The Analog...

We are analog beings. We do not make perfect copies of ourselves. Our memories bleed like a watercolor canvas. Never truly static. A little water will change everything. Our nature is true. Our chemistry sets are somewhat predictable though volatile.
My age is showing. When I see film emulsion, magnetic tape, watercolors, oil paints, charcoal drawings, imperfectly drawn circles... I see us. Skipping down the sidewalk with decay. The slow fade to black. No color. No color at all.
Why are we so scared? Why do we hold a death grip fighting change? Do we really think that at this very moment we are at the height of our capabilities? That this is it? Our possibilities are just diminishing returns from now on? Is this why digital technology is so appealing? The perfect copy. The perfect memory. Static and immortal for all time?
We are immortal. It's just that we are just a part of it. The notes of our echo are still ringing, just not perfectly from our initial bursts. They may barely resemble us as we think of ourselves now. Just as we barely resemble ourselves from when we were children. We've grown up. We've changed. Life has stained and run us through.
A painting is no less powerful whether it be new or old. It is what it is. However faded it becomes, the residue and essence remains true... as we.

524 Words About Truth...

"Michelle loves Willie"
"Our little Sarah"
"Daughters of the American Revolution"
"Stryper loves Jesus" and I love a girl
Against my better judgment
'Cause I feel like a squirrel...


This song rings in my mind. "Bug" by Vic Chesnutt. I have no idea why these particular lyrics at this moment have hit my synapses, but they have. When I think of Vic I smile. Not an entirely happy smile. A complicated smile as the man he was. Still...a smile. The world was bettered when he was here.

It's funny. Sitting here in front of the keyboard looking at the blinking cursor I have no idea what I'm gonna tip and tap about. Just exhaling. Letting go some of what the world put into me.

I met Vic once a long, long time ago in the early nineties. My old band Blacksmith Union opened for him at a now defunct coffee/record shop Disc Cafe in La Jolla, California. I loved that shop. I was an exciting time. Live music was strong and pulsing. The salad days of the old ways of music and people.

I was pissed at Vic.

Never having met him, he was late for the show. The place was packed. People literally out in the streets looking in, they were not going to be denied a show. Finally, he pulls up. Drunk. Drunk from going to Tijuana, Mexico. "Fucker" I thought... I was young. The Now me, would smile and laugh. The Then me...well...he was a lot more uptight. *laughing*

We did the show and Vic came on. In his wheel chair, still drunk and he started rattling his beat up classical acoustic guitar. His voice warbled up in the air like a far off stammer. Stronger and stronger it rose and the words spoke truth. Honey-filled truth. A Southern truth that I understood. A truth so unvarnished and naked it seemed to cut you as it licked you.

I stood silent and took it.

Afterwards, I came up to him and told him what a wonderful set it was. His eyes shown a real gratitude and humbleness that few show. "Why thank yo...." Then a fan interjected for an autograph and I let him be.
I drove home listening his new release at the time "West of Rome". He struck a chord with me that still is vibrating within me. It was that truth. That damned truth.

Whatever a man or woman does or doesn't do in their lives...it is the truths that they reveal is what matters. When I say truth, I do not care about lies. Most of our lives are lies. Our perceptions, the facade we show to the world, even ourselves. When we can summon the truth about ourselves and freely show it to the world. Those are the glimmers of essence of our true selves. It is then that we have achieved something. I'd like to think of heaven like that. Not a clouded and winged heaven glistening with gold, but a swirling glow of glistening truth.

I think Vic shown us a lot of truth. I hope I can. I hope I can let myself.

Masturbation and Blogging...

Hello everyone...and when I say everyone I mean you! The three people that read my blogs and the spammers who sell sunglasses and shoes.

First I want to apologize. I'm sorry I've been gone so long. It's just that I've equated blogging to masterbation. I'm mean, I'm all for taking care of business. Everyone has needs. I certainly have mine. A good wank/rub can relieve a lot of stress and tension. Writing does the same for me. This.

I suppose that's why I started blogging...and why I've decided to continue to do so. That's right...I'm fine with you watching. I don't know if you'll enjoy it, perhaps it's the act of being a voyeur...the pleasure is in the peeking...not exactly in the content.

Anyway...I'll be jerking off more frequently now...so if you want to watch you can. It's okay. You can even help. Lower. Faster...

Is this a dream? Or am I always dreaming and I'm actually awake for these few moments? Hmmmm...well...dream or not...can you pass me a Kleenex tissue? Thanks.

I'm finished...


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My Etch-a-Sketch History and Lite-Brite Future...

I wanna shake it. I want to shake it upside down until there is only silver showing. My Etch-a-Sketch History. I've made some great pictures, awful ones, and a boat load of mediocre ones. They're all on there. Some you can see, some you can't unless you can see through all the scribbles trying to cover them up. When I write, for example. When I write line that just miserably sucks, I scribble it out so no one can intelligibly read it. Sure, some forensic specialist could...those damn bastards...there is no wiping away. All evidence and effects are left behind. The ripple has been made. The scratch has been scratched, but I like to believe in my fantasy world.

My Lite-Brite Future glows warmly underneath my blanket-tunnel-fort. Full of hope, these are the best little lit up plastic pegs can offer. Not too technical. Just broad happy strokes of shiny goodness of my illuminated memory.

Wait...I'm just a crazy bitch. A cunt. A dick. An asshole. Wait...just crazy.

I want my fucking Etch-a-Sketch History and Lite-Brite Future! The internet can kiss it's history keeping ass! The corporate-power-banking-utilities-company are not gonna threaten me to pull my Lite-Brite plug!

Everyone repeat after me: "I want my Etch-a-Sketch History and Lite-Brite Future!"

Delusions once swallowed are real. At least 17% real...and that's all I need.

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Limits, Love and the Bends...

I'm in the midst of "Road Crash"...the diver's sickness of touring road musicians. Like the bends, coming up too fast from deep water, one can get sick or even die, road crash is similar, stopping too fast from a long tour, one can get sick too...a mental sickness. Depression. Noting that the mind and body affects each other, the body can follow suit with a delayed reaction as well.

In my funkiness, my mind wanders freely tripping on almost everything it sees, hears, and feels. The term "Limits" come to mind immediately. Whisked in time back to college, I think of my Calculus class. I was scared of this mysterious math until I started it, and then basked in the glorious light of it's simplicity of design and power of it's use. Damn...Newton... Anyway, limits. Limits can always be expressed, even the so called limitless ones. With us on Earth, we are bound by them. For me, limits are a freedom. With limitless possibilities I stand frozen in the choices, creativity spins its wheels grabbing on to nothing. But with limits, I can find a starting point, I must be creative to try to break my bounded glory. This is the sweet marrow of life for me!

While the idea that we are limitless is bandied around...I find this preposterous, even hurtful to us, because in a way, it cages us in. For example, Love. "We have the unlimited capacity to love." Bullshit. Yea...you can loosely say "I love all things.", "I love all people.", "I love all life."....yea....kinda. I don't know what kind of love you're talking about, because for me...I want to feel the love in every fiber of my being. Not this...vague fluffy misty notion of smiling at everyone and wishing them well. That might be more like being benevolent. Good will. I'm for these things mind you, let us just use the appropriate words here.

But love? Don't tell you love me because I just happen to be standing in front of you.

Love needs a commitment of emotional expense. There I've said it. Expense. It costs to love. Not money obviously, but feelings, emotions, mental and physical energy. Being in this world, in this body, limits are what we must deal with. Those that have happy lives have come to terms with this. Accepting our limitations is the first step. The second is pushing our limitations, expanding them to more we can imagine.

I think we need to expand love. The small, stingy idea that one or few people should be loved in a person's lifetime. Granted, it keeps things simple. But really? Deny love? Hell no! We need more love in the world not less...and no...I'm not talking about sex. I love a good fuck as much as anyone, but sex is an entirely different matter. At times, love and sex do hold hands with each other, it is sex that messes up people. Religion and societal mores have tried to bury the beast since we first got a hard on, it has never worked,  millions have died or been persecuted for it. Being homosexual, sexual deviant, or non-monogamous have kept the world spinning in fear, hate, and thrilled...like driving slowly by a car fire on the side of the road. "Is there blood?! I hope so! I mean...I hope they're okay...."

For a moment...just a moment, I'd like to take sex out of the picture. I know it's hard...ummm.... never mind...oh the double entendres. Love for love's sake. We can't invest the emotional expense of truly loving everything, but we can love a lot more than we do. We should not be scared of this. Many have a problem with this idea because sex will rear its juicy head and wham! We must stop it! We must ruin a person's reputation! It will ruin marriage! Our blessed union between two heterosexual people! These people will not only fight for what they believe, but they kill for it too. Because any shaken belief in a religion is a shaken belief of their immortality, mortality, and illusion of control.

This is not a 60's free love idea of all people fucking in the grass. I'm talking about letting yourself love more. It's okay. We can do it. We have it in us. We're limited, but not that limited. Invest a little more in the people around you and that you meet. You'll be surprised at yourself. Be warned...it can add more complications, it will cost you...but it can be a great return on what you've given. It can bring us closer to the real goal of true limitless love, that while we can't obtain here, maybe...just maybe we can possibly attain later after this world lets us go.

Super Heroes and the Straight Up Sideways Everyman...

Super heroes. Many movies and books are devoted to these characters. I like the genre. A glimpse into what we wish we could be, to dream of doing. Pure escapism and a middle finger to the nature of physics that binds us to the ground, no X-ray vision, laser beams and fire balls emanating from our eye balls or fingertips.

Thus is my point. Super heroes are not to be looked up to. In fact they are weak. We are the ones to be awed. Sure they can save the world, but can they endure it without their superpowers? Is it to be admired that Superman can fly up to Mount Everest in a single bound, or a simple man risking his very life to do it? Let us get away even from fantastic human feats. What about slugging it out in a menial job, raising a family, trying to survive, avoiding being eaten by the corporations and banks that want to enslave us? We are the real heroes.

While our super hero fetish is fun and puts a Kung Fu grip on boredom, we need to remember that what people do everyday is worth a movie. The gargantuan strength of out lasting the mundane, the levitation powers of rising above the muck and dredge of being limited, the Earth moving Will to endure a hard life and come out smiling.

These are the real heroes. Us.

One more thing. I'm not gonna put your face on my underwear or anything...just so we get that straight.

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The Saga of Asphalt, Green Grass and the Poisoned Mind Part 4...

We performed at gig somewhere near Champagne, Illinois. I say somewhere because I don't know. I'm not trying to be coolly vague, just simply haven't a clue. When we arrived to our location, it was a winery. One would be quick to guess what the evening would be like and you would be most likely wrong.

First, the proprietors set us up with a campfire, with brats, picnic foods, marshmallows, chocolate bars, graham crackers... Wow. I was 12 years old again...which means I aged 4 years, because normally I feel like I'm 8 years old when I'm on tour.

Cooking our food with metal skewers over the fire...I easily get hypnotized staring into the fire. A fire kicks T.V.'s ass. Fire was the first television and in my opinion still is one of the most powerful visuals on Earth. Throw in the ocean, the sun, the moon, trees blowing in wind, a smile, those twinkly eyes we rarely show, birds flying...fuck television. Fuck the internet. We're missing it. We're missing everything.

I'm typing all this on my phone sadly...why am I doing this? Yea...I had a lot more to ramble about, but right now...at this moment...I need to be here. Listening to the frogs and the fire tell me their secrets and sing me songs of love, death, and sex.

Yea...gotta go.

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