Concerts.

I've been going to concerts since 1976. That's 35 years! The photo (at the bottom of this post) is of an album of some of the tickets I still have. There's (Cheap Trick guitarist) Rick Nielsen's guitar pick. I gave Rick a copy of our tape (Stick The Live Guy's "Dog Water"). And (The Smithereens singer) Pat Dinizio's cigarette butt. He lit it as the band started up a song, took a puff and handed it to me. I smoked it (for some reason) and kept the butt. I gave him a copy of our tape, also.
I'm going to attempt to list the shows I've been to. I know I won't remember them all, but here goes:

Foreigner
Cheap trick (About 6 times. I've met them.)
AC/DC (3 times. Twice with Bon Scott.)
Ted Nugent
Golden Earring
Sammy Hagar (Twice.)
Henry Gross
Rush (3 times.)
Mother's Finest (About 7 times. I've met them.)
Nantucket (5 or 6 times.)
Brick
Atlantic Starr
Evelyn Champagne King
Yes (Twice.)
Black Oak Arkansas (Jim Dandy took a swig of my beer.)
Ruby Starr & Grey Ghost
REM
Let's Active
Robin Trower (3 times.)
Counting Crows
The Wallflowers
that dog.
Boston (Twice.)
Queensryche (Twice.)
Styx
Bad Company
Billy Squier
Alice Cooper (3 times.)
Steely Dan
The Rolling Stones
Lenny Kravitz
The Moody Blues (With the N.C. Symphony Orchestra.)
David Bowie
Nine Inch Nails (Twice.)
Aerosmith
The Smithereens
4 Non Blondes
King's X (4 Times. Met them.)
Quiet Riot
George Clinton & the P.Funk Allstars
Kiss (All original members.)
Joe Satriani (3 times.)
The Dixie Dregs (Twice. Met them.)
The Allman Brothers
Chet Atkins
The Ramones (3 times.)
The Trans-Siberian Orchestra
The B52s
The Butchies
Fountains of Wayne
Robyn Hitchcock & the Venus 3 (With Peter Buck. Met them.)
Edgar Winter (With Carmine Appice. Got Carmine and Edgar's autographs.)
Verve Pipe
G. Love & Special Sauce (Crowd surfed G.Love.)
Protein
Henry Rollins Band
Ice T. & Body Count
The Butthole Surfers
Living Colour
Siouxie & the Banshees
Jane's Addiction
Enuff Z'nuff
Firehouse
Britny Fox
Dag (Twice.)
Screaming Cheetah Wheelies
Drivin' n' Cryin'
Foghat (Twice. I strummed Lonesome Dave's guitar.)
Molly Hatchet
Drink Small
Randy Travis
Will Hoge
Southern Culture on the Skids
Missing Persons (Slapped hands with Dale Bozzio, who people are now comparing Lady Gaga to...)

There are countless others: Opening bands and people I've forgotten. I wasn't always in a clear state of mind...

 

In a dream, last night...

In a dream, last night, I was walking down a road, in a rural area, when I came upon an odd sight. It was a roughly built, 3 story, plywood encased structure, freshly painted "green" green. It sat off the road a bit, in a small clearing.
I entered the building and climbed to the top. As I looked out the back window (there was no glass, just an opening), I saw a creek running through the woods. In and around this creek were ducks, geese, turtles, deer, alligators and a bear. Then, from out of the thicker part of the woods, came a mule, wearing a bridle and harness. He crashed through the water and disappeared back into the woods. What an odd sight!
Later, I was joined by my dad, my brother-in-law and a guy I used to work with. I was telling them what they had missed, when I spotted some long, black, weasel looking animals on the bank of the creek. "What are those?" I asked. "They're polecats," replied my brother-in-law, looking out the window. He then leaned so far out of the window that he fell. I was worried that he would be hurt or eaten by the gators, but he was ok and he climbed back up.

Happy?

We've talked and talked and talked and talked.
We've talked about our world views, our families, growing up, school, pets, secrets, relationships, jobs - and always Music and Art.
A lot of the things I love, you love. I probably love too many "things," though. I had a teacher who told me that you're supposed to love people, not things. But, I can't help it. I get passionate about books (but, also writers), paintings (and painters), film (and film makers) and music (and musicians). I'm turned on by design. And style.
"When were you last excited?" you asked. I told you I used to get excited when a new REM album would come out. Or, when a new issue of Creem magazine hit the stands. But, those things were a long time ago - and they were probably not what you had in mind, anyway.
"Are you happy?" you asked. I don't know. I don't walk around feeling "happy." Contented, maybe. Happy, to me, is not a sustainable emotion. Nor, should it be. It should be reserved for special moments in one's life. To be happy all the time would (it seems to me) diminish the emotion's effect.
But, am I happy to have "met" you?
Yes.
So, maybe I am happy.

Under the Sun. (A bit of silliness, inspired by my new friend Mark...)

There's nothing new under the sun
Whatever you do, it's already been done
Attempt innovation, try as you might
Labor on it all day and night
Be as original as you can
Travel your own path, copy no man
Then show your work to someone you know
They'll say, "It reminds me of so and so."
"It puts me in mind of this or that."
"Were you thinking of Seuss when you drew that cat?"
"Were you reading cummings when you wrote that verse?"
"Emulating Picasso? You could do worse..."
I gave up on trying to impress anyone
'Cause, there's nothing new under the sun.

Little things.

I wash dishes the old fashion way: By hand. It's almost therapeutic to me. I put on some music (even corny stuff that no one else would like) and light some incense. And, when I'm finished, and the pots and plates are stacked in the drainer, I feel a modest sense of accomplishment.

 

Stop / Go.

That purple/blue sky is really something, through those silhouetted trees
That mocking bird is mocking up a storm
So much in life is uncertain - most everything, I guess
I'm here now - but tomorrow, who knows?

Against that sky, against that knowledge, I try to get things done
I try to be a good man
And in the process of performing menial tasks
I attempt to make someone feel loved.

Children are playing outside, it's unseasonably warm
My familiar barks at every screech and laugh
It doesn't seem like that long ago that I was dreading the call to come in
I had to free all the toads and fireflies I'd amassed.

It amazes me how the days evaporate, how the gears turn in lubricated perpetuity
Going, going, going, gone
If you don't stop yourself, there will be no stopping
The Sun, meanwhile, has punched the clock, jumped in his ride and left the parking lot.

Adventures in being me.

My car overheated yesterday, leaving me stranded on the side of the road. Luckily, it turned out that the thermostat was sticking - so I replaced it today. That may have been the cause of the overheating, but yesterday, while attempting a roadside diagnosis, I tried to remove the fuse going to the cooling fan - thinking it may not be working - and in the process of pulling out this most unusual looking fuse, it broke, leaving the metal prongs in the fuse panel. I got a replacement fuse for it, but it won't insert properly. My brother-in-law, who was giving me a hand, jammed it in there and said, "It'll be ok." Me? I'm not so sure. If all else fails, I'll put a toggle switch (or, as my brother-in-law says, "togo switch") on the dash, to operate the fan.
This car of mine is becoming a white trash 4 wheel Frankenstein.

I got a wrong number call this morning, looking for Desiree (I think). Then later, I got a text saying,"Happy birthday old monkey ass!" Today is the birthday of the person who used to have my number, apparently - so, "Happy birthday old monkey ass!"

"Idiot." (Illustrated World Encyclopedia.)

I get the feeling this encyclopedia was written for teens, maybe. Anyway, it was published around 1970.

Idiot: An idiot is someone with so little intelligence that he is not able to take care of himself in the simplest ways. He is not able to feed or dress himself, and his mental ability never gets to be more than that of a two year old child. Idiocy may be caused by injuries to the brain, but most idiots have been that way since birth. There is not much that can be done to help these unfortunate people, except to place them in institutions where they can be cared for. According to law, an idiot cannot sign a contract or be blamed for a crime he commits.

What do I know?

I don't know anything anymore. Maybe I never knew anything. Maybe there's nothing to know. Maybe I'm in the know as much as anyone is in the know. Maybe knowing I don't know means I know more. Maybe less is more, more or less. Maybe the less I know the better. I don't know...

I can't stop reading those TOTC books.

My friend Chuck gave me the Armistead Maupin book, "Mary Ann in Autumn," for Christmas (or Festivus, or whatever). I was thrilled that it had finally been published and read it right away. Recently, I picked it up, in the middle of another book, and read it again. I love those people! Thank you Armistead. (And, thank you Chuck.)

What condition my condition is in.

I'm alive. I made it through the night. I feel a bit shaky, but I'm ok.
I'd like to express my gratitude (to the universe?). I'm happy to be here on this beautiful, sunny, 75 degree day!
I don't want to always be whining - I want to be positive and thankful, also. While good and bad are ingredients of this stew, I want to make sure to leave an aftertaste of positivity.
Have a spoonful.
Say yes to yes.

Health update.

This is so boring.
I'm not feeling well. My blood pressure went up really high last night and I had a V-Tach episode this afternoon. I feel really shaky and tingly. My head feels numb. I'm worried that I may be moving into a new stage with my heart. Maybe the amiodarone isn't doing the job, anymore.
I'm going to take my night time meds and lay down.
How am I ever going to find a job with this kind of crap going on?

She's got two fired Tigger eyes.

She's got two fired Tigger eyes.
I don't know what that means.
Humans are becoming less and less precise about speech. I guess I'm still of the school that believes (there's a tricky word) that certain things should MEAN something. We should set them apart and preserve their integrity.
Maybe I just don't like change. Maybe I'm a bit stodgy that way. The English language is evolving like it's always done, I tell myself.
I don't wish to be misconstrued - I love playing with words. It just seems as if one should know the ground rules before breaking them. It's this awareness that I deem essential. It's the breezy carelessness with our means of communication that annoys me. If we can't hone our language skills, how can we be expected to be... understood?
Maybe, as a "man out of time," I have no right to even comment on it.
It could be that I'm seeking security in a world gone mad. A rock in an ocean of chaos.
Sometimes, however, these inexact, twisted, malapropistic (if I could, ironically, coin a term) chunks of language almost sound like poetry to my ears.
She's got two fired Tigger eyes.
"It hurts to hurt" someone once wrote to me - quite sincerely. How do you process a line like that? It does hurt to hurt. I get that. "I'm only human," he concluded.
Only human.
You.
Me.
The folks in the Human League.
The girl with two fired Tigger eyes.

Signs of Spring.

My mom called this flowering bush, "The First Breath of Spring." I don't know its proper title, but whatever it is, it can't be as poetic. The fragrance of these tiny blooms will waft across my yard, signalling (it seems to me) rebirth.
Another sign of the end of Winter is the sprouting of the Daffodils. (They're not Glacier Lilies, but they're in the family.) Some of these came from bulbs my grandmother planted. Who knows - she may have gotten them from HER grandmother. And, so on.

 

 

"Mortal" update.

I just finished shooting some footage for my project. It has been such a beautiful day, so I decided to take the camera down to a nearby nature park to film, and get some sunshine in the process.
I walked down this path through the woods to the canoe ramp, thinking I would have the place to myself. There were 5 women laying on the ramp, sunning. They were probably in their 30s and 40s. I said hello, feeling like I was invading their space. One said, "I bet you thought you were gonna come down here and be alone, didn't you?" I shot around them. They were all very nice, asking questions. Do you want us to move? What are you shooting for? I told them I was working on a little film. What's it about? Is it a narrative or is it abstract? I said that it was something in-between. What kind of music will you be using? I told her mine. That's good. What do you play? Guitar. Electric or acoustic? Both.
People just seem to be friendlier in nice weather.
On the way back, I pulled over to the side of the road to shoot by a creek. For some reason, out of the blue, I remembered something my friend Chuck said (it's his camera): "Make sure it's on auto focus." It wasn't. Unless the button got turned off along the way, I've been shooting all this time without auto focus. It will be interesting to see how some of this stuff comes out. Of course, it may be rather sad, too. Lightning rarely strikes twice. Some things are a once in a lifetime deal.

Pleasant diversions.

I looked for art, but all I found was design - technical and mass produced.
In a dream last night, small boulders, on a river's shore, took to the air and battered people. I tried to film it, but I ended up running.
I drove an old tractor, today. It ran for a while, but the fuel was bad and it shut off. It needs some TLC, that old International.
I'm chatting with someone new. It's a pleasant diversion, but it won't amount to anything. At least he's interesting.
I have projects I want to finish. Need to finish. Time is fleeting. Tempus is Fugiting.
It's not even cold tonight. I don't remember how to act. I've been freezing for months.
I'm almost ready to paint, again. That big canvas stares at me every time I walk into the closet.
I know what I want. I think that annoys some people. I try not to flaunt it.
I have opinions. If you ask me, I'll share them. Otherwise, I keep them to myself.
Walking through the world alone, you tend to create your own universe. Since you're the only one living there, communication with others can sometimes be a problem.
My dog is high strung. He goes from 0 to 100 in a second. I can't imagine that Howler Monkeys are much more shrill (or excitable).
Sometimes you imagine other people's lives to be perfect. They're not.
Sometimes it seems as if life is unfair. It's not. It's just what it is. Good and bad, fair and unfair are arbitrary notions - man-made affectations.
I think too much. Paul Simon said he thought he thought too much. Then he thought about it and wrote a song called, "I Think Too Much."
I love to sing, because I forget everything else when I'm doing it. Good, bad, fair and unfair.

The number of...

That last post was number 666. Assign whatever symbolic association you'd like to it. I personally think of it as a positive thing - the number of man, creation and enlightenment. We can't all be 777. Those are god's digits. We shouldn't feel ashamed of our number. We are what we are, and sometimes, we're pretty amazing.
With this one, I've posted 667 times in the past year! I guess I had more to say than I thought.

This and that. Nothing, really.

Sixty-five degrees today and 72 tomorrow. I'll take it! Now, we're talking. Let's keep this momentum going. The 80s are just around the corner. At least, I'd like to think they are. March is usually pretty cold and windy. I hate windy! But, but, wait - I am thrilled with just this little warm up. I certainly don't want to sound unappreciative. I appreciate the heck out of it.
I may shoot some stuff for the film, today. There's something I want to get, but it takes me perilously close to my old job (about which I have some bitterness). I'm trying really hard to close the door on that portion of my life and move on. It's difficult, considering it was something I did for 17 years. And the way it all ended.
Ok, shut up. Let's move on - because it's going to be around 70 degrees this weekend! The possibilities are endless.

Dogs do what dogs do. 8 tracks change tracks in the middle of songs.

I met an artist online. Very interesting, he is. He paints and composes Eno-esque music and reams of whimsy. Says people don't understand him.
I know the feeling.
But Van Gogh's yellows are turning brown, they say. What oh what will happen to his sun flowers?!
I have an uncertain future, and my present is shaky, but today I made music.
What more could a person ask for?
I considered dogs, pick-ups and 8 track tapes. I forgot about universalities and eternity.
That's a good thing.
I'm still waiting on important mail to be delivered. And the positive change that could occur.
Anything's possible.
Will Van Gogh's stars look like meatballs in the night sky? His suns, slices of fried bologna? Let's get going on the technology to prevent that. I mean, the man cut off his own ear because he was misunderstood and unappreciated in his life-time. Talk about suffering! He suffered enough, I posit.

This and that. Nothing, really.

I can't wait to lay on a sunny beach. I hope when it warms up, I'll be able to do some work on this stupid old house. Maybe Springtime will cheer me up. Maybe I'll feel better. I might become inspired.
I need to get straightened out financially. That would do me a world of good. I've had some new interest in the 1976 Scamp I have for sale. Hopefully, something pans out with that. That would be a big help.
I'm tired of worrying. I'm tired of eating things from the back of the fridge that have been in there for ages. I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore - I've pretty much cleaned it out. The cabinets, too. I'm down to grits. Grits are cheap and they go a long way. And, last a long time.
All I have is a "lucky" dollar bill. I don't want to have to spend that. It's lucky, for Pete's sake!
I used to have (and I probably still have it, somewhere) a penny, sealed in a medallion, that said, "Keep me and you'll never go broke." It had a horse shoe on it and a 4 leaf clover. On one side it said, "Lucky 7." I wore it on a chain when I was a kid. Maybe I should find it and put it on.

Song titles, etc.

This is a list, from many years ago, of prospective song titles - several of which came to me in a dream. Notice the checks next to the songs. Those are songs that have been written over the years. I guess I need to write "Big Mouths," "Loaded" and "Allure."
I had coined the term "The Horror of Being" and used it in my poetry. It also became a line in "Murky Movements." It was to be the title of an album featuring these songs.
At the bottom of the page, there's a rough illustration of the cover: A clown sitting on a tombstone in a cemetery.

 

"How can less be more?"

(And, if less IS more - think of how much MORE more is!)

Years ago, some of my co-workers and I were dicussing the idea of "less is more." The next day, I left this on the bulletin board:

"Less is more" is a phrase which possesses implications that serve to distance us, stylistically - and philosophically - from the heavily ornate (think Baroque) sensibilities that were once a cultural mainstay. The onset of so-called modernity provided, for many, an alternate reality to that mind-set.
While the phrase "less is more" may seem oxymoronic, in a rather liberal sense of the term it is merely an aesthetic judgement that deems the clean line and uncluttered style - or life-style, for that matter - to be the desired ideal.
At any rate, it must be noted that any personal aesthetic judgement is as purely subjective as the next.

Painting Place. (From the Steer years. Late 80s.)

The beige tongs from hell
Sprang from their shell
And danced their way toward the heat
They frolicked and spun
And pinched and tonged
And made our day complete.

We looked at the world
Through frog lips unfurled
Big and slimy and green
The sights, at the time
We thought divine
You would have found obscene.

The Thing Fish vernacular
So queer and spectacular
Has spun its web in our minds
You're not from St. Louis
So, why don't you sue us?
We find it quite sublime.

Then, there's Eddie Capps
Mystery "partner," perhaps
He's stumbled into our world
When he quits smoking
We'll still be joking
'Bout the mom and her little school girl.

And, speaking of school
Dropping out has been cool
And, our lives have begun to flower
Sleeping late, soaps and boyfriends
Mag rims, AM and FM
And 10, sometimes 20 dollars an hour.

"Theme Furor" left-overs.

Matches. Catching. Infatuating.
Traps. Maps. Lapses.
Fine. Fan. Time.
Duties. Moods. Attributes.
Wings. Things. Lingering.
Hands. Plans. Demanding.
Floors. Hours. Mooring.
Seasons. Teasing. Liaison.

So bad, but so good.

Small insects were invading the white space. Intruding, in a rude way. The only way.
Bugs - leave this place!
Can this go on?

Seasonal endings sometimes sadden. Sometimes gladden.
But, now - sadness.
What of it?

Tick. Tock.

My friend Chuck asked me, in an email, if time slows down when you're unemployed. It's hard to explain. I can only speak for myself, of course, but it's not like it slows or speeds up, really. I feel outside of time - distanced, somehow - almost like being encased in amber. Time has little meaning. I've really begun to see how much of an illusion it is. I don't know how much this has to do with being out of work. It may be the medications I'm taking. All of this pretty much hit me at the same...time.

"Ziggy Stardust?" One of my songs?

This is from the aforementioned Christmas Jam from a few years back. I hate pictures of myself, but there I am...

 

I never had much.

I shouldn't write when I'm not feeling well.
I woke up early this morning in the throes of an unspecified malaise. Again. (That seems, to me, to be an apt definition for life: An unspecified malaise.) And yet, I try to remain positive...
But, there are little trinkets and bangles strewn about and I pick them up as I walk by. I pocket them as talismans and amulets. Juju Bijous, as it were. I have one rock that needs to go back to its grave (for the same reasons my late childhood friend smashed into pieces and buried the Redneck Buddha). And some books that are due at the library. One was checked out 153 years ago. I dread the late fee.
My head swims and I'm unsure of myself - or anything - anymore. What a way to spend your days: Alone and unsure.
Look for the trinkets, I tell myself. Buoying baubles. A piece of sea glass - quick! grab it before the next wave.
Things that were magical when I was a kid:
Incense (especially strawberry).
Certain rocks.
Books.
Shells.
Candles.
An old fashion skeleton key.
Trinkets, bangles and baubles.
I never had much. I don't need much. I WOULD like to feel well enough to drink a glass of wine and walk down the beach. Keeping an eye out for pocket treasures. And any jewels that might come my way.

"Every night I have the same dream: A man behind the door...

...with a tattooed erection, and no reflection, and eyes like a Chinese whore."

Jim Carroll."Dry Dreams." Great lyrics in that song. My buddy Jake and I used to rip that one up!
This was taken at one of the last Christmas Jams, a few years back. At that point, in the photo, things were winding down in my life. They're still winding...

 

This is a Test.

I have been tested. I am being tested.
I guess we're all tested from time to time.
I have some art in me, I think. Some poetry.
Poets get no respect, yet I still think of myself as a poet.
For most of my adult life I've been cynical. Prove it, I said.
Now, I seem to be returning to my Romantic roots. I'm no better than those who cling to religion.
See, I grew up in the hippy era, but was soon thrust into the punk age. That's why I think of myself as belonging to the Blank Generation. Like Richard Hell, I can take it or leave each time.
I wanna make a film. Write a book. Paint. Make music. But, I'm stymied at present. I'm too concerned about paying my bills. Staying warm. Remaining alive.
The impetus eludes me.
It's embarrassing to record winter emotions.
Embarrassment.
Shame and resentment.
War and Peace.
Censorship and disease.
Sex and Death.
Gimme ART!
I can't help it. I need a raison d'etre. A purpose.
I'm only human. A mere mortal at large.
I feel the big wheel like never before. The spherical momentum.
These are just notes to say, "I was here! I was alive!"

I am alive...

Unrealized ideas.

This was to be the sign (that I designed) for a sort of bohemian coffee house/book store/consignment store/performance space. I still think it's a good idea. Alas, another dream that went up in smoke.

 

Just in case...

...you ever wanted to see a German Shepherd playing guitar.

 

Patti Smith.

"Life is an adventure of our own design intersected by fate and a series of lucky and unlucky accidents..."

 

Tattoo idea.

 

Erica Jong.

"A society is impoverished, I think, by its scarcity of outlets for ambitionless activity."

Cactus and Octopus.

This is an idea I had for a children's book.

 

Mythologize Your Life.

Here's one of the many songs that I'll probably never get to record. It kills me to have these things in my head and not be able to realize them.


(Chorus)
Mythologize your life
Did I tell you 'bout the time?
(Yes, you told me 'bout the time)
Mythologize your life
Causing planets to align
In these memories of mine.

He said, she said, they said, we said
He did, she did, they did, we did.

Let them see you in the light you choose
Have it all worked out so you seldom lose
Create a grand reality
Your own spectacular cosmology.

(Chorus)

(Bridge)
Starring in your own re-telling
Make it all seem so compelling.

Promote yourself - create an image
Put a spin upon your limits
Reveal a vision they're dying to see
A dazzling iconography.

(Chorus x2)

A Glimpse of Heaven.

I caught a glimpse of heaven
Through azure skies
A paradise - "Eleven"
Where no one cries
A refuge for the broken hearted
But, now I'm bluer than before I saw it
Know what I'll never have
A glimpse of heaven.

I heard the bells of freedom
Pealing in the night
A sound so clear and pure
Like angels taking flight
But, there's a gnawing, bitter-sweet hurt
A photo of god in a T.Rex T-shirt
With his head chopped off
A glimpse of heaven.

(Chorus)
Now I'm tripped up baby
I've gone and lost it
I've got a date with Patti
In Lou Reed's closet. (x2)

(Bridge)
And time - it toys with me
It cuts me off at the knees
And I want to live to see a me
That's free of the me I be.

I saw the jaws of evil
Devour this world
Then throw up on the cosmic
Tilt-A-Whirl
Nothing left - everything destroyed
I close my eyes to receive the void
What do you think I saw?
A glimpse of heaven.

(Chorus x4)

Life Pt.2

They'll claw their way into your life with their sad songs
Repairing all that was wrong in the past with a wrecking ball
To live that life again, oh never
A new leaf turning over and over.

Living in hell is a full time occupation
Like filming bad B-movies on location
Stripping bare our shivering ghosts
And swimming around in what we hate most.

(Chorus)
I can't change
You can't change
They can't change
Where is the change?
There is no change
People can't change.

It's a jungle full of leopards who have dyed their spots
Same old creeps even if they had pink polka-dots
And old dogs turning the same old tricks
Rife with metaphorical fleas and ticks.

(Chorus x2)

Worms.

You held out your handful of worms
You said you had a surprise for me
Did you hope to see me squirm?
I thought it was a curious treat.

(Chorus)
Now I'm building my own house
You can't live here with me
I'll run screaming through my house
Erecting tiny shrines to cheese.

I'll pile my anguish in a corner
Tip-toe over bones and teeth
With my twisted soul, I'll be a donor
I'll fall in love, again, with me.

(Chorus)

An army of Longfellows crying
Couldn't change this me into an us
Underneath my bed, your heart lies dying
Entombed in a soft shroud of dust.

(Chorus)

Me and Tommy. (One night...)

When we were teenagers, before we got our driver's licenses, and often after (if you couldn't get your parent's car), we traveled by bike. I put many a mile, as they say, on my 2 wheeler.
One night, while talking on the phone (which was this big rectangular device, with a rotary dial, hanging on the wall), my friend Tommy and I decided to meet up. He would take off from his house and I from mine, and we would meet half way. We lived about 3 miles apart. I jumped on my Sears "Free Spirit" ten speed and lit out.
It was a very dark night - cloudy, with no moon or stars. There weren't any street lights, as we lived in a rural area. Not many cars, either. I was making pretty good time, because I knew the roads, but I couldn't see a thing. Presumably, neither could Tommy, because, in the scary, pitch black silence, down a "haint"-infested back country road, I felt something breeze by, within inches of me, going in the opposite direction. And I heard a blood-curdling, terrified wail fading into the night, behind me. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHH!!!"
We had nearly crashed head on into each other.

This and that. Nothing, really.

Wanna feel stupid? Put your hoodie on backward.
You're hearing it here first (although I've been saying this for years): Sleep is the new sex.
It's funny how, no matter how hard you fight it, in the end, you'll compromise. Or, kill yourself. Those seem to be the 2 options.
I never feel good anymore. Meds? Heart condition? Old age? A combination? (It's probably a combination. And what a combination it is!)
I find myself (I can be surprisingly elusive), lately, wearing reading glasses for glasses glasses. I like to think of them as "Lunettes de Feu!" ("Glasses of Fire!" Everything is better when you add fire.)
I entered an online survey today. They'll be giving away 3 prizes of $1000. I'm keeping my fingers, toes and eyes crossed.
That old adage of "One day at a time" is really hitting home, these days. That's how I have to live. There's no real future. And, the past is slowly fading.
It's been raining all day long. It's supposed to rain, again, tomorrow. If it weren't so cold, it would suit me fine.
I just opened a pack of (2) fortune cookies I've had on my desk, for some time. The first one said, "There will be plenty of time to work hard; enjoy yourself!" the second said - get this - "Think of what you will think of ten years from now."
There's that fabled, mythological, hypothetical future, again. Nearly 35 years ago, Johnny Rotten growled, "NO FUTURE!" I wonder if he thought about what he would be thinking about in 2011.

Mysterious photos.

Lucky for me, right before my mom died, she went through her pictures and wrote on the backs of many of them - who it was, what year, etc. Still, there are some pics that remain mysterious to me. Here are two.
On the silo pic, my mom wrote, "June, 1941. Taken from a train." But, someone else - the photographer - wrote (and I'm leaving in all of the misspellings and bad grammar), "this one was spenehville ohio This what the farmers store thair wheat in. I tooke it from the train winder its a buetty."
The photo of the little boy says, "Paul Respass. June 8th, 1939." I have no idea who he is, but I'm assuming he's in Brooklyn, NY.
Doesn't he just cry out Movie Street Urchin?

 

 

Ginger.

This little dog was one of the greatest dogs I ever had. She was part Toy Poodle, part Chihuahua and part Dachshund. I called her a Dapoochi. Ginger slept with me every night, for 7 years, while I was growing up. She was a sweety.
I wasn't with her when she died. I was in Virginia. My mom called me and told me. I went into the apartment bathroom, sat on the floor and cried.
I haven't forgotten you, Ginger.

 

Summer fun.

 

This, that, both, and neither.

The witching hour. I'm still up. I wish I WERE a witch - of the Samantha Stevens variety. I'd fix some shit, for sure.
I feel as if I live in the past. I don't know how to live in the new world. I look at pictures in old magazines and think, "Things were so much simpler, so much better, then." Things made sense. There was more concision.
It feels like my life is already over - that I'm a ghost of my former self. Everything seems pointless.
Nobody wants to hear this kind of talk. I don't want to hear it myself. But, I have to say the words. I don't think I even have to express these feelings to turn people off. I believe they can sense it - the doom in my soul. They give me a wide berth. No one wants to be tainted.
I can understand that. I don't want to taint anyone.
I'm ill prepared to live in the world. I got off to a bad start. Then came the slippery slope and the snowballing, and so on and so forth. Yadda yadda yadda.
If there is a god, why didn't he give me a gift? How did he expect a talentless hack to make it on this crazy planet? But then, why should I be anything other than a member of the expendable masses?
It feels like my whole life has been a huge question that I can't quite articulate. One big, half a century long, fever dream. There's buzzing and humming and impressions and sensations that can't be put into words.
Is love the answer? The Beatles said it was all you need. I don't know if I could ever love someone again. It seems like a symptom of youth. And, as lonely as I am, I also need my solitude. I think it's this kind of duality that the Tao Te Ching grappled with. (It's hard to wrap your head around the concept of something being this, that, both and neither.)
I'm going to bed.

Not good.

Umm...I was going to write a little bit about what's going on with me, but, you know, what's the point? Things are really getting tight - let's just say that. I don't know how I'm going to pay my bills and get my medicine.
I'll figure something out. Or not.
And the wheel keeps on turning.

More mortal than mortal.

A little over 1 1/2 months of winter to go. I hope I can hold on. Things might not actually be any better in the spring, but at least they'll seem better.
I shot some fire, tonight, for my film, "Mortal." You can't go wrong with fire. Well, I guess you can...
I was sick last night, but I feel much better today. I'm thankful for that. Don't ever let it be said that I'm ungrateful. I'm a humble guy. Really I am. I don't know how anyone can walk out their door and not be humbled.
I'm trying to drink more water. Being dehydrated is no way to go through life.
It's 9 pm already. Where does the time go? And, where does it come from? And what is it, anyway?
I have plans to make my closets more efficient. It's funny how you have to adapt to different living conditions. It's like storage Darwinism.
I've been having nightmares, lately, about losing my job. But, last night, I had a pleasant dream. A whole group of my friends, from the 80s, got together in the old house where 2 of them used to live. It was kinda like a post punk/glam/goth "Big Chill." We were our current ages, but everyone was sweet. That dream left a good taste in my mouth, when I awoke. I want more dreams like that.
I'm trying to make some sense of my life after having wasted so much time. The Bulbs of Glacier Lilies is a part of that. It's a big, sloppy mess - but, so was my life. So IS my life.
Drink water! (My friend Chuck says it's good for your soul.)

What happened to this guy?

He didn't have a care in the world. AND, he had a puppy.
My heart breaks easily these days. Sentimentality is a sign of doterage, I guess. But, when I look at myself as a child, I want to reach out and say something comforting.
"Don't be afraid, little dude."

 

"Ugly bags of mostly water..."

My sister took me to the emergency room last night.
I was sitting at my computer, feeling fine and then something came over me. In a matter of seconds, I was feeling horrible. I began to have chills and my arms and hands began to tingle. My blood pressure began to go up. Then down. Then up again. I was worried, considering my health history, that it might be something heart related. I took my night time dose of meds, plus an enteric aspirin, for good measure, and went to bed. I thought that if I rested, I might feel better. I didn't. I began to feel worse. I called my sister. She and my brother-in-law convinced me to go to the ER.
I had to wait forever before seeing the doctor. By the time I saw him, my symptoms had abated somewhat. All of my vital signs were ok. Eventually, they released me, without any diagnosis.
I considered all of the possibilities (known to me) for my symptoms. This morning, I went online to look for symptoms of dehydration and discovered I had 13 of them: Decreased sweating, decreased urination, dark colored urination, fatigue, cramps, tingling, confusion, dizziness, dry skin, flushing, dry mouth, head rushes and chills.
I never want to drink anything anymore. I'll just take a sip now and then. I read that as you get older, this occurs - your desire for fluids decreases.
I'm going to try to make myself drink more water. I certainly don't want a recurrence of last night.