Why War?

Do you ever wonder why other countries leave us in the dust when it comes to statistics for infant mortality, health care, education, longevity, air and water quality? Don't societies crumble, historically, when war takes over their economies? 

No candidate for president is about to stand behind a podium and admit that we spend most of our riches on the military; that our biggest export is weaponry; that our practice of perpetual war is about money and business and ego.

If we were in the war business to protect innocent people we would have stood up to Assad and Putin in Syria. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not pushing for another war. I'm just suggesting that the fact that there's no oil under Aleppo gives us away. 

Haliburton doesn't care who we invade. GE doesn't have any interest in what Israel does with those jets. We have listened to Mr. Trump proudly explain that the role of a businessman is to do business. For profit.

Now, I know that this is junior high dribble. There is no sophisticated message here. I have lived a long life blithering on about this. I plan to keep it up. 

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

This Storm Will Kill You

Recognizing my propensity for drama I seem to have hunkered down with my posse behind a picket fence perched on a rare hill at the edge of a hipster's enclave in Tampa. Life's good. By some measures it crawls along. By some it flys like a saber jet.

Revelations rise as though the drinking water was laced with LSD, then fade as if the preacher suddenly showed up for Wednesday dinner.

Ghosts? When I was a kid, ghosts scared me to death. Then I grew up and realized there are no ghosts. Now I'm old and I know ghosts.

Hurricanes come and it's just like 1962. Nobody bought bottled water then. That feeling in the air, though- you never forget it.

Fame and Fortune

Sour grapes? Rationalization? Who knows? Who cares?

Maybe I wasn't designed to be rich. Or famous. I can still remember the advice from our producer, Phil Gernhard, in 1966. Phil preached, more than once, "Make sure that you enjoy it when you have your first hit. It never feels that good again."

Fifty years later and I'll never know.

Funny, sometimes I find myself feeling sorry for Elvis.

Phil took his own life four or five years ago. Wealthy. Lots of hit records.

Anarchy Now!

No reason that I can see to play. My struggle for fame and fortune lasted for years. Decades. By the time that I resigned myself to obscurity my shelf life had expired without my help. No gold records. No gold watch. Rock'n'roll has never been sweeter for me. There's no act now. I am the act.

My station in life has been fluid. I should have listened to Groucho. We all should. I don't care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members. I need one of those plaques for the front of my car: No Club- Lone Wolf. My 2001 Camry.

Romance? Let's just say that I don't have many awards on the wall from those endeavors, either.

Living for the moment has become second nature. Easy.

Maybe I should give a TED presentation. Seminars on TV at 4:00 am.

Nah. I'll walk the dog pet the cat.

Can You See Me Now?

The brisk autumn air wafting with alcohol fuel, roasted peanuts, metallic brake dust and cigar smoke. I miss the stock car races on the old quarter mile asphalt track. I would wait out in the driveway for Uncle Morgan to pick me up. Phillips Field was probably six or seven miles away but I could tell by the sound if it was a six cylinder Chevrolet engine or a V-8 warming up. I'm pretty sure I could tell the difference today.

Standing in line with my mom I could hear the band warming up inside the Armory. Yeah, I was embarrassed to be standing there with her but I was only eleven years old. We were waiting to pay a buck to get our tickets to see Sam Cooke. Oh, he had some support on the bill. Little Willie John. LaVern Baker. Hank Ballard & the Midnighters. Marv Johnson.

The memories are fading a little in detail now. It's not so much that I'm forgetting anything. It has more to do with all the newer memories piled on top.

I've got stories for you. I've known love. I have memories.

How Do You Know You Won?

When the wagon comes, I'm driving. All the tattoos in the world won't get you into heaven and I'm surely not paying a stranger to burn me with hot needles. I'm pretty sure that I know who I am. If I weren't so lazy I would dazzle you with melodies that would make you tear up before the bridge. In fact, I'm so shiftless that lots of my major works don't have bridges.

We live for a little while and we're gone. They're not gonna remember anything but the love. That Land Rover? Rust waiting to happen.

Horses with short noses and cards that were good, but never good enough.

Glass Marbles

Self-driving automobiles, artificial intelligence, artificial organs, 3D printers. The future's comin', pal. Ready or not. 

Now I won't be here for most of this and it's too bad. There aren't gonna be any robots replacing the likes of me.