Scattering Ashes

Pretty sure I can remember everything- just not all at once. Every delight, every heartache, every taste and every smell. I suppose that without the sad memories, I would repeat every mistake. If you're chuckling to yourself, I understand. How many of us ever learned anything from a hot stove?

Now I'm not about to suggest that anyone get back up on some horse. That seems nuts to me.

Falling in love, though, that's different. My first time and that last time were remarkably similar. The first one, I was nine or ten years old. She didn't fall in love.

That last time, I was an old man. She didn't fall in love.

The funniest things make perfect memories.

Laundry Day

Tilting at windmills, that comes naturally to me. At this stage of my life I would really rather watch for rainbows and lightning bugs. I don't sell any records. Never did. I make 'em for just a few of you. This blog? Honestly it's mostly an excuse to put my head somewhere else. If the friendly folks at facebook don't like it, well, alright then.

I've scooped mud from the bottom of barges and I helped Stirling Moss push his birdcage Maserati. Once I rode flat on my back in a U-Haul trailer from Yeehaw Junction to Miami. I laundered money for the Russian mafia to make a few bucks for school. I thought I was promoting concerts.

Turns out I was paying way more attention in Sunday School than I thought. I've been pushing this "peace and love" stuff ever since.

Truth For The Rest Of Us

Nobody tells you the truth. Truth just is. Long ago I figured out that money isn't the key to anything. Fools deal in that currency. Feeling is the secret. I call it a "secret" because it seems to go overlooked so very often.

Now you'll pay a price for feeling more than the rest. A steep one at that. You don't so much choose to be a seeker. If it finds you, you're in.

Hold on. Welcome aboard.

Don't Make Me Come Over There

Symptoms? Yeah, I've got 'em, I suppose. I have visions of insignificance and frequently wake up with night chills. As I understand it, we all have obsessive compulsions. It's a disorder when it interferes with normal life. Buddy, I don't have a normal life.

There's really nothing to learn and I've spent a lifetime learning it.

Here's a little secret. Tell everybody you meet. Kindness will get you things that money won't. Love will get you more than power ever could.

Still Neat As Heck

There are men who can wear hats and men who can't. Attitude, I suspect. Oh, I love hats. I've got them all over the house. I guess that every time I've bought one over the years, I've always thought that this one will be the one to change it all.

My standard of living would be higher and my house less cluttered if I could have admitted this to myself thirty or forty years back.

Another thing that I can't seem to be able to pull off is slang. You've never had me tell you about my next gig, have you? I've never raved about how cool Elvis was or how groovy the Beatles were.

Now, I don't disapprove. In fact I admire the masters. Cab Calloway. Harry "The Hipster" Gibson. My old friend, Gary Dobbins. Maybe I just don't feel worthy. My patter is jammed with jargon from here and there. My patois consists of of whatever clogs my gyro and my sulci. There's slang in the mix. Lord knows I'm no purist. 

Justice Is Color-Blind, Love Is Just Near-Sighted

It occurs to me that I surely have talked a lot for somebody with so little to say. What I lack in ambition I make up for with a lack of the Christian work ethic. I've been called lazy. I prefer to think I'm authentic. 

Once I was a rock'n'roll musician. That job only lasted for a little over fifty years and the industry died. Well, let's be honest, nobody thought in 1956 that it would be around for a decade. 

Now this philosophy racket doesn't keep me very busy. Come to think of it, the music business didn't either. I started music to pick up girls. I never picked up a girl. This blather about philosophy is to keep from admitting to no visible means of support. The pay and the benefits are lacking but I'm not really complaining.

All that stuff between the tiniest particles- that's the magic. I'm kinda' a magician, too. 

Autobiography Of A Yahoo

Truth has beckoned me since I was a kid. Don't take me too seriously here. Don't take anybody too seriously anywhere. My impatience has been tempered with a short attention span, making me appear kinder than I really am. 

It's a little bit like those objects in the rearview mirror appearing closer than they are- or is it not appearing as close as they are? I'll get back to you.

Moriarty be damned. If, in fact, we are just walking each other home, let's go the long way. You have no idea how much I love you.

Oh, I Come From Alabama

Herman Blount called himself Sun Ra. He claimed he was from Saturn. His birth certificate showed that he was born in Birmingham. Birmingham, Alabama.

I tell folks that I'm Ronny Elliott. My birth certificate labels me George Ronald Elliott and claims that I was born in Birmingham, too. I don't feel much attachment to the place and I'm a white male. I do love the rings around Saturn.

It occurs to me that society will tolerate a limited number of artists. Poets. Beatniks. Just don't interrupt the program. Don't run for public office and, fercrissakes, don't tell 'em that you're a son of god.

Sometimes I worry that I'm not living life to the fullest.

Then I remind myself that I've seen Coleraine and I've worn a turban and I've lived with dogs and cats, guinea pigs, mice, goldfish. I've picked muscadines and I have found sharks' teeth.