Saturday, January 20, 2018

Underground and Solid






You want to know where they hide the joy? Don't be tricked into money traps, status tricks, prestigious props. The joy is right in plain sight. Look into a baby's eyes. Lie on your back on the grass and look for George Washington in the clouds. Pick up a kitten. Listen to Edith Piaf or Nervous Norvus.

Now that they've closed down the government maybe we can sell off the assets and divide up the dough. Then we can throw in and feed the hungry and fix the infrastructure. Personally, I can't wait to melt down the military stuff.

Oh how I wish Buckminster Fuller was still with us so that he could be the boss. Of course he wouldn't have any interest in the job. Unfortunately, nobody worthy of the job wants it.







Friday, January 19, 2018

Back Alley Hearts






Nearly crippled over the years by her stunning physical beauty, she's alone now. They all have their stories. If you stand in the right place it's obviously the same story. The "real world" was, I believe, modeled on a Robert Altman movie. Everybody speaks at once. What is happening depends on which way you're facing. Turn around and it's a different scene.

Last night I mingled with my past.

Coming home is my reward. For now. Twelve years ago I looked into her eyes and saw her sweet soul. Now I look into those tired eyes and I see the universe and I see love. All the love in the world.







Thursday, January 18, 2018

When It Shines






Truth always seems obvious in the present tense. To the seeker, though, it's a slippery substance. I tend to see everything that's important to me pretty much as I saw it as a ten year old. I had good teachers. I had unconditional love.

Over the years I've been some places and I've seen some things. I've accumulated some souvenirs and memorabilia.

Love, now, that's different. It's not cumulative. You don't put it in a chest in the closet and get it out and play with it. Show it off to friends. The poet boasts that he keeps it in his heart but I learned in high school physiology that the heart is just a blood pump.

We're all obsessive and we're all compulsive from time to time. It's a disorder, as I understand it, when it interferes with normal life. I don't live a normal life. I obsess over love and I've been compulsive in love.

What do you do? 

I love.




Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Turn The Heat Up






As I piece together the quilt that makes my life I don't find many things that I would do differently. Oh, I wish I had said, "I love you," more frequently but I said it often enough to annoy plenty of folks.

Don't think for a minute that I'm bragging about the life I've lived. There are no gold records on the wall and my history in romance makes my so-called career look successful.

Let me say right here that I blame no one for my circumstances. I can't refer to my situation as failure if I'm telling you that I would do it all again. No record label ever cheated me. No woman ever mistreated me.

At this point I figure that life is learn as you go. The fact that I've made the same mistakes frequently could indicate tenacity. Consistency. A better guess might be that I'm stubborn. A slow learner.

I love you.







Monday, January 15, 2018

Cartoon Music






Sometimes I wish I were Irish. I'd play Ragtime Annie all night. They say that as you get older your nose and your ears continue to grow. I've noticed that your love does, too.

There's a fire in my mind and I really can't be confined here. If Marcie's right and unrequited love is the best love, then I suppose I win again. Every time I think I've heard every pretty song in the world, somebody plays me a new one. No wonder we love the mockingbird.

Dr. King decided to stick with love. I'll have what he was having.




Sunday, January 14, 2018

This Is Not A Test






What determines physical beauty? Well, biology for starters. Symmetry weighs heavily. Subconsciously all the hormonally charged youth are searching frantically for good traits for mating. At a certain point in life the scramble to physically hold back the aging process is either the funniest or the most poignant game in town. Depends on when you ask, I suppose.

Youth is beautiful and you realize that fact if you're lucky enough to grow old. 

Old is beautiful and you realize that fact if you're really, really lucky.

Just keep loving and pray that you get good at it.




Saturday, January 13, 2018

Suspend Gravity






Most of my memories of buses are bad memories. The good ones, though, are really good. I remember the driver's voice on the scratchy intercom:

"Dothan. We'll be here for forty five minutes."

Grandma and I would hurry into the little Greyhound station to find a place at the counter and I would have a grilled cheese and a chocolate malt. The long trip was time that I spent with her, my most valuable memories.

Then there was the tour bus with Gene Vincent and the Coasters and Bill Haley. Bo Diddley would squat in the aisle next to me and tell tall tales of life on the road with the likes of Jimmy Reed and Etta James. Chuck Berry wouldn't ride the bus. He flew and got to the next town after we did.

The last time I rode a bus my pal, Walt, and I took the Greyhound from Nashville to Knoxville. We had only been out of the depot for fifteen or twenty minutes when the driver threatened to stop the bus and put me and Walt off the bus if we didn't quit talking. It was raining and we were in the middle of nowhere.

I hope this doesn't sound snooty but we had our own teeth and we weren't transporting poultry. I'm pretty sure we weren't talking very loud. We're both pretty low-key.

Pretty sure that was my final bus memory.