consciousness, as well as animal consciousness more generally."

Right. Totally resonates with me. No doubt. And then there's this...

"Based on the observed behavior of the entities that surround us, from electrons to atoms to molecules to bacteria to paramecia to mice, bats, rats, etc., all things may be viewed as at least a little conscious. This sounds strange at first blush, but “panpsychism”—the view that all matter has some associated consciousness—is an increasingly accepted position with respect to the nature of consciousness."

So yeah, right on, Man. The Hippies were pretty much spot on when it comes to the power of vibes (see also Pete Townshend's Rock Opera about a little boy who reads the vibes). 

Of course, the Hippies weren't right about everything, major misfires include: Tie-Dyed Clothes (too messy), Free Love (too messy), Taking massive quantities of Drugs (too messy), but for sure they were also right about the Power of Vibes & the Power of Peace, Love & Understanding!

Amen, Brothers & Sisters!

True to the Vibes...

When we have a "successful" outing with our band, (like we did yesterday late afternoon, on the street in our hometown); with a good-sized, deeply-enthusiastic crowd, a fabulous lineup of acts, supremely well-played sets, $ for all the musicians, happy, beaming faces, and an all around feeling of happiness & good-cheer, the word that always bubbles up and wafts over us: VIBES. 

Yes. That's right. As in "good vibes." We are lucky beings who have on-going relationship with the vibes. It's a strange thing. You can't see vibes, but can feel them and absorb and embody them. The band, the players, the music, the songs, the lyrics, the location, the sound system, the gathering tribes, they are all just the set and setting for conjuring and luxuriating in the vibes. 

And it all just happens organically. You can't will the vibes to appear, they just show up and descend upon us all in the doing.

LIVING WITH THE VIBE! 

It's bigger than all of us, and includes all of us. We chalk it up to the power of music, creativity, and being alive in the moment; honoring life, love, doing the the thing you love to do with heart, head and soul all completely aligned, and a gathering of fellow beings open to experiencing and mirroring-back those same positive, healing vibes. It sounds heady, and trippy and maybe a bit "hippy-dippy."  Ha! SO BE IT! 

Yes. We must accept it. Our mission is to be true to the vibe, one note, one lyric, one song, one rehearsal, one show at at time. Be present. In the moment. There is a glimpse of eternity in that little moment where everything is true & possible. Yes. And, as always, damn the torpedos.

Harpoon Dodger...

Neil Young once imagined himself as a salmon swimming upstream, and he wrote a song about it. It's kind of a hallucination, a vision.  Certainly one of Neil's strangest, weirdest songs, pretty great too, a song he recorded "alone in a single take on a two-track cassette tape, sitting in front of a fireplace playing acoustic guitar."  You can hear the crackling and popping of the logs as he sings. Amazing. 

Why is this song front of mind this morning? Often I feel like a salmon too, swimming upstream, against the current, against the odds. Yes, I too have the "will to love." Dodging harpoons daily...

"I remember the ocean 

from where I came 

Just one of millions all the same 

But somewhere someone calls my name 

I'm a harpoon dodger, and I can't, won't be tamed."

Hustling & Floating...

Am I the spider or the fly? Did I create this present state, or did I accidentally zip into it? Am I creator or captive?

I am smack dab in the middle of an elaborate web. Tiny little shimmering strings, arrayed in an interlaced mandala.  I am stretched across two contradictory impulses: Hustling & Floating. Can they co-exist? Yes. Well. They, indeed, do. Sometimes Hustling, sometimes Floating. I alternate. I'm like a flashing light, always changing colors. Maybe that explains the very stop & start feel of my existence. On the make, and on the skate. It's a weird way to live, to be, but oh so true.

Detachment/Engagement...

If you are "cool," you are a bit detached from events in the world. Since the Wise Ones tell us that suffering (see the Buddha), is inevitable and built into the fabric of life, maybe a bit of healthy detachment is recommended? But, then again, how to do, or accomplish, anything? How do you make a mark? Do you grab the day by the collar and shake it? Is engagement, maybe even a passionate engagement,  necessary? How to navigate between a cool detachment and a passionate engagement? Aye, well, there's the rub.

Transcendence in the Doing...

Another musical session yesterday, 3 of us, playing songs in our rehearsal studio. A guitarist, a drummer, a percussionist. Super-percussive & drum-heavy. We ran thru songs with a distinct, propulsive, groove. We made a loud & unholy racket; original, organic, homemade. Two voices pushing out from the P.A. speakers & floating above the bedlam & mayhem; little clouds of hope & wonder.

We are certainly diligent, persistent, determined & disciplined. Stubborn in our creative doing. Willing to do the work, no questions asked, no quarter given. We are rehearsing for two concerts this weekend. One a very private concert, and one a very public one. Best not to think too far ahead. We make plans, lay down markers, damn the torpedos.

The doing, the playing, the attending to the good work, is really the thing. 

There is a deep yearning, usually buried deep inside us, to make something "beautiful & great," but really that's never verbalized or stated out in the world, best to keep it under the radar. Floating that kind of sentiment brings out the sharks, the smiling, glad-handing folks who want to crush you, and your wispy dreams, to destroy your little transparent bubbles of creativity & hope, like pesky insects. 

We have always been ambitious, maybe sometimes overly-ambitious, in our own way. Always creating new work. Always trying to make it the best it can be.  All we do, all we can do, is what we do. 

The questions we hesitate to float: Is it good, is it beautiful, is it great, will it touch people, will it last? 

Who knows?! Fruitless, maybe even counterproductive questions. Really of no use when you are doing the work. The doing is it. Approaching the creative impulse with heart, head, soul totally aligned; truly, madly, deeply. Fully engaged in the moment. Open to the flashes of transcendence in the doing.

Be the Blade...

One thing I constantly do: I monitor my own internal landscape. I am, and I surmise we all are, raging, overflowing volcanos and out of control, madly-swirling tornados. I seem to be always swimming in crazy-ass thoughts, unbidden, unquenchable feelings, hard to pin down emotions. I am constantly managing the storms of unknowing and of un-being deep inside.

That's just the way it is. Part of the standard-issue kit-bag of being Human.

There is an internal monologue always rolling out. Shit bubbles up. And you swat at the those bubbles, or try to corral them. Often they burst on their own.

On the outside, day to day, I appear to be cool, calm, collected. As they say: Still waters run deep.

Last night, in deep sleep I did receive a message. Words bubbled up in my head, even-though I was sleeping soundly like a happy little Pilgrim.

"Sharpen Up." 

Hah. I took it to be an insightful phrase of encouragement. Think of a blade, a knife, a handy swiss-army type of implement, or a flashy razor; strong, sharp, glinting like lightening in the darkling, fading light. 

I think of Peter Tosh's "Stepping Razor:" 

"I'm like a flashing laser and a rolling thunder

I'm dangerous

I'm like a stepping razor

Don't you watch my size

I'm dangerous, dangerous

Treat me good

If you wanna live

You better treat me good"

Ha. I mean, I think the message is "Be the sharpened blade that is never used."  Right. Sharp. Bright. Strong. 

Hopeful and Sunny-Side Up...

Yes. It's true. Going to a party, and partying is not all it's cracked up to be (see previous post). It didn't totally throw me into a major existential crisis, but it did throw me into a minor one. The line from a Steely Dan song that stuck in my craw over the last two days: "Any world that I'm welcome to, is better than the one I come from." 

Yes. Exactly. 

I was still sort of reeling yesterday. Being in close proximity to lots of folks in close quarters actually put me on tilt; I mean it was all a bit disorienting and disheartening.  We know some intelligent, funny, creative folks, but most of the chitter-chatter via party-time was snarky, deflating, and unknowing. There was a hard & cold vision of hanging over us all.

Maybe it's the times we live in. Hell, I can sling the snark with the best of them, but marinating in it was quite off-putting. I realize I am much more hopeful and sunny-side up than most of the folks we know. I realized I am so out of step with so many folks. It is so easy to be unhappy, to criticize, and to tear down anyone who floats a bit of hope and initiative.

It's usually best when we submerge in a creative project. Especially when we play music. No time to talk, no time to complain or to make fun of the ways of the world.

Maybe it's all about tone? Yes, the world is a funny, strange, weird place. We should try to find the humor in our situation, but the humor is best when it is self-directed. The making fun & tearing down of others is just so deflating and ugly. It is a lacerating and self-lacerating thing. 

It's probably based in fear and a general unhappiness.  Yikes. I say damn the torpedos & lean to the light. I mean, that's the way to party!

Party Time...

We went to a party on Saturday. It's kind of a funny ritual. If you haven't been to one in a while, and you don't drink alcohol any longer, (haven't had a drink in about a decade and a half),  it's kind of amazing to watch Human Beings gather together, drink to excess, and sort of unravel before your eyes. There is the ritual loosening of lips, psyches, and personalities. The music rages, the conversations get louder and more animated. If you are fully, completely, sober, clear-headed & clear-eyed, you can really watch the minutes roll out, as the room begins to tilt, and the Human Beings actively jolly themselves into a kind of mad, frenzy. Fun is not it's all cracked up to be. But, you know, maybe a party is an essential kind of unrobing? A metaphorical sacrifice and blood-letting? It certainly can be entertaining if you are are the sidelines. You can marvel at how Humans loosen up and intentionally unravel. If you didn't imbibe, the morning-after is much more agreeable. No fuzzy-headedness. No guilt. No existential crisis, no floundering or wondering: "What did I say? What did I do?" The storm has come and gone. Diamond-clear-consciousness was maintained. No brain-cells were sacrificed in the doing and undoing. Still, there is no sense, or reason, to indulge in idle judging of your fellow Humans. They were just doing their thing. A flurry of words. Conversations off the rails. A bit of jumping up and down, a few wildly unexpected moves, tapping on tables, clapping hands, clicking heels. Silly chatter. Mad-cap laughter. Lots of sound & fury signifying pretty much nothing. Party time.

Gnarly Work in Progress...

Human Beings; can't live with them, can't live without them. 

My go-to working hypothesis, which I often invoke: Human Beings are Complicated, we are the Tricky Monkeys.

Not surprisingly, the great, prolific, singer-songwriter, Nick Cave puts it much more eloquently in his latest Red Hand Files post: 

"... the world is not divided into good and bad people, but rather it is made up of all manner of individuals, each broken in their own way, each caught up in the common human struggle and each having the capacity to do both terrible and beautiful things."

Exactly...

Nick sings about being on a "singular road," and really, well, aren't we all? Nick suggests adopting two key qualities: Humility & Curiosity. 

Amen. And as a flawed, and a distinctly, broken Human Being myself, I suggest not judging yourself or others too harshly. Shite. We can all do so much better. We are gnarly, complicated & contradictory beasts, and the world we find ourselves in is a grand, sprawling,  gnarly work in progress.

What to do? Lean to the light. Try to embody the best, and not the worst of our species.  Yes, it's a bizarre & temporary state we live in. We are here to see, and to actualize beauty and love. A worthy, noble cause, indeed. Damn the torpedos.

Not Working... Playing...

Ha...

Forgetting (see previous post), is a trick of the mind that I find super-useful in writing songs, lyrics, riffs and chord sequences. Practicing & Forgetting is the secret key to my creative process. Always trying to be creative. Always trying to find inspiration,  without really trying at all; the trick is to stumble across those "aha" moments of discovery. I try my best to not be consciously working. I am out to fool myself, trick myself, in fact, I am not working, I am just playing, trying to be in an open-state where ideas descend upon me. That is how it feels. I don't make up songs, they appear, I accidentally stumble across a new riff, or a lyric suddenly pops into my head. Often, later, with a new song,  I wonder, "Where did that come from?"

New songs really do seem like gifts from the Great Cloud of Unknowing.

Of course, it is best to always to be playing/practicing. Having a guitar in hand, strumming, putting my fingers on the fret-board in new ways. I don't think of notes, music theory. Thinking is not it. I often use alternate tunings. Suddenly the guitar is a new and strange thing. 

It also helps to have collaborators. I work with two very different song-writing partners. They are both unique human beings, and the work with each reflects those intimate relationships. It always a challenge. A fun and captivating thing. I do my best to be present. Be Here Now. Trying to catch lightening in a bottle. To get entangled in a flash of creative magic. It's "the good work." So good, it's not really work.

Practicing to Forget...

Back to practicing (see previous post)...

What's funny. We don't practice because "practice makes perfect."

There really is no perfect. Doesn't exist. And practicing is really a more mundane word for playing.

We practice and play so we can forget. There is moment of inspiration; a moment when a riff, a song, a lyric emerges from the ether. Then there is the process of trying to corral the butterfly. To be able to conjure up  and repeat that moment of inspiration on demand.

We run thru songs, we play the riffs, we learn, memorize, and sing the lyrics so we can forget them. We are swimming towards a state of complete sublimated unconsciousness. First, we consciously learn and repeat, and then we gradually, intentionally forget.

The idea of perfect evaporates, you replace that with the concept of deep in the bone muscle memory. Learning to forget. The knowledge, the elements of the song become totally embedded in your being.  So yes, you can sit in a room with a guitar and a collaborator and run thru 50 plus songs that you know, and do it easily, with no effort. No notes, no hesitation. You play. You don't think about playing. You just play, in the moment to moment.  You don't think of keys and notes, or struggle to recall lyrics. You just play and it surprisingly all flows out.

You get to point where it is all playing & flying. You practice to elevate yourself and the music to a state of transcendence.

That is why we practice. To reach that magical state of forgetting. We practice to know and to forget. To be in the moment, and to flow without a thought. It's a glimpse of the Creative Divine. Not perfect. But perfectly amazing, gratifying, soul-enriching.

A Good Day of Practicing...

A good day for us is usually a day when we play music. We usually go to our rehearsal studio on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so, for sure, we have at least two really good days every week. Wednesdays it's usually just my partner and I, on Saturdays, it's the two of us, plus our full band. In full force we are 8 band members strong.

When we make the trek from our apartment to our studio (about 3 blocks), we always create a bit of a stir. Folks stop us on the street, me lugging my guitar, my partner lugging her drums, we look like musical gypsies, or maybe more like professional schleppers. 

The question folks usually volley to us on the street: "Are you playing somewhere?" Our answer is always: "Practicing!"

Yes. Indeed. We love to play shows, but most of the time we are practicing. And that is the thing.  It's the way to get better. 

Yesterday we were both a bit shaggy, worse for wear. At first, setting up our gear seemed a bit of a chore, but then once we started working on songs we started to click. By about the 3rd song the tiredness, the shagginess, magically evaporated. After a couple hours we were both musically and spiritually cleansed and exhilarated.

The good work.  

On the way back, lugging gear again, a woman on the street, someone we didn't recognize, smiled & waved at us, she shouted out: "I'm one of your groupies!"

Hah. That made us laugh. Yep. A good day of practicing.

Long-Running Chemistry...

Yes. I am reminded that we are all chemistry labs. You know we come to the party with our own properties, and accessories. We all come from a long line of dead people, inheriting genes, DNA, characteristics, tendencies.

But we also meet the day, and what we put into our bodies seems pretty damn important (see previous post). Food is medicine. The habits and addictions in which we dabble also seem to be determinative; which substances are life-affirming and which are life-squelching?  Living as a Human Being is a long-running chemical experiment, yes, better living with good chemistry. 

Be careful and conscientious Dear Pilgrim. Being Happy & Healthy, that's the goal. Pretty sure it's a bit of a luck and pluck kind of thing. Hopefully you live under lucky stars, and hopefully you have a bit of pluck and determination to do the best that you can do. Pay attention to the chemistry, it seems to pay dividends, at least that's what the experimental results seem to tell us.

Oh Yeah, I Forgot: ELECTROLYTES!

Ha. Sure. I think I am smart. Although, I am smart enough to know I'm not that smart. Whatever I know is absolutely dwarfed by what I don't know. So best to be humble about my own native intelligence and smarts.

What's really funny, I have learned lessons. If I look back on my life, something I don't really like doing, I see a long string of lessons, some painful, some (rarely), joyful. 

But what does it "say" and mean, when you learn a lesson and then forget it?

Does that make me doubly dumb?

I bring this up because yesterday I hit upon an insight, one that I have hit upon before, but then, just as suddenly forgot. Which is really pretty damn idiotic. What was the word that ventured across my dull, heat-dome sapped mind? ELECTROLYTES!

Ha. Yes. Of course. We secured a box of Trace Minerals Power Pak. These little packets are a magic elixir. I mean, they work. I knew that, this has come up before, in the wake of another very hot summer day a few years ago, and then, well, stupidly, I just as quickly kind of forgot. Yesterday I greedily ingested the first packet of electrolytes with a big glass of water.

I could feel energy flow thru my body. Of course, maybe this is all in my head, but I pretty much don't think so. I feel so much better this morning. I want to declare it a miracle cure for the energy-sapping, mojo-killing  heat-dome. The electrolytes seem to be immediately kicking heat dome's ass.

Mojo-machine back in business. Yay. Sunny Jimmy is rising up like newly revived Lazarus, ready to meet the day with vim and vigor. Already feeling a bit smarter too.

Heavy Medicine...

You say your Mojo-Making Machine is on the fritz? What's a Humble, Heat-Dome-Sapped Pilgrim to do? 

Pizza Party! My partner and I split a large 1/2 cheese, 1/2 mushroom & onion pizza late yesterday afternoon. Yummy.

And we streamed  a silly, funny, laugh-generating show, on Netflix, "Cunk on Earth," a very entertaining British Mockumentary.  We streamed 5 episodes in one sitting. Satisfying.

Sure. Pizza and Laughs. Going hard for the Heavy Medicine. Seems my Mojo is on the ascendant this morning.  A good sign. Life.

The Elixir of Exhaustion = ZEN

Exhaustion - "the state of being extremely tired." Right. A dash of Heat Dome, a dollop of sleep deprivation, a spritzer of unrelenting always-busy, boot-tapping days, a series of jaunts on a bicycle, sprints up and down stairs, (every step counts), long, thrilling, consuming band rehearsals, you know, you seem to be always moving. These ingredients add up to a deep, well-earned exhaustion.

Is there an upside?

Yes. 

We trekked West yesterday, and I was in the grip of a deep, all-consuming exhaustion. Funny. Once you pass thru the brittle, touchiness, edgy phase, you enter a bubble of calmness. All your energy, which doesn't add up to more than a drop or two, is used to "BE HERE NOW." Just "to be" takes every last ounce of your energy.

So, you coast. You flow. You float. You have No Energy to fret, worry, argue, to offer an opinion. You smile behind blue eyes. You are agreeable. Words come grudgingly. Your thoughts are focused on being present. You are a genial companion. You are malleable, flexible, seemingly content & happy. It's a bit of an illusion, you do not have enough energy to actually be anything except present.

It's a great state to be in to re-connect with folks you know. You experience them. Their energy overwhelms your own. And you just let it all come down.

So yeah, that certain exhaustion is very ZEN-like. You smell the roses. You go places with folks you know. You go thru the motions of being a person. You smile. You let other people talk and let their words roll over you. You exist. That's pretty much all you can do, and it's enough, and all is fine and good.

That Kind of Universe...

My friend tells me: "It's good to worry." Ha. Maybe. I wonder, what is worth worrying about?  Maybe the things that can go wrong? What can go wrong? Well, pretty much everything. Yikes.

Last night I came across this quote from Pete Townsend speaking about "Quadrophenia,"   (1973), his other great rock-opera. For some reason this totally resonates with me.

"When you write about somebody that has EVERYTHING happening to them you somehow realize how everything does affect everybody."

Right. We are all connected. We all experience it all. We worry too, pretty much about everything. It's that kind of Universe.

Witnesses, Observers, Watchers, Seers...

Maybe our job is "seer?" You know, in the simplest sense, "one who sees." Yesterday felt like the first day of Autumn. It wasn't. Autumn is officially a few weeks away, but the day had all the hallmarks of a perfect autumn day.

We met on one of our favorite lakefront benches, the one near the big, drooping, friendly & looming tree, the one fronting a deserted, totally desolate beach. There was a certain & clear emptiness suffused with a palpable gravity. The temps were mild. The lake big, bold, rocking & rolling with heavy churning waves; a very thick & ocean-like texture to the water. Two geese, flying in perfect choreographed sync, bodies, wings, long necks and heads starkly sculpted against a dark and light, cloud-filled sky.

The wind came from the North, and cut across the lake, blowing thru the trees, lightly caressing our heads and bodies. There were a few leaves and branches rattling overhead, otherwise, there was an intense quietness surrounding us. Very few folks out and about this early afternoon. It was so remarkable. So very different from the previous day. The summer-like heat & humidity, the pressing, siege-like, heat-dome-feeling a distant memory. 

Our conversation was fractured, sporadic. Dotted with long periods of genial silence. Eyes open wide, gladly taking in the long, ever-expansive horizon. Silent Witnesses. Quiet Observers. Hushed Watchers. Content & Happy Seers.

Powering Thru to Inspiration...

We were both totally exhausted yesterday. Maybe still reeling from the heat? Heat Dome from last week really did a number on us, and still feeling the effects. We powered thru anyway and had a rehearsal with our band late afternoon. We schlepped our gear over to our studio space, set up the P.A. plugged in, and played. We resurrected a couple of old songs, mixed in with some new songs, and ran thru a few songs that we always play. It was quite exhilarating. Nothing like a roomful of musicians all listening, and playing off each other. Our exhaustion seemingly evaporated for a couple of hours. The kick of inspiration propelled us forward. It all sounded so good to our ears. Afterwards, we kind of collapsed in a heap. Trudged back home. Sipped some cold Kombucha and watched an episode of "Good Omens."   A ridiculous & silly show, but quite entertaining. We settled into a fuzzy state of giddy weariness. The rosy glow of good vibes and musical inspiration wrapped us up in an envelope of good cheer. That's the power of music, and the ability to play it. To play is the thing, damn the torpedoes.

Think Again Proud Boy...

The leader of the Proud Boys sentenced to 22 years in Federal Prison for "Seditious Conspiracy." The prouder they come, the prouder they fall.

Actions have consequences. Karma. Oh well.

Maybe being  Proud - "having or displaying excessive self-esteem"  is actually a fatal flaw?

Right. 

Makes me think of that other weighty word: Hubris - "exaggerated pride or self-confidence." 

The Harder, More Self-Assured, Confident and Prideful, the Harder they Fall...

Think you are above other folks? Think you are beyond the law? Think you can defy the will of the voters? Think you are above Democracy, and the normal processes of Government? Think you can prop up some Orange-Headed, Wanna-Be Authoritarian?

Think again, Proud Boy. 22 years in Federal prison. Yikes.

The Imagination of Disaster...

Reading good books. Fine literature. Smart non-fiction. I do think just the act of reading makes us smarter. Filling our heads, feeding our imaginations, expanding our horizons, opening our hearts. Propels us to see the world  in new ways, thru new eyes.

I think of Mike Davis' "Ecology of Fear: Los Angeles the Imagination of Disaster."  (1998). A masterpiece book, no doubt. I read the book when it came out. It exploded my consciousness. Made me see L.A. and California in a new light. 

When I read the news today, or listen to the radio today, it all seems so damn obvious and familiar. Yes. Of course, it's the ecology of fear writ large, and in technicolor. It's now all-pervasive, planet-wide. Our ecosystem is under threat from all sides. We are all Los Angeles & California now. The imagination of disaster is now our collective imagination. 

Hot and Cool...

Hot and Cool. 

The day was Hot. We were Cool. How? Long bike ride in the heat, the air around us oven-blazing, sweat rolling down our brows; we stopped for a sit-down under a shady tree, and uncapped cold Kombucha (bold, refreshing zesty) drinks. We sipped from the brown bottles like thirsty, shipwrecked pirates. We were at one of our favorite spots, a little out-cropping, a grassy oasis on a hill overlooking Lake Michigan. Hundreds, no, maybe thousands, no uncountable number of dragonflies, buzzed in the air above and around our heads. Where did they come from, where do they go? Sail-boats and motor-boats circled around in big circles out on the water. The boats so far out on the horizon they looked like a lonely child's toys. The lake, massive, still, dark-blue, a magnificent, sparkling, body of water. Puffy clouds slowly trekked across the sky overhead. Time seemed to stand-still. Our words hung in the air and then evaporated., dotted with long hollows of silence. Occasionally our laughter rattled in the branches of the big, brooding trees. Our bikes lay in the grass like fallen, steely creatures; waiting for something to happen. Long moments of still-ness and breath.

Hot and Cool.

Everything Will Improve...

 Haruki Murakami: "It’s my belief that if you listen to good music, your writing will improve."

This comes from one our greatest writers. I am thinking especially of The Windup Bird Chronicle. Magnificent. Magical.  

We listen to good music all day. Pretty sure everything improves: writing, cooking, philosophizing, talking, meditating, relaxing. Better living with good music.

What's good? 

That's up to the listener. We all have very particular tastes, proclivities, and tendencies. My partner and I have every kind of music imaginable in our record collection. We both love (off the top of my head): Dylan, Beatles, Stones, Modest Mouse, Wilco, Stevie Wonder, Fleetwood Mac, John Coltrane,  Dead Can Dance,Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Grateful Dead, Brian Eno, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, The Drive By Truckers, Aretha Franklin, Neutral Milk Hotel, Neil Young, Lucinda Williams, Otis Redding,  Led Zeppelin, Sly and the Family Stone, Steely Dan, The National, Patti Smith, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, Nina Nastasia.  

She has her absolute favorites: Chet Baker, Bon Iver, Mavis Staples,Van Morrison, Art Blakey, Yoko Ono, Explosions in the Sky, Karen O.  I have mine: The Who, Sigur Ros, Mogwai, Miles Davis, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Peter Gabriel, Big Star, Jason Isbell. 

We are always: spinning, singing, dancing. That's the way to do it. Improving!

A Greater Process & Flow...

There are many reasons I love "The Bear," a series streaming on Hulu now. Don't worry, if you haven't seen it yet, I am not giving anything away, no plot details. You should see it all for yourself. I am in the middle of season two.

It blows my mind, blows open my heart. It's a love-letter to Chicago. I was born and raised in and around Chicago, and the series totally gets the quirky, gnarly, beautiful, raging beast; one of the great American Cities. I mean, it is so Chicago-smart, down to the tiniest, grimiest, of details. It totally rings true. Paints a total landscape and mind-scape.

What really resonates with me is the cast of characters, the "common folks;" deeply flawed Human Beings, scrambling about, risking everything, staring down failure, grasping at finding some meaning & purpose in their lives. There is this deep-seated, need, a fuzzy-headed quest, to find something great, something excellent, some way to expend and apply themselves, giving it all up to something bigger than themselves, a state of being, a place, where "every second counts."

Just people, very human beings with all their foibles, doubts, worries, insecurities, addictions, madnesses, depressions, side-shows, tentatively shooting for something greater than themselves. Oh man. It's the narrative of a"striving," or the falling into certain circumstances that opens the door to something amazing & great. Applying yourself, working on yourself, finding something where you can be the best, even if it's in the service of something seemingly inconsequential, simple, mundane, tedious, odd or weird. It's a dropping the ego thing, subsuming yourself into a greater process and flow.

Yes, it's everything. Life. So good. Inspiring. Beautiful. Hilarious. Touching. Powerful.

Merciless Art...

Big doings.

When it comes to our "art," my key collaborator and I are pretty merciless: "having no mercy, pitiless." We know what we love, and love what we do, and you do not want to be in our way when we kick into hyper-speed. 

We try our best to be merciless with grace, kindness, humor, and forgiveness. We are "good vibes" kind of people, and usually we reside in our own very positive, giving, creative bubble. That bubble is mostly open-door, open-arms inclusive: creative fellow-travelers welcome.

But, shite, once in great awhile, all hell breaks loose. Yesterday was a all hell breaks loose experience. The tumult & hurly-burly was initiated by our tangling with an unsuspecting helper, who revealed himself to be an obstacle to our creative goals (I am being purposefully vague to protect the guilty and innocent).

Funny. It is in times of crisis, pressure, deadlines & heightened expectations when folks reveal their true selves. It was not pretty to see this helper flailing about. And it was instructive to see this helper totally underestimate our determination, our will, and creative instincts. When it comes our art, we do have a killer instinct. When push comes to shove, we really truly, madly, deeply know what we are doing, and what we want. When we are fully aligned we feel we can move mountains and we do.

Of course, my key collaborator and I were totally aligned on this particular mission, which meant we were going to get what we needed come hell or high water. We were merciless, the helper floundered. And we walked out with the goods. Damn the torpedos. And what of the floundering, flailing helper? A helper no more.

Henry Hill  (in Good Fellas) : [voiceover] "That's when I knew that Jimmy was gonna whack Morrie. That's how it happens. That's how fast it takes for a guy to get whacked."