The Big Enchilada!

Death. The Big Enchilada.

Always looming. The Looming Big Enchilada. Last day of August. End of Summer in the air. Days noticeably shorter. The light is different, the angle of the Sun, lights up everything with a subtly golden glow. The End of Summer Glow.

I met a friend on the trail yesterday. He told me that this time of year always brings a hint of depression. Summer always holds such promise, long days of dreaming and rambling. When we were kids we'd be out all day, riding our bikes, poking around the areas of wilderness. The End of Summer meant back to school, for me, it also meant: regimentation, school uniforms, tan shirts, blue ties, Nuns, guilt, pain, sin, homework, Jesus, Prisons of the Mind.

Last night I had a dream. I was preparing for a long trip. A trip to France. This morning I recall the dream and say to myself: "That was a dream about Death." Right. There is a grand theme. Everything dies. Everyone, everything we know. For awhile, I thought, well, who knows, maybe it won't happen to me? Crazy thinking. No one gets out alive. Still, I also think of the Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper." Death is just there. Waiting. Why worry? It will come when it comes.

Those flowers in full bloom, plants, trees, little critters. Death is our Constant Companion, the Silent Watcher, the Man in Black, the Pretty Maid with sharp blade in hand. I think it's some kind of transformation, an ending and a beginning. I always find a glimmer of light thinking about energy. Everything becomes everything else. That's how it's all connected. Will I know, will I remember? Probably not, but oh well..

Who knows what's around the next corner? The Big Enchilada...

Cracks...

“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” - Leonard Cohen

Yes. Honor the cracks. That is the human way. Eminently touchable, permeable. We are all breakable. Cracks are showing. Honor the cracks. Be open to the light that surrounds us, and let it in. 

No Cats Killed in the Dissection!

It is gratifying when folks take the time to listen to, and to write about our music. Jay Freeman at the music blog Divide and Conquer reviews our record "The Alternate Boot." He actually does a track by track dissection of the record. Not as painful as it sounds. I mean, sometimes you dissect the cat, and you end up with a dead cat, but this is quite good, excellent writing, knowledgable ears, no cats killed in the process.

Jay plays that game, "What do they sound like?" Pretty funny. It is difficult to write about music without drawing upon other sounds & artists. Influences & precursors. We all have them. This list is crazy good: The Doors, Jefferson Airplane, REM, Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Gordon Lightfoot, Loreena McKennitt, Cowboy Junkies, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Dire Straits & Patti Smith…

Yeah, ok, I’d say mix all those together in a waring blender… add a bit of lightening, blood, sweat, tears, and a healthy dash of eucalyptus, and you get something approximating whitewolfsonicprincess' folk-rock, groove-machine vibe! Anyway, well done. Happy the review is dropping now. Good timing. Our show at SPACE is next week, Wednesday, Sept 4. All arrows are pointing forward. We are ready to make a joyful noise.

It Just Is. A Life.

Yeah. Hope is still the by-word around here. We are always onto the next thing, which focuses the mind, the arrows are always pointing forward, I mean, once in awhile we look back, but that is not the default mode. Backward-looking, backward-thinking, seems detrimental to a healthy mind. Can't change the past, what's the point of clinging to the past? 

Thinking about the next thing. Living in the moment. The present. This moment. That is where the light resides. In the moment, in the doing, in the light of this day. Where do we go from here? Don't really know. There is a mystery to our lives. We are always bounded by the mystery. Where did we come from, where are we going, what's it all about?

We know the questions well. The answers? Well, no, not really, we aren't good with answers. No closer to the answers. Maybe we live the answers? Without the knowing. There is just the doing, the being, the living. That's all we get. I sure do hope things work out for all concerned.

We are alive in this amazing Universe. It's all a wonder. Surprisingly, we actually have a place in this grand thing. Not sure what that place is, don't know if it has a greater meaning or resonance. It just is. A life.

"You Have the Key!"

You might think that I'm a Climate Catastrophe Pessimist (see previous post). I suppose so, although, I am just trying to see the world, and my fellow humans, thru realistic eyes. So yes, maybe I am pessimistic that we can pull our heads out of our asses in time to save our ecosystem. The trends just do not look good for the ecosystem and our species.

At the same time, I know that "a change of consciousness" can happen in the blink of an eye. So, who knows?! Maybe we all see the light in a flash of brilliance in time to make drastic changes? I don't see it at the moment, we are swimming in greed, violence, stupidity, but maybe we can all surprise ourselves with a glimmer of uncommon intelligence and foresight?

I had a dream last night. It was one of those profound, "prophetic" kind of dreams. I saw a Key, a Golden Key, not shiny, a bit dull, tarnished,  a Key that had been used often, a common House Key, attached to a big, round silver ring. The picture of this Key flashed in my head, and I heard the words: "YOU HAVE THE KEY!"

We Humans are the Problem. We Humans are also the Solution. It's time for a major re-boot and re-think.

The Clever Monkeys: Over-Fished, Over-Grazed, Over-Mined, Over-Polluted. That's the Story. Climate Apocalypse.

Are Human Beings really so selfish, stupid, short-sighted, lazy, and blind that they would let the environment, the ecosystem that supports their lives as well as the lives of all the pretty creatures that surround us, all the fish, birds, mammals, all the plants, the flora and the fauna go up in smoke?

Yes. Most likely.

We can watch it now, in real time. The Amazon Rainforest is aflame, and the world basically responds with a collective yawn and shrug. More bad environmental news. Oh well.

Why? I agree with Kevin Drum: Why Climate Change is So Hard.

"What makes climate change different from other environmental calamities isn’t that it’s bigger or farther away or difficult to see. Those things all contribute to our inaction, but the key difference is that halting climate change requires us to dramatically alter our way of life. All of us. For a very long time.

Human beings aren’t wired to do this. You aren’t doing it. I’m not doing it. Europeans aren’t doing it. No one is doing it. We’re willing to make modest changes here and there, but dramatic changes? The kind that seriously bite into our incomes and our way of life? Nope.

When I mention this to people, a common reaction is disbelief. You really think people will let the planet burn before they’ll give up their cars? That’s exactly what I think, because it’s happened many times before. Over and over, human civilizations have destroyed their environments because no one was willing to give up their piece of it. They knew exactly what they were doing but still couldn’t stop. They have overfished, overgrazed, overhunted, overmined, and overpolluted. They have literally destroyed their own lifeblood rather than make even modest changes to their lifestyles."

Scary. Sad. We will all watch our planet burn to a crisp. The world we are leaving for our children is one of climate catastrophe. Things will get worse. Every damn day. And we will do nothing. We will cling to our meat, our cars, our oil, our fistful of $. We really are the Clever Monkeys who have out-clevered ourselves.

Next stop: a planet-wide toxic landscape. A certain oblivion for species of all varieties. Still, the Human Beings will be clinging to their assault-rifles, their fast food burgers, their gas-guzzling vehicles. Will we all end up living in some antiseptic, Mall on America, air-filtered, air-conditioned, walled against our own pollution?

Life as we know it... it's disappearing before our very eyes. Welcome to Meltdown Monday!

Creative Community.

I suppose I have always thought of myself as a bit of a loner, although, really, if I think about it, I have never really lived alone. I have always been surrounded by people, a long-time partner, a close family. Still, I spend lots of time in my own head. I live in my imagination. I happily spend lots of time by myself, listening to music, reading books, playing guitar, writing songs.

I am not a joiner. I'm not big on cliques and clubs. I don't like to live in the herd. Not big on parties. Not big on dinner with friends. I usually like to be actively doing something, not just hanging out. I despise small-talk, although, I can small-talk with the best of them.

I strongly identify with creative people. If there is any club or tribe I think I belong to, it would be the  tribe of "creative ones." My tribe of creatives is expansive, it includes every creed and color, it crosses continents, spans time, history and culture. Everyone is welcome. I'm thinking of musicians, artists, writers, playwrights, actors, directors, poets, performers of all types. I am not really talking celebrities, I am talking people who do the work, the good work. Some of them are known, some of them are celebrated in our culture, but many of them are not known at all in the broader culture. I include, and I am thinking of, local, neighborhood folks. Just folks who happen to be alive to creativity. Fellow travelers that we have met along the way.

I suppose I feel like I am tangentially connected to a local community of artists. That's probably the closest and most important connection I can envision for myself. I know most of these people thru their work, not so much their personal stories, usually filtered thru their songs, their performance pieces, thru the artwork, the things they create.

I do think the creative ones, by definition, by default, are channeling a positive energy. It is hard to create art if you don't have some kind of positive vision that drives you, some idea that what you create will have the ability, the air to breathe, and to touch other folks, that the work will have life beyond the present moment, beyond the creative one. It's a hopeful thing, whether the work is about hope or not. It's the creating, doing, being, in the moment, putting the work out into the world, that is an affirmative act. Human. Hopeful. Despite everything. And at the same time doing the work transforms the moments, the little, day-to-day moments, of our lives, enriches us all; just the simple, dedicated act of trying, playing, doing. Transformative.

I feel I am a part of, and intimately connected to, that kind of creative community.

Tap Into the Lightening.

Finding your "unique" artistic voice. Brain Pickings illuminates the process thru the song-writer and musician Ben Folds. I've never listened to Ben Folds, but I definitely enjoyed the post.

I always think of my own creative process as so homely, homemade, ramshackle, hit or miss, a process of experimenting, playing, trying on things for size, pulling things from the air. Not so much creating things as filtering them thru me, and then putting them back out into the world.

I spent most of last evening watching other musicians on a stage, mostly playing cover songs. There was a bit of magic in the air. Similar but a bit different too with what I am doing with our band. I mean, we all share a musical lexicon, we play the same chords and notes, we have all learned the basics of how a song works.

Still, my songs, the music I make with my band seems so hermetic, unlike anything I heard last night. We use our songs as vehicles to ignite some kind of passion, energy, a certain wildness, that we can't really control. All of our effort is directed to connecting with our band of musicians to be in the moment, to reach some kind of transcendent energy state.

It's kind of crazy thing. The energy business. Catching lightening bugs in a jar and showing them to the neighbor kids, that's good. Kind of captures the process, for sure. Maybe the energy, the lightening is the same, it's how you get there; this sequence of chords, this voice, these fingers on this particular fretboard, in opposition to and in collaboration with a tornado of vibrations.

It's you shooting for the stars, but it's not about you. It's not an ego thing. It's a drop your ego thing to tap into the lightening.

Endless Summer - Not Gonna Happen!

I woke up, pre-dawn, with the words: "endless summer" in my consciousness. I actually spoke the words out loud. Not gonna happen. It's late August, and there is a cool breeze coming through the screen of the window. Still dark. Quiet. Early morning, very early. You can feel the "death of summer" in the air.

I had to get up. Can't lay in bed just thinking. I always feel too vulnerable. Too many colliding thoughts. Better to get up, brew the coffee, get the day started. Time. Slipping. Floating. Ticking away. How many mornings? How many cups of coffee? How long does this go on?

There is no "endless" anything. Everything is slipping away, ticking down. I hear on the radio that the Rainforest is on fire in Brazil. The rainforest provides 20% of all the oxygen on the planet. A pretty important living being going up in flames. Who will care for the Rainforest?

Will we all cook & choke on our own stupidity? How are we, as a species, gonna make it? "Endless Summer." It's sort of like "Holy Grail," or "El Dorado," or the Land of OZ. We don't live in OZ. We live in Kansas. A lot more homebred, homely, hard. Dirt. Plain. Human.

This is no Utopia. Sometimes it's Hell. Hell on Earth. A hell of our own making. If Humans have a problem, most likely it's a human-made problem. Of course, nature is a hard mother. DNA. Flesh and bone. Everything goes obsolete. Kind of built into the design. Nothing is endless.

What to do? Type these words. That's a start. Get ready for another day. See what the carnival brings today. There's always something going down. Surf's up!

Long-Term Trends? Not Good!

I look up from my happy little bubble, and, well...

... the long-term trends are...
... decidedly not good.

The Dear Leader of the Free World is claiming he is "The Chosen One." What did they do with the last "chosen one?" Where's the lumber, the hammer, the nails? If we don't impeach the mofo, or defeat him in a landslide election, we get what we deserve.

How are we doing on the climate catastrophe? Don't ask. Same with species destruction, water conservation, the health of our oceans & seas. What happens when the oceans, the trees and all the pretty little creatures die? It's gonna get a bit lonely around here.

How about human migration, income inequality, resource allocation? The rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer, and folks in the middle being squeezed like lemons.

Who to turn to? Dylan is singing about the apocalypse. The Preachers and Priests are hustling dollars or chasing after the young, vulnerable ones.

The politicians? They've checked out.

What of Science? Will the Scientists save us from ourselves? They are working on "designer genes," mucking about with our genetic structure. What could possibly go wrong?

Turns out no one is in charge. I usually don't think past lunch. I suppose that is my default survival mode; don't look too far ahead, or too far behind. Live in the moment. Living on a prayer. Who do I pray to? The Great Cosmic Giggle.  This morning, nothing but silence.

The joke? The punchline? Just punches this A.M.

The Last Day.

Imagination:  "The ability to form mental images of things that are not present to the senses or not considered to be real."

Trippy. We all use our imaginations to visualize things. What a powerful & awesome tool. I often use my imagination when I meditate, I create images, create pictures of energy, I actively use creative visualization. I find it's the most natural, vivid and satisfying way to meditate.

Yesterday, I played a game in my head. I imagined that it was my last day on earth and that everything I was doing during the day was the last time I'd ever experience the things I was experiencing. I think writing about Peter Fonda's passing (see previous post), put me in that state of mind.

The light on the water. The soft breeze. The big, looming storm clouds. A friend's smile. The sparkle in the eye of a stranger. Energy coursing thru my body. The beat of my heart. The taste and texture of the pasta noodle on my tongue. Cold water in my mouth. The little birdies chirping. My boot-heel meeting the sidewalk. Joy rising in my chest at the sun peeking from behind a cloud. Laying on the camp bed listening to Dylan, "you tattooed my baby, with a poison pen..."

The Last Day. It wasn't. But I imagined it. And it transformed the day. I recommend giving it a whirl.

Death of an Icon of Cool.

George Carlin once said that his ultimate prayer was: "Dear God, let me be a Cool Guy." I always thought that was the ultimate life-ambition. That was enough. Be a Cool Guy. Although, maybe you could pray for it, but you couldn't conjure or order it up, it wasn't something you could learn or whatever, God-given, built into the fabric of your being or maybe something that descends upon you like a gentle mist.

Coolness.

Some folks just exude & embody coolness. Carlin had it. A bunch of Jazz Cats had it: Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane. Stone Cold Cool Guys.

I would add the debauched Errol Flynn, the ill-fated Sean Flynn, the tragic James Dean. I would throw in Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Sam Shepard, Keith Richards, Patti Smith (I know, she's a woman, but still a very cool guy). I know I am probably leaving out a whole host of Cool Ones, but this list isn't supposed to be definitive, it's just off the top of my head while I guzzle coffee this morning.

Anyway Peter Fonda has died. He is one of the Icons of Cool, for sure. I first saw him in all his glory  with my cousin at a Drive-In in the early 70's watching a double feature of "Dirty Larry, Crazy Mary" and "Easy Rider." "Easy Rider" was the more memorable movie, one of my favorite all-time films. It was an eye & head opener. Made in 1969 it won an award Cannes, it inspired a whole new independent movie movement and featured r&r on the soundtrack.

We heard Hendrix, the Band, the Byrds, Steppenwolf on the soundtrack. That was new and exhilarating. The film was breakout hit for Jack Nicholson, and the beginning of a long breakdown for Dennis Hopper, and at the center of the storm, in the ultimate zone of cool there was Peter Fonda as Captain America.

Peter may not have been as an accomplished actor as his father or his sister, but he was cooler, no doubt. No one was cooler. He carried himself with a powerful, quiet grace. Every movement. Every gesture. Cool. The Death of an Icon of Cool. Take care Peter. See you down the road. Take it Easy, Rider...

Monday Morning Wise Guy!

Some hard-won wisdom.

I mean maybe this sounds simple, easy, but maybe it's the simple, easy things that are the hardest, because we can easily forget, overlook, disregard.

How to be a decent Human Being? And by decent I mean decent in it's various guises: "marked by moral integrity, kindness, and goodwill..."

Those are high-minded words, but you get the drift. You don't have to be a Priest or Prophet, you don't need to be a Holy Being; show up, be alive, stand up to be counted, be conscious, listen, respond. Don't just complain. Don't judge too harshly. Let the moments of your life come to you. Be sure to give something back to others. Notice the little things, the tiny kindnesses, the unexpected laughter.

Share the light, share the sparkle in your eye. Don't be afraid. Show a bit of pluck and courage. Stand by your words. Always aim to align mind, heart, spirit. And then jump into the pool. Damn the torpedos. Remember the Universe is a glorious place, our special playground. Be sure to play. And remember maybe your life is a little bit about you, but it's really not about you.

The Great Sea of Little Fuckups!

Sometimes you think your life is bounded by the great sea of little fuck-ups. A missing piece, a forgotten detail, a mislaid device, an inability to juggle multiple things in real time. Multi-tasking is a mug's game. Lots more information coming your way than you can process, and you end up doing everything slightly poorly.

This happens often. Maybe you are too slow for life? Too simple, simple-minded. You write things down, you plan, you strategize, but the little fuckups add up. The plan doesn't resemble reality. The map is not the territory. Sometimes these fuckups are just annoying, easily over-looked, you power thru, don't pause or look back, you just plow forward. But then, sometimes the accumulation of mistakes is overwhelming, just too much. The little tiny glitches, and fuck ups add up to a bit of spontaneous chaos.

The whole edifice comes crashing down. I think this happens on a personal level, a societal level, a cultural level, in physics, the life-sciences. There is a randomness, a chaotic level that kicks in at unexpected times. The unexpected comes unexpectedly.

A life made up of little fuckups. I am not talking major sins, the little stuff, the tiny things. The butterfly's wing flapping leading to a hurricane. It's a funny life. A life of interesting fuckups.  You can't judge too harshly. Leave that for others. You, well, you Pilgrim, must move forward, damn the torpedos, carry on, whether they come from out there, or in here. Maybe you learn something? Try to plan better? Open the door to chaos. It's always looming.

Inner Kid!

I do think adults are just damaged children, some more damaged than others, but all damaged. As adults we may wear big boy and girl pants, still inside, we are those little kids we were in our formative years. I think of a tree, the roots, the early rings, they don't disappear, they are the foundation.

It is the same with us, little, innocent, helpless beings, taking in a world of wonder, so sensitive, so impressionable. We carry those little beings inside of us always. We do adult things, but we are stunted beings. Flawed, partial, closed-down.

So much of our lives are arbitrary, random. Where were we born? When were we born? Where did we grow up? Did we have a family? Who did we hang around with? How did we occupy our time?

Peer Group. Very important. Who were the folks we looked up to? Was there anyone we respected? Did we hang with people we did not respect? I think we consciously and unconsciously model ourselves on others. We try on different personas. That's how we kind of figure out our mode of living.

Choose wisely Pilgrim. Who you admire, who you live with, how you occupy your time. Everything counts. Everything defines us. One day you wake up and realize you aren't a kid anymore, or maybe you realize that you betrayed that little kid you used to know. Don't worry that little kid is buried in there somewhere. Waiting, patiently, and Patience is a godly virtue, is so unchild-like, but essential.

"I Wonder If...?"

There is a bit of magnetism to human beings who exhibit a measure of "sureness." You know someone who thinks they know what's what. So many of us are flailing, confused, unsure. There is something appealing, and attractive, about human beings who display maximum confidence. Be forewarned Dear Pilgrim. Proceed with caution. That maximum confidence is often a riff, a game, a bluff. And almost certainly a bit of smoke and mirrors, partial, a smokescreen for a blind spot. I think the truly Wise Ones will tell you that they are certain of nothing. Look to the ones who don't often begin with a sentence with the words "I know..." but, instead with the magical words, "I wonder if...?"

A Demonic Holy Ghost!

Yeah. Dreams (see previous post), I know they aren't real, but I can't help but think they are important missives, messages, or signals, from a deeper consciousness. Often they seem garbled, confused, nonsensical, otherworldly, sort of like badly-constructed David Lynchian-type flicks.

Often they just of vanish in the light of day. But sometimes they hit home, they seem prophetic, pull you up short, make you ruminate, contemplate, and try to decode.

That Dylan dream totally captivated me yesterday. Add that to my days of obsession. His music fills my ears, I am stirred by his evangelical passion, his short-lived, fire and brimstone, stone-faced preacher of judgement and damnation. Just another one of those forbidding and entrancing Dylan masks. And don't forget, when a human being puts on a mask, they always tell you the truth.

Of course, I reject much of the gospel according to Bob. I can go with the idea of Jesus as cool guy, but all that mighty King on the Throne crap just sounds like bad superhero B.S. to me. I pretty much stop at the shore of a shaggy Jesus, a flawed human being with a messianic-complex, who preached love and forgiveness. I'm pretty much mushy, new-agey, New Testament. Jesus as Perfect, Peace, Love and Understanding Hippie. Dylan is very much Old Testament: Sin, Flames of Hell, Eternal Damnation, Repentance, Blood.

I accept Dylan as poet, not as prophet. Dylan as truth-teller, alive to the illuminated word. Yes, there are insights, revelations, poetic truths, but he doesn't persuade me when it comes to the battle of Armageddon, the End Times, Heaven & Hell, etc. Except, of course, all of these concepts work for me metaphorically, poetically, psychologically. I can fall for the psychology of sin and redemption. I can envision my life and all of human existence as some grand battle of good vs. evil. And we all always hurtling towards a personal and global end-time.

So yeah, "messing with his grain." That's me picking and choosing what I want to align myself with, and rejecting what I think is clap-trap, serious, whacked-out, mumbo-jumbo. I am much more aligned with Allen Ginsberg's Buddha, or Ginsburg's forgiving vision of William Blake, a vision of mystery and wonder. "Energy is Eternal Delight."

But I am addicted to Evangelical Bob. I love the poetry. The language of a man aflame with the creed. And he worked with some killer musicians all along the way. Listen to Slow Train Coming, Saved, Shot of Love, or the double cd live set Trouble No More and marvel at the Wonder, the Beauty and the Power of musicians giving it all to a catalog of songs that can stand on their own against anything else in the canon.

Dylan as Demonic Force? That was a surprise, a startling revelation, I always thought Dylan was channeling some Holy Ghost, but you know there's always the dichotomy. The light and the dark. Maybe this Holy Ghost is Demonic too? Makes for better songs. Makes for Great Art. The highest variety.

The Apotheosis of My Dylan Obsession!

I suppose the summer of 2019 will go down as the apotheosis of my Bob Dylan obsession. I have been stuck on Dylan's "gospel years," for months now. I discovered Clinton Heylin's "Trouble in Mind," "Judas," "Man Behind the Shades," and Dylan's "Recording Sessions," this summer and have read them all as if they are sacred texts. I often go back to them after an intense listening session. Heylin is the most obsessive of obsessive Dylan-ologists. He knows the man, the work, he is not afraid to praise and condemn. I don't always agree with him, but he makes me think, makes me listen with fresh ears.

Last night I had a nightmare. I was "messing with Dylan's grain," what, yes, Dylan was in my dream, he had these large vats of grain, and I, for some unknown reason, was messing with them. Dylan found out, he was furious, and he came after me with all the power he could conjure. Dylan came at me like a demonic force. I was a trembling ball of fear. I curled up into a fetal position and Dylan rained down on me like a hard, metallic rain.

I woke up, heart racing, fear shooting through my cells. What to do? I put more Dylan on the box this morning. The man has gotten into me. I can't shake him. No one fires up my imagination like Dylan. No one else has the same power to open my head. A master. Scares the shit out of me too. Why oh why did I mess with the man's grain?

R&R in the Black Box!

I found myself in a little black box theater last night. It took awhile for me to locate the a/c so I immediately burst into flames, I always run hot; a muggy August evening, in a small enclosed space, stuffy, and hermetic, this is where theatrical magic happens. I was there for a band rehearsal, my other band, the one that rarely plays, rarely rehearses. We don't really want to be "good" or tame or put together. We like it loud and raw. I mean we are sort of musical, not dark, not too heavy, just a noisy garage band.

All the sweating reminded me of all the many years I have spent in dark, black-box theater spaces. Most of them have been homemade, marginal, and for some reason, there was never any a/c and I was always in there during the hot summer months. Lots of sweat. It was sort of agreeable. Made it always seem like the neccesary work. Essential. Important. Maybe it wasn't really important, but it felt that way. Like some sacrifice, some effort, some discipline was required to do the good work. The scene, the play, the skit, the one-off performance piece, the song, the monologue, whatever. I mean it was the good work even if the result was a bit shabby, or loose, or ramshackle.

It was always the doing, the effort, the willingness to endure, to stand up and try something. To try to create something that didn't previously exist. So many years doing it. So much of my life. Conjuring up things that came aand went with barely a ripple. I am left with a few photos, lots of memories, and  buckets of sweat, except of course, there were no buckets. I do know there were buckets of sweat. But nothing to point to. Sweat. Now evaporated. Who knows, maybe absorbed by the atmosphere, added to the great cloud of unknowing? How did rehearsal go? Fine. Hot, sweaty, ears ringing. I plugged my Fender Telecaster into a little tube amp and wailed away for all I was worth. The band played that old rock and roll in the black box. We all sweated, but it was good.

Speak like a Racist, Act like a Racist, You are a Racist!

It is important to be precise in our language. This morning I look to Kevin Drum who explains the differences between Racist, White Supremacist & Race-baiter. Seems the fat, blubbering man in the white house is wondering how he can rebrand himself. I think racist fits just fine. But really, Kevin is persuasive, Race-baiter might be even more accurate. What kind of cowardly creep would use race-baiting as an election strategy? The answer is blowing in the wind, it's on our screens, in print, we see it every day, a great idiot wind blowing thru the land. We need other voices, we need folks to stand up and decide this is all intolerable. We are so much better than this, we have other important work to do. We need to move on from the blubbering one, and reclaim our country. I am optimistic, I do think this man will be a sad shadow, a stain on the carpet, forgotten soon. I really do. The blubbering fat man is not a beginning of a new era, or a new movement, no, his idiot mummerings are the last, fatuous, dying, gasps of a racist, race-baiting, retrograde blowhard, a man out of time. You do not want to be him, a man swimming in his own seething, superating, bile and ignorant hate.