It's a Karma Thing...

What is the headline? 

Long-Time, Professional Sleaze-bag Indicted in Manhattan. 

Ha. Let me just hazard a guess, this is very likely a very richly-deserved indictment. Word is maybe a 30 count indictment. Yikes. That's nothing to sneeze at. I can't think of a better example of "No man is above the law." I think of one of my father's favorite sayings: "They will get what they deserve." You know, it's a Karma thing.  It couldn't happen to a more deserving, super-accomplished creep.

Of course, this is America: Innocent until proven guilty. We shall see. The case needs to be tried in court. Let the evidence be heard. Let the facts, yes, facts, hold sway. If crimes have been committed, and can be proven in court, let there be a reckoning.

My bet: This is the 1st of a handful of indictments coming down. Think of  a bouquet, a cornucopia of indictments. What happens next?! Who knows. Let it Come Down!

Note: There will be a lot of sound & fury, huffing & puffing, outrage & whining. We should all take a deep breath and remind ourselves: This Particular Man brought this all down upon himself. There is no one else to blame, except him. The rest is just bad faith and bluster.

I am Hamlet...

If you are into theater, like I am, it's not a stretch to see yourself as a character in a play, and your life as a long-form theatrical production. It has been said that the great era of tragedy and comedy is long gone. We may still love to delve into, and swim in, the world according to William Shakespeare, but we actually live in the era of Samual Beckett. It's all just bleak, deadpan, comedy. We are infinitely little people; grim & determined clowns, rooting around like little pigs in the gutter of a vast uncaring Universe. We are just killing time until the curtain call.

I'm not sure about that.  We all still face the abyss, the void, the grave, the long goodbye. We live with shit, blood, phlegm, vomit, sweat, and tears. It is up to us to create a coherent & much grander narrative. We can conjure up our own purpose, meaning, magic, love, hate, fear, joy.  We can spin our own intricate webs of shimmering drama. Yes, there is tragedy, yes, there is comedy, these themes hover over and above us; they taunt us, with nearly every step, and every breath. We can aspire to the great & weighty things; unimaginable success and failure at every turn.

We can still see our selves as Hamlet, Lear, Mark Anthony, Romeo, Macbeth.  Sure. Why not? We can live with the tempo of the line: iambic pentameter. We can be poetic in every thing we do, we can see the world as a meaningful drama, overstuffed with panache & poetry. Yes, no doubt. We can. And you know, if I am going to don the Hamlet-mask, my answer to the key, burning, existential question is yes, "To Be!"

Herbs & Potions...

Herbs and magic potions. My friend is a big believer in natural substances and alternate healing approaches, and well, sometimes I can be persuaded to try just about anything. I do think we are elaborate, personal, chemistry labs, the food we eat, the beverages we drink, the medicines & balms we indulge in, how much, how often, and when we partake; it's all just a life-long, always morphing experiment. We are what we ingest.

Lately, we have both turned to "Anxious Moment." We don't take it to be anxious, we take it to calm the fuck down. Does it work? Hard to tell. I think so. Lately, it seems the anxiety factor has increased in our lives. I mean, listen to the news, it's an unrelenting river of pain and distress. Plus the planet seems to be spinning faster and faster. We are hanging on for dear life. 

So, yeah, Anxious Moment. I suppose, at worst case, it can't really hurt to turn to a healing mist. And what of  the placebo effect? It's a real, unreal thing, right? If we believe it is working, is it working?

Less Guns, More Books...

Some ideas are so obvious, common-sense, logical, it's fucking maddening & heart-breaking, and brain-numbing, that an advanced, democratic nation can't act. There is a madness and an idiocy running thru our body politic that seems to paralyze legislators. And in their cowardly inaction, every damn day innocent people are being slaughtered in our schools, churches, grocery stores, you know pretty much anywhere, anytime in the land of the Free and Brave.

"Ban Assault Weapons, Not Books."

Easy to understand. Would make a fabulous bumper-sticker. It should be the rallying cry of a national movement.

A Life of Light and Poetry...

We have a band, write songs, play shows, we recorded 11 songs earlier in the year, are in the midst of mixing those songs now, running a little fund-raising campaign to help finish and bring an album to the world, working up cover art, developing an ad campaign, doing all the things you have to do if you want to be a band and try to get your music to other folks. DIY! 

It's a mission, a way of life, a reason to believe. Recently two incredibly supportive folks, in two totally different circumstances, expressed their support for our band & music in word and deed, and both declared: "We believe in you guys." That's fucking cool, amazing, inspiring. Surprising too. Makes us think we are on the right path, doing the good work. It doesn't take more than a glimmer of light to show us the way forward.

I also received a text message shortly before I took the stage to play with my band last Friday night. It was message from a long-time soul-friend, a fellow seeker and creative traveler,  an artist in all ways, a distinguished gentleman of charisma and light. I hadn't heard from him in quite awhile. He lives in another state far away. His message: "Continue on your path of Universal Righteousness..."

My response: "Your text message appeared to me at the most-perfect time. It hit me like an arrow of transcendent light. It exploded in my solar plexus and lit every cell of my body with the fire of a million suns."

Yes. Well. We get to choose what we believe in, and how we live our lives. Maybe it's best to live a life filled with light and poetry. Damn the torpedos. 

Sunday Morning...

Empty. Clear. Eyes open. Head held high.

R&R = Saved & Sundered...

Back with the living. How did I make it back?

I attribute it to the amazing restorative powers of a human body. How do those restorative powers work? Beats me. Maybe: rest up, sleep, eat healthy, fresh, organic food, take vitamins, guzzle Alka Seltzer Cold Remedy (night & day), spend lots of time alone, breathing, thinking, laying low & listening to music. You know just let time swim by. Your body has a few defenses & internal remedies at it's beck and call. Yesterday, I luxuriated in excellent r&r, I did a bit of concentrated, close-listening to The Who "Who's Next," (1971) and Nick Cave & Warren Ellis' "Carnage." (2021). Dare I say it? Saved by the healing powers of r&r. Brought low by r&r too. How did I get sick? Playing music in small rooms with large crowds.  Happened 2 of the last 3 shows I've performed at. It is true, "People make you sick." We are a germ-sharing species. Last night, I psyched myself up, strapped on my guitar, decided to leave my sickness behind, and performed in a jam-packed, over-heated, little dive bar in the big city. Damn the torpedos and germs. Two full sets of music with two different bands. 24 songs in total. It was pretty damn exhilarating. Given my recent history, I was tempting fate, and taunting those pesky little sick-making germs. Hoping my "natural immunity" kicked in and took on all contenders. Way too early tell, but this morning I feel fine, crystal-clear, satisfied. r&r, you are a beautiful and cruel master, both.

Made It...

Made it. That's all I have this morning. Here. Now. Ready to face another day.

More About the Holy Ghost...

I was still pretty much hung up on the Holy Ghost (see previous post), yesterday.  Still in a fog, still not quite right, still battling a nasty germ that kind of set my world upside down. For the life of me I can't remember what those old Nuns in Catholic school told us about the Holy Ghost. It's all so long ago, so fuzzy, I remember some things vividly: the playground, the bloody noses and vomit, the tears, the whacks on the fingers of rulers, the school desks, the blackboards, the chalk, the crucifix hanging above the blackboard, and those dark-habited, Darth-Vader-like Nuns with their golden rings on the fingers. Married to Jesus, don't you know? I think the Holy Ghost was kind of skipped over. Those Nuns were trying hard to make Jesus and Hell and Judgement Day super-real, the Holy Ghost was way too weird and nebulous to tackle. Of course, that's where my mind gravitated to; The Weirdness. Yesterday afternoon I wrapped myself up like a mummy and practiced breathing. Trying my best to make my breath come freer and easier. I also listened to music. I turned to Sigur Ros ( ) (2002). If the Holy Ghost produced an album this would be it. Majestic, mysterious, there are voices but they speak an unknown, invented, tongue. I suppose if you pressed me I'd have to say this is the greatest album ever recorded. It's mystical, magical, exuberant, thrilling, resonant, transcendent, a bit confounding. What is it? I still don't understand it, can't encompass it, I can only experience it. I have listened to it too many times to count. Numbers don't matter. Nothing else matters. Yes, it's that good. The Holy Ghost speaks.

Remedy & Recovery...

What to believe in? Lately my new religion Alka Seltzer Cold Remedy tablets. Shite. You have to believe in something. I have been battling an especially nasty cold. My friend turned me onto the Alka Seltzer tablets (night & day) and they are definitely helping. They knock me out so I can sleep. They keep me in a bit of a day-time fog; it is sort of a numbing, genial, fog slowly stretching forward to a better day.

Last night, in a deep, medicated sleep, I dreamed about "The Trinity." I was asked to make a pick like on that old TV show "Let's Make a Deal." Pick a door! The Father? NOPE. The Son. NAH. The Holy Ghost? Bingo!

So weird, a twisted & strange thought bubble from my distant Catholic grade school past. I suppose it is true, I have always gravitated to the third entity in the trio: The Holy Ghost, The Holy Spook, The Holy Spirit. Mainly because the Holy Ghost is so nebulous, unknowable, undefinable, mysterious, and, you know, it can mean anything you want it to mean; that's the kind of entity I can get behind, even if it's just a vanishing image in a disappearing fog. There are no commandments, no laws, no rules, no morality, just light, the spirit of light, goodness and transcendence. At least, that's how I interpret it.  For some reason, I have always imagined the Holy Ghost as a bird, a silent, little white bird. We used to live with one, a singular little parakeet, pure-white. She was a quiet, mysterious presence. When she died (it was heart-breaking), we buried her in the garden behind our building. Anyway, yes, I believe in spirit, in energy, in mystery, in some kind of exalted transcendence. I mean, I have experienced these things in my own life, and in my own body. So just like those tablets, I am the living evidence of their existence and their positive effects. Alka Seltzer and the Holy Ghost. Believing in the power of believing, and possibility of health and recovery. Amen.

A Walking/Talking Contradiction...

If you are "woke," as, of course, you should be, just like me, you are- "aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues especially issues of racial and social justice," AND, if you are still a quite exuberant, optimistic-type, you are basically an annoying walking, talking contradiction. You can reel off the woes of the world, you can dish the bad shit with the worst of the shit-stirrers, you can go toe to toe in any argument with any bleak-looker about the long sordid human tale of flaw and tragedy, you can recount all the pain, misery, murder and skullduggery of being a human being, but then, just as easily and quickly you can turn on a dime, and conjure up a sunny vision, marvel at the grand beauty and lightness of life. You are the type of person who, when they come down with a particularly nasty cold (tested, not covid), that attacks all your main faculties, and reduces you to a wheezing, congested hulk, barely able to breathe or sleep, you tell a friend: "One good thing about getting sick, you can lay down, wrap yourself up in a cocoon, and just chill out." Looking at the upside of being sick. Now that's annoying! Hah!

Pizza Party!

There is this handy phrase people bandy about: "No one is above the Law." Is it true? Maybe. You know, it's probably more of an aspirational thing than the reality, but we do want to live in a society, a country, where the law is applied equally to all. I mean, sometimes how the law is applied seems arbitrary, and circumstantial, and contingent upon being flush with $ to hire good lawyers. There is the Law and there is Justice, and well, sometimes it all looks like a game. Justice often isn't really Justice we all just muddle through, people trying their best to do what's right. We like to think that no one is above the law, but it's an open question. Word on the street is that a loud, obnoxious, fat man, who just can't stop fucking blabbering may have to face the music in a courtroom in Manhattan this week. I cannot think of another person so deserving of a healthy serving of justice. One can only hope. If it is indeed true there's only one super-appropriate response: PIZZA PARTY!!!

Change...

Change is the thing. Best not to cling. Ride the wave and see what turns up.

People. Yikes.

My friend yesterday afternoon: "What makes us sick? People."

Made me recall Jean Paul Sartre: "Hell is other people."

Seems the people are getting edgy. A SWAT team shut down a block in our neighborhood yesterday. Big, burly Cops in full SWAT gear running down the block, long guns at the ready. Word came that there was some kind of incident unfolding, and an "emotionally disturbed" person was on the loose.

Emotionally Disturbed. A handy phrase indeed. Covers a lot of territory. Seems that in our over the top, 24/7 Dystopia we are all at least a tiny bit emotionally disturbed.

Also there is a dog-owner-war brewing in our back yard. A big open space behind our building has become a war-zone for dog owners and their furry beasts. This open space is used by owners and dogs all over the neighborhood. It's sort a "no-man's-land," an empty lot, no fence, folks just assume it's available to use as they see fit. Word came that there were harsh words and threats between two owners, they didn't like the way dog-shite was being handled or not handled. Someone poured gasoline on a back-door of an adjacent building, (did they fail to light it?), someone else smeared dog-shite on a doorknob. Crazy shite, angry retribution, emotionally disturbed folks getting emotional. 

Seems lately people are wrapped a bit too tightly. Folks claiming their territory, telling other folks to fuck off. It's all sort of amazing, amusing & silly. Pointless too. I mean, I have no dog in this hunt. Pretty ZEN about it all... but...

People. Yikes.

Is the Silly Season Over?

Musings on St. Patrick's Day. 

Did St. Patrick drive the snakes out of Ireland? Nope. No snakes were ever on that Emerald Isle to begin with. Just a bit of Irish balderdash. It is time for a bit truth-telling, or truth-casting, truth-conjuring, this a.m.

2023. 

Maybe it will be the year of truth? Cold hard truth. Scams revealed. Gaudy castles crumbling to dust. Liars stripped bare. The high and mighty cut down. Media, Business and Political stars exposed as Con artists. Banks falling. Money vaporizing. The elaborate fantasies of so many exposed as silly, ridiculous, foolish & pernicious nonsense. Maybe people will briefly take their heads out of their asses? "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." - B. Dylan

I do think when the money starts disappearing everyone suddenly gets a bit more serious. We live in a Capitalistic Paradise. The streets are paved with $. When we get down to the money level, folks realize there is a reality, that maybe gravity really does exist, and yes, it really is all about the Benjamins, but funny, even the Benjamins themselves are fungible, fuzzy, a bit sketchy. And when folks realize that the platforms of disinformation & lies, that all that noisy, flashy, sexy nonsense is bad for biz, well, maybe, just maybe, it's time for a cold, hard, reckoning? Although, don't hold your breath.

"Don't look at the man behind the curtain." Right. Much of our world is so much flash & dash. Shiny, crappy, paper-thin. "Everything is cheaper than it looks." - Neil Young.  CGI. You know, pretty damn fake, looking pretty damn real, but not really real.

Once you get past flesh & bone, dirt & air, grit & spit, everything gets a bit sketchy and wobbly.

Ha. This is all probably my own sunny little fantasy playing out this morning. It would be gratifying to see the scammers and flim-flammers facing the music. To see reality reassert it's primacy, virtual reality be damned. Still, finally, Just praying the pieces don't fall on the rest of us.

How Do People Change?

How do people change? I don't really know.  

I do think change is good. If we are paying attention, we live our lives, we have experiences, and we adjust our thoughts, our mind-sets, and our actions based on our collisions with reality. One day, we wake up to a new reality, a new mind-set, a new version of ourselves. We are "works in progress," our job is to adapt, evolve, work on being a better human being.

Yesterday was clean-up time at our humble abode. There was a time this would be an onerous task, something I'd resist and push against. Instead, yesterday, I enthusiastically embraced the idea: the sweeping, the mopping, the polishing, the buffing. The friendly aroma of Meyer's Peppermint soap wafted thru the air, and it was invigorating. Seems like a simple exercise, cleaning up your mess. I now look at it as a very important ritual. And reflects a bigger reality. A new me.

Keeping your shit together. Honoring your personal space. Keeping things orderly and clean. Taking the time to pay attention to the little details. Being careful. The outer space around you is a reflection of your inner space. We can't rearrange the world, but we do have the power to re-arrange our own living bubbles of life. Today a clean and empty sink is a sign of clarity & care. 

So, yes, cleanup time suddenly seems like an essential, important event. Immensely rewarding too. Who knew?!

Fuzzy, Shaky, Temporary...

You know, it's kind of funny how a Human Brain works. I'm feeling a bit fuzzy, shaky and temporary this morning, and then I check out the headlines and tune into the news on NPR and, well, the whole rollicking Human Comedy/Tragedy appears to be a bit fuzzy, shaky and temporary too. Odd how that works. Seems we live in a Human-built world we conjure up from our own depths. Funny and probably wrong-headed, but that's how it looks and feels to this wobbly pilgrim. We see the world as we are, not as it is... or something like that...

A Warring Mind...

A "satisfied* mind?" Nope. That's a chimera. A unicorn. Not exactly the Holy Grail. Not even sure it's something to pursue. A warring mind? Yes. That's more on-target. On-brand. Rings a bell. Not sure it's a good thing, but it presents itself as a true thing. Always competing ideas. Sound & Fury. Hurly-Burly. Clashing and crashing: thoughts, desires, over-wrought emotions. A head like a swirling & whirling "ball of confusion." What it's all about? Kooky obsessions, silly concerns, over-stuffed worries, contentious doubts. Yikes. 

* Puts me in mind of that great Replacements song, you know, being satisfied might be a cursed fate: 

"Look me in the eye

Then, tell me that I'm satisfied

Was you satisfied?

Look me in the eye

Then, tell me that I'm satisfied

Hey, are you satisfied?

And it goes so slowly on

Everything I've ever wanted

Tell me what's wrong

Look me in the eye

And tell me that I'm satisfied

Were you satisfied?

Look me in the eye

Then, tell me that I'm satisfied

And now are you satisfied?

Everything goes

Well, anything goes all of the time

Everything you dream of

Is right in front of you

And everything is a lie

Look me in the eye

And tell me that I'm satisfied

Look me in the eye

Unsatisfied

I'm so, I'm so unsatisfied

I'm so dissatisfied

I'm so, I'm so unsatisfied

I'm so unsatisfied

Well, I'm-a

I'm so, I'm so unsatisfied

I'm so dissatis, dissattis

I'm so..."

"Maybe that's It?"

You plunge into the maelstrom. You give your all. You feel like you are totally swallowed up by a higher power. You tangle with the sound and fury and you succumb to the void. Think: Jonah and the whale. It's that consuming. You find yourself buried in the dark. Later, the clouds part, you emerge back into the light feeling brittle, tired, wrung out, totally empty, depleted, deflated. Broken. You wonder: How to conjure up that energy once again? Will I ever rise again? There are hours of doubt, "Maybe that's it?" A dead-end. There is no conjuring. You can't demand an energy re-fill. Instead, you wrap yourself up like a mummy, you listen to music,  you fortify yourself with a good meal, you sink into a long, dead-man's deep-sleep. In the morning you fill yourself with coffee and yes, there is a slim shaft of light striking you smack dab in the middle of your solar plexus. "Energy is Eternal Delight."  Yes. Of course. Damn the torpedos.

An Hour Disappears...

An hour disappeared on us here in the Heartland. "Spring ahead." Right. Time really is relative. And we mess with it often. Weird. Time itself is fungible and a bit of an illusion. Funny, that...