Thursday, July 27, 2017

Beatnik Scraps

Pretty sure you could take any verse out of some song of mine from forty, fifty years ago and stick it in after a bridge on some new one and no one would be the wiser. Might rhyme better, too. I never told you I could write. Oh, wait. Maybe I did. Don't believe a word I say. 

I cross my heart before I pray and I cross my fingers before I lie.

This blog- let's be honest. I wrote one five or six years ago because the page asked, "Do you want to start a blog?" Well, I didn't want to be rude. After four or five go 'rounds of whining about a broken heart and hinting at my demise at my own hand I found that I had figured out a way to amuse myself alone on a limited budget. 

Hey! Get your mind out of the gutter.

All of the photos that kind folks have given me over the years were suddenly providing "heads" to put on other folks' pictures. Suddenly I traveled to Paris. Paris 1928! I was dancing with Che Guevara and smooching with Theda Bara. No telling how many times I've dragged ol' Don Trump through the mud and I've saved so many damsels in distress that I've lost count.

The fact that I have nothing important to say was irrelevant from the start. Girls have been mean to me. Elvis stepped on my piece of wood. My grandmother was special and my dog taught me something. War is bad and music is magic. Women are superior to men. Blah, blah, blah ad nauseam.

You could dismiss me completely and immediately but I'm so darned sincere.

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

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