Picasa Picture Posting Problems!

I can't get my pics on Picasa to show up on the blog. Most annoying! There's a thread of complaints and Google says they're working on it.
It's strange to me how we have come to rely on all of this magic.

My mom's birthday.

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 88.
My mom and dad's birthdays were a week apart. We always gave them a party together. It was a nice way to welcome Spring.

Our teen male version of The Dozens. (Mid 70s)

Ok, this is awful. I'm warning the reader. This is a couple of teen boys - who were good friends, mind you - sending notes back and forth, in class, trying to out-insult each other. One was my friend W. The other, I'm sorry to admit, was me (J).

W: May Marlon Perkins drive his jeep across your testes, secretion breath.

J: May Jane Goodall have a sexually deprived male baboon apply head to the phallic instrument you had attached to your body, through surgery. Also, may she teach you the baboon mating scream ("Cum to me, chickadee").

W: May Barbara Walters get you sexually excited and then "turn you over" to Harry Reasoner.

J: May Harry Reasoner get you sexually excited then tell you "Barbara is on vacation this week."

W: May Ed McMahon get you sexually excited and then introduce Johnny's guest host. Please don't reply, flush bowl breath.

Another day.

W: Your mama dates the Dallas Cowboys, every one of them. She owns Dawson St. every Friday and Saturday night. She hires you out every Tuesday for her "happy" customers. What do you have to say to that, ball breath?

J: Not much. I'm too busy brushing my teeth and dusting off my calling card, 'cause I've got a date with your mother, moose fucker.

W: You've got a date with your barber to get your teeth shaved.
You cut me down
I must confess
But in your mouth
My dick lies best.

J: Drill a hole in yourself and watch the sap run out.

W: May a strange holy man bite your ass and fuck your mother.

J: May he NOT, nocturnal emission breath.

W: Hustle my balls, circumcision breath.

J: You can't get no cunt
You're just a runt
You can't get no head
You jack off in bed
Your mom thinks you're sick
You play with your dick (in church)
Your walls are so sticky, nasty M----.


(I warned you, didn't I?)

A snatch of a story (from the 70s).

The flames threatened to singe the very sky as they swept across the flat grasslands - like a horrendous horde of warriors. Apart from the main onslaught, small fires - deserters, if you will - drifted off, to loot and pillage of their own accord. The blame for the destruction was placed upon the Knowlings.
The Knowlings lived in the utmost northern regions - well above Kyoliomontrom. The Ky feared them. They could not understand a people who could endure the Phrozin Wastelandz.
In all of her 14 years, Ollimeigh had never witnessed such a sight. From her tower window, she saw hundreds of Ky fleeing the grasslands, carrying their most essential belongings, along with their children, and pouring into the valley of Smitheroft. The only thing...

Opening scene for a musical. (90s?)

Opening.
Lone man, center stage, in shadows, sits on a wooden chair, back to the audience. He speaks:

"All things have origin. All things begin somewhere. A certain locality. With birth into the realm of being at a specific time. With the possession of some amount of meaning. A reason for existing - although, often, it is clouded and uncertain.
All things have origin. And that which begins, ends."

A singer, with acoustic guitar, walks on stage, above the seated man and sings "Brothers in Search," then exits.

Big orange moon.

Always beginning anew, as if nothing ever really occurs in the first place - even though "anew" means "again."
(I don't know about you, but my life is filled with such contradictions.)
As if yesterday never existed.
Maybe it didn't.
(I'm not too sure about the actuality of the present, either - if you must know.)
It's a strange time-line, indeed, when it's shaped by a chimerical sequence of stones, teeth and shells - a necklace for a shaman, who has one foot in this world and another in the mist.
(If he were to wear shoes, what would they be like?)
"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" doesn't even begin to ask the correct question.
Nor does "This or that?"
"Here or there?" Nope.
The real query can't be formulated. Don't even try.
That shaman, he understands - he's dancing under the moon.
His head is filled with things that can't be touched.
What can be touched, ascertained? You must decide for yourself.
Me? I'm doing the watusi with a dreamer of dreams, under a big orange moon.
That moon is smiling, baby.

Trying to explain.

I'm really trying to be positive - I am - but I feel like I need to express what's going on with me.
I keep having these horrible dreams about losing my job. In them, I have angry confrontations with the people involved (the guilty parties). I had one last night. It was awful.
I never feel "good" anymore: My heart feels weak, as if it's flopping around in my chest, instead of beating strong and snug. If it were a car engine, I'd say the motor mounts were bad. There's a kind of tightness and aching in my head, like it's clogged up, that makes me slow and hazy. My arms often feel tight and they tingle. I get chills, then hot flashes. I have no energy and no enthusiasm for anything. I can't lift anything heavy. I have mini panic attacks and I'm scared to go anywhere. And then, of course (scariest of all), there's the V-Tach.
There are so many things I can no longer eat. You can't imagine how bland food is without salt. I can't drink even one beer or a glass of wine. Or a cup of coffee. Or a glass of tea. Although I'm often thirsty, I never want to drink anything, for some odd reason - even water. It's the strangest thing. I have to make myself drink.
I look at people in the grocery store and notice that they all seem ok. They're talking and smiling and buying beer and chips and cigarettes. I often feel as if I can barely function. It's hard to even deal with the cashiers. "How are you?" they ask. "I'm good. How are you?" I say, even though I feel like I'm going to pass out and I'm worried about making it home. The only time I feel half-way ok is when I'm in bed. It's as if I have aged, physically, 25 years, in the past couple of years - having the health issues of a 75 year old. A 75 year old with bad health.
Is it any wonder no one wants to become involved with me? I don't blame them.
For most of my life I took my health for granted. I now realize it's the most precious thing anyone has.

Spring 2011.

The azaleas against the house haven't started blooming yet, but the dogwoods are in full Spring mode. I love this time of the year.

 

 

People used to love me. (From the late 80s.)

Jimmi,
It's about one o'clock Monday morning. Ever since you let me out, I've been thinking about you. I bought this paper and envelopes so I could write you when I'm lonely and depressed. Or if I'm just thinking about you.
I still love you more than anything in the world. What are we gonna do? I'm sorry for everything. Can't you see how jealous I am? I want all of you and it seems like you don't have time for me anymore. Your weekends are full and Tuesday Greg comes over and now Martha. Please don't give her my phone number.
I don't know how to make things right between us but I swear I'm gonna try.
Daddy didn't give me a hard time when I got home. He's on vacation this week. If you went out tonight I hope you had a good time and if you didn't I hope you slept good.
Jim, the van is torn up and that means that the only vehicle running is the truck and I won't have any way to come see you. I've got to get a car but until then I'll have to ride my bike. Maybe I'll ride it to see you, if I leave early enough that it won't get dark on me. I can't stand it if I don't see you one day. You know I can't last 2 days.
I've always wanted to have your baby and I want it more than ever now that you want it too. I want to try every time we see each other. Is that okay with you? I love you. That's not just words, it's deep down inside me.
I gotta try to get some sleep.
Love ya.
Your wittle B.

Note from my mom (Sept. 15, 1985).

My mom wrote this inside my birthday card, just 3 months before she died and 1 month after my brother died:

Dear Jimmi,
I want to tell you again how much I love you and care about you. I never cease to thank God for giving me a wonderful son like you. I want this special day and all the days of your life to be full of happiness and blessings from God. May God bless you and watch over you always.
Love and prayers,
Mom

Nothing much (but nothing bad).

I've had a pretty good day today. It's the best I've felt since I had the episode last Saturday.
Today was the first yard mowing of the year. The first couple of mowings are always rough. I used the riding mower and didn't do any of my usual fanatical push mower trimming. I didn't want to over exert myself. My procedure is about 2 weeks away and I don't want anything to happen before then (as if I can help it).
That's about it. I just wanted to report in.

My heart (update).

"Life is nothing if not a random motion of coincidences and quirks of chance; it never goes as planned or foretold; frequently one gains happiness from being obliged to follow an unchosen path, or misery from following a chosen one. How often can one refrain from wondering what portentous events may not have arisen from some trivial circumstance which thereby has acquired a significance far beyond itself?"

Louis de Bernieres. I'm reading "The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts." I love his writing. He exposes the glorious insanities of the human spirit, in a beautiful, playful, and darkly comical way. What more could you ask for?

I got a call today from the hospital in Chapel Hill. I have an appointment to have the ablation procedure, and have my ICD replaced, on April 8. I have to go in and meet with the doctor on the 7th.
I'm going to try to take it easy until then. I'm hopeful this procedure will help me.
Please, anyone reading this, send me some good vibes. I need everything I can get.

My dad's birthday.

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 90 years old. A lot of people live to be that old. He could still be alive - but he's been gone for 36 years. It's a strange thing to think about.

(My) Unrecorded songs.

Mere Mortal at Large
Mythologize Your Life
Go5katsu
Charley Cat! (Theme song)
C'mon Mr. Sun
Plastic Soul
Stand Tall
Flail
Maybe One Day
Blow Kisses
You
If'n I Can
There Are Times
Mortal
The Slow Slide
Remember When We Banged a Gong?
Zone of Fire

I'm sure there are some more. I'll add them when I think of them.

Happy Spring!

Thank goodness that horrible Winter is over. Here's to better days.

Me.

This is me - 49 years ago - at the age of one.
It seems as if people have their children photographed professionally once a week, these days - but this is the only professional photo of me as a child (until school age).

 

"Mortal" update.

Here are the lyrics to the theme song for "Mortal." There's a rough - really rough - version of it on video tape, just in case. I'm not feeling well, so the taped version sucks - but I wanted to document it.

"Mortal"

(Verse/chorus)
I am but flesh and blood
I'm just a human
Not much more than the air, than the air I breathe

Despite all my grand schemes
I amount to nothing
Just cut me anywhere, anywhere - I bleed

(Bridge)
Another year drifts by
Another time, another life
Another dream slip-slides into the sea

(Verse/chorus)

Each heartbeat
Each breath
The gift of life
The threat of death
Every dream
Every fear
All the friends
I hold dear
All the darkness
All the pain
All the anger
And the rain
The morning sun
In my eyes
The fits of laughter
The times I cried
For the always
And the never
And all the days I thought
I'd live forever...

(Lead)
(Bridge)
(Verse/chorus x 1 1/2)

 

An overview.

I don't know what other people do with their blogs. The Bulbs of Glacier Lilies has been a big mess: Part confessional, part documentation, part creative outlet and part catharsis. Even though there are HUGE chunks left out (there are some things I will never write about and some that just don't seem to matter anymore), it is a pretty good overview of my life. Such as it is (was).
I hope I can continue blogging for a while, but I feel as if I should consider the possibility that I may need to be wrapping things up. Some people may see me as morbid, but I see myself as being realistic - and I hate unfinished business.
I want to thank Chuck for being the kind of friend I never thought I would be able to have in my adult life. I never take for granted the joy of having someone I rarely have to explain myself to. And, I want to thank my ex-wife, B., for the long talks we've had in recent months. You don't live with someone for 7 years and not get to know them. I feel like we grew up together.
Hopefully (see, I'm positive), there's plenty more to come.

My heart (update).

I had an attack of V-Tach yesterday. It really had me worried. (I'm still worried.)
I was outside, burning yard debris, when it struck. I came close to passing out. I called my sister, who lives 2 houses down, to ask her to keep an eye on my fire (it wasn't very big, at that point) while I went inside to lie down. As bad as I felt, I first took a shower, brushed my teeth and closed my windows, in case I had to be taken to the ER. I think like that, now. I then tried to contact my cardiologist, in Chapel Hill, so that maybe he would bump up my procedure date. Of course, you can't reach a cardiologist on a weekend, but I was assured, by someone, that he would get the message.
I didn't even feel well enough to sit up last night. I stayed in bed and read (I finished "Vintage Stuff" by Tom Sharpe). I asked the universe (?) to please let me make it through the night.
So, here I am. I made it.
I feel very shaky and wobbly. I'm hungry, but afraid to eat anything.
What's to become of me? (Don't answer that...)

Chapel Hill road trip jam.

I always grab a stack of CDs when I make that long boring drive. Here's what I brought today:

Anderson/Bruford/Wakeman/Howe (Um, A/B/W/H...)
Big Shot in the Dark (Timbuk 3)
Altered Beast (Matthew Sweet)
Don't Worry About Me (Joey Ramone)
Autobahn (Kraftwerk)
Automatic for the People (REM - I didn't get around to hearing this one)

"Mortal" update.

Songs (of mine) I'm considering for use in "Mortal" - not necessarily in this order:

Dreams Die Hard
Bad Day
Spent
The Slow Slide (not yet recorded)
Mortal (acoustic version - not yet recorded)
Mortal (electric version - not yet recorded)
Sunrise
Mythologize your life (not yet recorded)

And poems:

The Book Was Treasure Island (from Dog Water)
Anticipation/Surprize (from Rock This Life)

My heart (update).

I just got back from Chapel Hill. I walked in the door about 10 minutes ago. 3 hours up, one hour at the clinic, 3 hours back.
The news wasn't especially encouraging. Even though I'm on a very strong medication, I've had a lot of "activity" since my last visit. VT activity. Not good. And the battery in my device is down to about 10 percent. The ICD technician called in the cardiologist for a consultation. He said that it's time to have a procedure called Cardiac Ablation. They send a kind of wire, through an artery in your thigh, up into your heart. This device burns away any scarring in your heart that can cause misfiring. And, while he's doing that, he may as well go ahead and replace my ICD.
Now, the possibility of the ablation procedure is the only bright spot on the horizon. However, after mentioning it, my doctor began to talk about money. How are you going to pay for this? I don't want to bankrupt you (unconvincing smile). This is an extremely costly procedure. Are you working? Are you getting Medicaid? Medicare? Any assistance? We need to confer with the financial assistance department. We'll get back to you.
So on and so forth.
So, that's where I am. Am I worried? You bet. When the doctor is concerned, you become concerned.
Maybe they'll decide it's not worth it to waste any more money on me and they'll just send me home, as is, to deal with my situation.
Tough break, kid...
Life keeps getting better and better!

Springtime psychic stuff.

Ok, I don't know what it is, but every year, at this time, for as long as I can remember, I experience strange happenings. Here's a recent example (today):
I picked up an old magazine this morning, from 2002, and thumbed through it. I stopped, for some reason, when I came to a small interview with Nate Dogg. Now, I hardly even know who he is, but for some reason I read this bit. That interview was stuck in my head all day. Hours after reading about him, I find, when I go online, that Nate Dogg has died, at the age of 41.
And, by the way, even though I wasn't a fan of his, I'm sorry to hear about his passing.

Celebrate the day.

It has occurred to me that my posts haven't been especially witty (as if), poetic, prolific, or even regular, lately. I seem to be in the midst of a lot of minor concerns, these days. I'm trying to take care of some of the details around the house that have been on the proverbial back burner for far too long. Just little things that have been annoying me all winter. Also, the warm weather has given me the atmospherically temperate encouragement I've been lacking - along with the resultant emotional motivation - to do more outside.
I sometimes wonder if this blog hasn't served its purpose - run its course. It has gotten me through a very rough period in my life. Maybe I'm being too optimistic (can that be true?). This may only be a slight lull between catastrophic events.
I can't think that way. I have to be positive. And I have to fulfill one of the main tenets of TBOGL: Recognize and celebrate the good, when it comes.

My yard is Scamp-less!

After months of emails, phone calls and viewings, the Scamp has been sold. I didn't get what I wanted out of it, but it's ok. It's out of the yard (I don't have to mow around it anymore) and I really needed the money. Plus, it was awfully depressing looking at it every time I walked out my door: One more failed dream.
The way I look at it, the Scamp is about to start a whole new life. That rusted old hoopty is like a cat.

 

"Whatever happened to the teenage dream?"

I saw kids walking home from the local high school, today. It was almost heartbreaking - they looked like babies. Did we look like that when we were their age?
In the few kids that I saw, I think I got a pretty good cross section: There was a "punk" couple walking together (she had pink hair and he had a green mohawk - that's how I knew they were "punk"), an R.O.T.C. guy, in uniform, and a kind of emo/hippie looking kid. I hope they're enjoying themselves. I hope they're having the time of their lives. They're at the age when you think you'll live forever. And, they should feel like that! Fuck yeah! I'm glad they can't foresee their futures.
If I could go back, by snapping my fingers...SNAP!!

Time.

I forgot to set my clock forward last night. I feel a bit disoriented. Oh well, what else is new?
Thank you Jeebus! Winter is almost over!

Just some guy.

I've been waking up, lately, with strange ideas formed in my head. This morning I thought about all of the photos in people's family photo collections of relatives long gone. "I think that's your great, great uncle on your dad's side." Or, "That's your great grandmother." The people in the pictures never thought they were going to be viewed in that (dim) light. One day, we're all going to be there. "I know he's related, but I can't remember how..." Of course, I personalized the notion: I thought about myself, how I was going to be a picture of some guy in someone's family photos. Just some old guy whose life didn't really matter.
Does everyone think about this kind of stuff or am I just morbid? I guess it's why people try to stay busy - to keep their minds off of their own mortality.

I'll just file these...

People tell me to pay a little to the hospital and that will keep them off my back. No one seems to understand that it's not a single bill - you get bills from every department, every doctor. And, in my case, this happens with 4 different hospitals. If I payed a little to each one, it would amount to a lot. And I'm unemployed.
These are the bills that were in my mailbox today. They total almost $8000. And these aren't even the big ones. I probably owe a quarter of a million dollars, between the different hospitals. Seriously.
I'm starting to feel like this is way too much money to keep me alive. It's unnatural. I should just accept my fate.

 

"Mortal" update. (This is my 700th post, in a little over a year.)

I woke up this morning with a song in my head. I remember singing it in a dream last night. It's going to be the theme song for the film. It's called - wait for it - "Mortal."
I don't know how these things happen. In the dream, I was in a room with 3 drummer friends of mine: Rick, Fraggle and Eddie. They each had a kit. Eddie started playing a beat and I broke into song.
I jumped up as soon as I awoke and recorded what I had, so I wouldn't forget it. It's funny how quickly your dreams vanish, sometimes. (That almost sounded all philosophical and what not...)

People used to love me.

The letter in this post is much less serious than the last. I actually lived with "K." from the last letter. I was several years younger - about 15 or 16 - when I received this note. It was from a girl I met at a party and only saw a couple of times.
Imagine BIG LOOPY TEENAGE GIRL HANDWRITING!


Saturday night.

"Hello Jimmi!"
What cha been thinging about?
Sure hope it was me!
Cause all I can think about is you and how much I really love you!
And bunches at that!
Sure am glad we got together at the party because I love ya!
Did you really mean you liked me?
I sure hope so!
Maybe everything will turn out great with you and me.
So sorry we were disturbed on the phone but you probly don't know how it is to have a BRAT for a brother!
I know!
I'm about ready to run away because I love you and want to be with you always and a couple of other reasons!
Mark said he'd invite you to come stay with him so we could be together!
Why don't you want to meet my parents?
They can't really keep me away from you (which I doubt they will) because I really love you a lot!
Will you please call me about 3 o'clock (phone number)?
Whenever I love a boy so cute, sweet, fun to be with, good personality and very good looking! I really don't stop.
Well I hate to say it but I've gotta close so I can clean up the kitchen.
Please call or write: Nancy P. (address, phone number).
Well will you remember "I Love You!"
Lots of Love.
PS "I Love you!!" always!

Nancy P.

Nancy -n- Jimmi 4ever
Jimmi -n- Nancy (I hope)
Sorry
So
Sloppy

People used to love me.

May 10, 1981

Dear Jimmi,

I don't really know what to say. I'm not even sure if you'll get this letter. I hope if you get this you will at least read it, read it to the end. Well, here goes nothing.
Jimmi, I know I have no right to say this, but I love you, I really do. I realize that you have someone else now. It's tearing me apart to know I gave you up. You, darling Jimmi, the only good thing I ever had. Oh God, I love you so much! I wish somehow someway I could change all the things I did to you. I know you must think I'm a nothing, I think even less of myself. I know you said I'll get over it, yet I don't want to. I just want to punish myself. I did that when I let you go and I will continue until I die. I want to kill myself but I don't have the guts to do it. All I ever wanted was to be your wife, but I gave that up like the fool I am. I guess you know I don't make little mistakes, I make mistakes that affect my whole life. Just like coming into the service. When I let you go I made a mistake that would not only last 4 to 6 years, I made one that I would regret for the rest of my life.
The most important thing in my life is still your happiness and if I am in some way interfering in that happiness tell me and I will try my hardest to stop bothering you. I have tried so many times but yet I have called your house anyway. I guess it's good that you weren't there. The only thing I can think about is how good you were to me. How you were always there when no one else was there. Now there's no one. I always thought I could be a loner, now I'm seeing how wrong I was.
I love you J____ ______ ______. If you've read this far you're probably laughing saying "she's such a fool!" You always said I'd never find anyone like you. You were right!
I think about how wrong I did you! The suffering I put you through making you move here and getting your mom mad at you. You've got a great mom, she really cares about you. I hope you see that, I think you do. I know it took me a while to appreciate how great my parents were, now I never forget it.
I'm wearing your ring, I hope you don't mind. If you want it back I'll understand and get it back to you as soon as possible.
Is there anything you need? If so please let me know. I wondered if you would mind if I gave you one last thing for your 21st birthday. I got something very special I want to give you for that birthday, something I owe you.
I'll stop here. I love you Jimmi. I'll never stop loving you. Take care, I hope you are happy. I miss you very much.
(Smiley face) "Be happy!"

All my love,
K.

Obsessions. Grand Funk Railroad.

When I was a little kid, I didn't have a favorite band (there was The Beatles, of course, but they were a much bigger thing - a cultural phenomenon unlike anything before them) - I liked songs. This song by this person, that song by that group. All of that changed, around the age of 11, when I discovered Grand Funk Railroad.
I'm not sure if someone who is unfamiliar with them could listen to them today and become interested. It's almost as if you had to have been there. Me, I grew up with Mark, Don and Mel (and later, Craig).
These guys were almost punk rock, in a lot of ways: They were raw, crude and noisy, the critics hated them and they got NO airplay. But their fans loved them - buying records and concert tickets like crazy. In 1971, the band sold out Shea Stadium in 72 hours, beating the attendance record set by The Beatles, despite the lack of airplay.
A lot of the credit for their early success can be attributed to their manager: Terry Knight, who was right up there with Tony DeFries and Peter Grant (as far as outrageous management goes), hyped the piss out of them. Eventually, they did make it onto radio, with a string of hit songs, in the early to mid 70s.
I think it's interesting that theirs is one of the few band names that, when shortened by their fans, left out the noun. Unlike "The Stones," "Zeppelin" or "The Dead," they were known as "Grand Funk" (as opposed to "Railroad"). I once heard my cousin refer to them as "Funk," but as far as I know, he was the only person who utilized that ill advised abbreviation of nomenclature.
They're coming to your town, they'll help you party it down - they're an American Band!

 

 

Childhood art.

I'm thinking back on all of the cheesy projects we did in Vacation Bible School. They generally involved Elmer's glue, macaroni and crayons. This was a crayon project with wax paper. We were to choose some pictures, put them between 2 sheets of wax paper and iron them, which would melt the wax and seal them up.
Ta da! Religimous place-mats!
I decided to do my own illustrations, with varying degrees of success.
I took the pictures out of the yellowed wax paper to photograph them.
In order:
Mary and the Baby Jesus.
The Sermon on the Mount.
The Last Supper.
The Garden of Gethsemane.
The Crucifixion.
J.C. Superstar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Childhood art.

Here we have a very large Happy Birthday card for my dad, an oddly tropical lion and my version of Michelangelo's creation of the sun and moon.

Coming soon: Religimous placemats!

 

 

 

Childhood art.

The painting of the vaguely Van Gogh looking guy and the vase is called "The Stairing (sic) Man." Ahem.
One critic said, of my floral painting, "You don't use orchids in floral arrangements." Well, maybe not in YOUR "lunch bucket" arrangements (as my friend Bennie used to say), but I was cutting edge, even then...

 

 

Childhood art.

Fairly classical landscapes.
An old mill on a pond, with Camellia's and ducks.
A mountain castle (it's in the top right-hand corner, in case you can't find it).

 

 

Childhood art.

Happy clown. Sad clown.
I don't know why I painted these clowns. I never really thought clowns were very funny. And these two are kinda disturbing to me now.

 

 

"Mortal" update.

My friend Chuck is in town this weekend, and stayed at my house last night. It's the first time I've really laughed in ages.
This morning we drove across the river to shoot some footage in one of the oldest cemeteries in the area. The place was awash in history. And, it was a beautiful day for our little outing: Around 65 degrees and sunny.
I need to start structuring this project. I need to consider voice-overs, edits, music, photos, motifs, what goes where and the over-all look to shoot for. So to speak.
I wish Chuck and I could do something creative together and make a good living doing it. Wouldn't that be something?

Hole in Me.

(I wrote this years ago - I want to make that clear. Did I feel like this when it was written? Yes. Can I still see something of myself in these lyrics? Yes. Am I suicidal? Not really...)



I've got a cavernous hole that I can't fill up
I can't eat enough food, I can't take enough drugs
I can't drink enough wine, I can't get enough sex
So, I'll pour myself another glass and love it to death.

I've got a hole in me.

The reflection in my mirror is a sight I hate
I can't stand my body, I despise my face
I hate this hunger, I detest this need
That makes me gnaw on my fingernails 'til they bleed.

I've got a hole in me.

No one seems to notice that I'm hanging by a thread
In bed, full of dread, for the day ahead
Now the demons of delirium are invading my space
My brain is overloaded, god I need some peace.

I've got a hole in me.

Nobody can love me, no one stays around for long
Despite my good intentions, everything turns out wrong
I'm a broken and beaten suicidal mess
With a lot more demons than the ones I confess.

I've got a hole in me
A great big hole in me
A big black hole in me.

Me in Florida. 1978?

I think I may actually feel the way this guy is pretending to feel: Beset by unspeakable perils.
I'm wearing my "I AM THE WALRUS" t-shirt. (On the back, "GOO GOO G'JOOB.")
My best friend Tommy took this pic. God, we had some adventures...

 

Um, HUNTER.

This was a band I was in in the early 90's. I wrote the copy for this flyer. Looking back, I don't think the joke about ALL of us being from the same town, except for one who is NOT, was a good idea. Too off beat and subtle - not bold flyer material. It just comes off looking like bad writing, instead of the intentional silliness that it was. I still think it's funny, though.

 

Adventures in being me.

I'm tired.
I looked for work today. Paid some bills. Bought some pet food. Took out the chainsaw and whacked some more of the bushes on the edge of my yard.
What a jungle!
I dragged limbs and vines into a pile. Well, several piles, actually. I even borrowed a chain and jerked some overgrown hedges out with my car.
I put the ferret harness and leash on Scooter and walked him to the mailbox and back. It's a bit more walk than most folks have. Still no tax refund check - although I did have a mailbox full of junk mail garbage.
I hate junk mail.
I cut open 2 feather pillows, stuffed the contents of one into the other, and sewed it up. I did the same thing with 2 pillows containing synthetic stuffing. From 4 wimpy pillows, I now have 2 fat ones.
It's amazing how messy an open feather pillow is...
And, the guy who said he wanted to buy my car? He never called.
I have so much to do. And no money.
But hey, it was warm today. And I thought of 2 more bands to add to my concert list (both hair metal bands, oddly enough).
Not too bad.

Scooter sunning.

Like a turtle, he suns...