Rain.

It's been raining all week. Two feet of it has fallen in 5 days! That's some kind of record. All I know is torrential, unending, downpours, like we've had, sure help pinpoint leaks in an old house's roof. Like mine. I started thinking about Noah. Did his ark have a water tight roof? Were he and his sons competent carpenters/ark builders? I hope he had a bone dry ceiling. If you don't have to worry about water damage (a horrible, and often insidious, thing), you can lay back, after you've fed the animals, and dig the rain. If I had a brand new top on my house, I wouldn't mind 40 days and 40 nights. Let it rain. Let it rain.

Great rain songs:

"Here comes the Rain Again" by the Eurythmics.
"Rain" by the Beatles.
"Let it Rain" by Slow Hand.
"Rainy Night in Georgia" by Brook Benton.
"I Can't Stand the Rain" by Ann Peebles.
"Rain" by Mother's Finest.
"Rain on Me" by the Who.
"Laughter in the Rain" by Neil Sedaka.
"Have You Ever Seen the Rain"/"Who'll Stop the Rain?" by C.C.R.
"Fool in the Rain"/"The Rain Song" by Led Zep.
"Rainy Days and Mondays" by the Carpenters.
"Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" by B.J. Thomas.
"Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" by Willie Nelson.
And I'd like to include the E.L.O. song "Show Down" for its great chorus ("And it's raining all over the world...").

Also, one of my favorites.

A little boy in a little town, immersed in an epiphanic awareness of life and death - in the grandest sense. Absolutely magical.
(Again, bitter sweet. I'm a sucker for bitter sweet...)

 

One of my favorite books.

I'm not sure that someone who isn't familiar with Kurt's work can fully appreciate this book. He has, how should I say it, a very "unique" writing style, and this book, his last real novel, brings elements of his creative history together in a very satisfying summation.
Chilling, touching, bitter sweet - unmistakably Vonnegut. What more could you ask for?

 

Deja vu, one mo' gin. (My apologies to Yogi.)

I sat on the bridge again today, waiting for a ship to pass. That's the 3rd time in 2 days. I realize this isn't much of a post, but I felt I had to acknowledge this odd recurrence.

The Beatles, etc.

My friend Chuck recently emailed me - or gmailed me - to tell me that he was listening to "The Beatles" (aka "The White Album"). He said that he had forgotten how much he loved it.
I love it too, Chuck.
In his book "Timequake," Kurt Vonnegut writes, "I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off. I reply, 'The Beatles did.'"
I am re-reading "Dandelion Wine" by Ray Bradbury. It, along with "Timequake," is one of my favorite books. In it, a 12 year old boy named Douglas Spaulding, in the summer of 1928, realizes, for the first time, that he is alive! Appreciates it. Of course, such an epiphany comes with its murkier counterpoints...
Such is art. Such is life.

PHEW!!

I have been awake since about 3 o'clock (I'm still having these crazy, vivid dreams). I decided to get up and fix some things that had gone awry on my computer, like the recent disappearance of my gmail notification, etc. In the process, I somehow lost my anti virus protection. I could not get it to turn back on. It kept saying "unspecified error," or something like that. I was on the verge of freaking out.
Well, it's now after 10 am and I have just gotten everything fixed. So, yeah, PHEW!!

My grandmother.

This is a most amazing photo. It's my father's mother. It's tiny - about 1"x2". Written on the back is my grandmother's name and the town in which she lived (my home town). Under that it says "Nov. 27, 1913. Age 16 yrs."
I did touch it up a bit. I mean, it IS almost 100 years old.

 

My heart (update).

Those crossed fingers, from the last post, seem to have done the trick. My visit to the cardiologist went rather well. Upon interrogating my device, he could detect no bizarre occurrences since my last visit. And he cut my dosage of Amiodarone in half. Since that is the medication that has been causing my nightmares, sleeplessness and general malaise, things should start improving in time. Also, he gave me a note which states that I am ok to work and drive! So, that's great news.
Since my battery is getting low (I've had the device for 4 years now and the shock I recently received depleted it quite a bit), Dr. M. wants me to see him more often - at least until my battery is replaced. So, I have to go back to Chapel Hill at the end of December.
I couldn't have picked a worse day to take a long trip, weather-wise. It has been pouring rain all day. We have had drought conditions for some time now, but that has been alleviated by freakish amounts of precipitation - 9 inches in the last 12 hours alone. And it's still raining. I have seen some of the worst flooding that I can remember. There were wrecked cars all along I-40.
When I finally got close to home, one of our bridges was raised for a ship to pass through. Once I got over that bridge, the backed up traffic and rainy conditions forced me into a lane that lead to the other bridge. I was now going in the opposite direction! I had to cross the river again at the other bridge, which, of course, was raised for the same ship! I finally got across, turned around and recrossed to get home. I traversed that river 3 times(!) - and that was after being on the road, in horrible weather, for over 6 hours. But hey, that's ok, because I'm home and dry and feeling more positive about things than I have in quite a while.

My heart (update).

I'm going to Chapel Hill, in the morning, to see my cardiologist. It's a 3 hour trip and my appointment is at 9:30, so I have to get up pretty early. My doctors all told me that I'm not supposed to drive for 6 months, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.
I have a lot of new music for the trip up, courtesy of my friend Chuck. I'm looking forward to checking that out.
Hopefully, this visit will go smoothly and put me on track to go back to work.
I need to go back to work. I've got to get my life straightened out.
My fingers are crossed.

Me, as a young lad.

I think I'm 15 years old here. I'm wearing some sort of leisure suit and my favorite black leather platform shoes. I must have been pretty combustible - even my t-shirt was made of polyester.

 

My brother, as a teenager.

I had to retouch this one a bit. He had written his full name in the top left hand corner, as if it were an album cover or promotional picture. I try to be careful about divulging too much personal information of that sort online - otherwise, I would have left his handwriting.
Note the Silvertone acoustic, with the do-it-yourself pick-up and control knobs.
At first I thought he was strumming an open C chord, but on closer inspection, it appears to be a G 7th.

 

My mom.

This has the same handwriting, on the back, as the last picture. It says "Photo taken at 114 Ralph Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y."
It looks as if she's on a roof top.

 

My mom and dad.

I'm not even sure that my parents are married yet in this picture. There's writing on the back that says "Photo taken in the old Bellamy woods." I don't know who wrote it. It's not my mom's handwriting.
Dig my dad's vest, hoopty and axe!

 

Bath time.

I swear I remember this (I have memories going back to when I was in my crib). I'm taking a bath, in the back yard, in an old ringer washer tub. I can't tell you what the notion of sucking on that wash cloth does to me now.
We used this photo for the back cover of the "Dreams Die Hard" CD.

 

Childhood trauma.

I have always maintained that the very moment captured in this photo is the origin of my fear of heights. My older sister, who put me up on this tree and took this picture, says that's silly. That I was only 4 feet off the ground.
Look at that face! Judge for yourself.
And, is that poison ivy?!

 

Me and Smido.

Smido was a great dog. He was so loyal to me. Very protective, but a sweety.
My mom's inscription on the back: "This is Jimmi and Smido. Smido is big as a horse now. July 1969."
I was 8 years old.

 

Smido, a little older.

This photo was also sent to my brother. My mom wrote on the back: "This is to show you how big Smido is getting."

 

This is Smido on top dad's car...

This is a Polaroid of Smido, my first German shepherd. My mom took this and sent it to my brother, who was in the army and stationed in Germany. That's her hand writing.
The name Smido comes from the shortened version of Smith Douglass, the fertilizer plant where my dad worked. It was the name of one of the fertilizers they sold. One of my dad's co-workers was given another puppy and he named it Nitro - also a Smith Douglass fertilizer.
Smido and Nitro were part of a litter, born at the plant, to a German shepherd guard dog. I would often stay with my dad at work (he was a watchman and there was no one else working at nights and on the weekend). I would feed the guard dog, Smido's mom, who lived in a pen behind the office.

 

Biddies!!

My neice, my nephew and me.

 

Me and my dad.

I practically grew up in a fertilizer plant. This picture of me and my dad was taken by my mom near the back end of the plant. My dad has turned the bills of our hats up, imitating a co-worker of his, who wore his hat in this odd fashion.

 

"Scooter and the Daisies"

"Mmmm, mmmm..."

 

Gerbera Daisies.

 

Doing up my pill boxes.

I have a box for morning pills and one for evening. I "do them up" every weekend. When they're full, I snap the lids and say to myself, "I'm good for one more week."
Sometimes it's rather unnerving to contemplate having to take all these meds just to live...

 

Blah, blah, blah...

I did a sink FULL of dishes that I had been putting off for days. I went through all of my bills. I threw all of the hospital bills in the trash. (I must owe a half of a million dollars to 4 different hospitals.) I filled out a form for the Employment Security Commission, put it in an envelope and stuck a stamp on it. (On unemployment, I will be bringing in probably $600 less each month than I would have made working.) Now, I think I'm going to crawl under my house and try to shore up a patch of floor.
I'm trying to keep busy. It's my new strategy. We'll see how it goes.

A reason to live.

I just saw an episode of "Entourage" which ended with "Blitzkrieg Bop" by the Ramones. That song, even now, is more exciting than anything on the radio. The fact that it wasn't a top ten hit, along with 25 or 30 other Ramones songs, still blows my mind. There's a primal magic there. As simple as it is, it reminds me of why I love music - why it still matters to me - and why I love the Ramones.
Although Kurt Vonnegut described himself as irreligious, a free thinker and a humanist, he once said:
"Music is, to me, proof of the existence of god. It is so extraordinarily full of magic, and in tough times of my life, I can listen to music and it makes such a difference."

Anais Nin.

Anais Nin lived an extraordinary life. If you know nothing about her, Google her. Although she was a dancer, an actress and psychoanalyst (who studied with Freud and Rank), it is her writing, which was infused with incredible insight and exquisite beauty, for which she will be immortalized.
Here are just a few quotes:

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.

Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.

If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience and creation.

Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself.

We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds.

The role of the writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.

 

"I'm eighteen!!"

This is me at the height of my "hippie-ness." I look as if I could be a member of Grand Funk Railroad. (I wish!)
Long hair? Check. Sideburns? Check. Pierced ear? Check. Large collared shirt? Check.
I wish I could go back in time and talk to this guy. Or maybe not. That would probably ruin all of my experiences.
Go forward, kid. The world is waiting!

 

My brother, me and my dad. Fort Bragg, N.C. Late 60s.

 

Me and my big brother Howard.

This shot was taken in Fort Bragg, N.C., in the late 60s. The whole family went up to visit my brother. My mom brought a big pot of my brother's favorite food: spaghetti (or "skettys" as Howard called them).That's my sister's '64 Comet we're leaning against. (My dad had a gold one just like that.)

 

My mom Laura.

This is my mom, 16 years old, newly shorn and permed, graduating junior high, in Brooklyn, N.Y. (1939?)

 

My dad Blue.

As poor as my dad's childhood was, it's a wonder some of these pictures even exist.

 

Update.

I'm still here. Plodding on.

Thinking bad thoughts.

Today I thought about doing myself in. The quality of my existence is at an all time low. I never feel good anymore. My condition varies, in an extreme fashion, from one minute to the next. Literally. I have no desire to begin any project. I can't even seem to put away my clothes (not like me - well, the me I used to be). I'm 50. I'm out of work. I have no one to love me. I haven't had fun in years.
I'm afraid of dying.
I dunno. I'm going to stop here.

Thinking good thoughts.

I'm not usually so bitter and angry. The main idea of this blog is to try to find a positive spin on the shit that life hands you. I'm basically a positive person. But, it also allows me to rant when I need to, to purge negativity and attempt to exorcise demons. I beg the reader's indulgence.
I think "longtimeago" from New Bern (an adam4adam.com member), summed it up quite nicely, albeit heartwarmingly awkwardly, thusly (how's that for appealing awkward-osity?):
"Don't be so bitter. Lighten up and let the good moments be the most of your thought life. And keep your imagination in tack. Respect each other foremost and guess what?"

Hulk vs Thing. September 1973.

This would be the second time.

 

Hulk vs Thing. July 1971.

In my years of reading comics, I only know of 2 times the Hulk fought the Thing. This is the first time. When I saw this issue on the stands, as a kid, I nearly creamed in my proverbial jeans. 'NUFF SAID!