Bars On The Windows

The stealing started as soon as Pythagoras showed us the scale. I know, I know. Your heroes don't steal. Mine, either. Ol' Bob never saw Little Richard, never heard Woody, never mimicked Gorgeous George, right? It's good art when you steal the good stuff, isn't it?

Life is art. It's holding mirrors up to mirrors. You can start a new language if you think it's a good idea but I don't know who you're gonna talk to. The reason that Sun Ra sold as many records as he did was the purple lame'. 

Sing about love. Talk about peace. Take the good stuff and roll it up together. Voila! Art.

Broke Heart Blues

Sometimes the important lessons are right under your nose. I was raised by decent folks, sweet people. Not having a father in my life, I was blessed with four uncles who made sure that I missed nothing. Little Ronny got to go on all vacations. My four aunts all spoiled me with love and affection, more than any kid deserves. My mom, of course, is the best. She took me to see Bo Diddley. What more can I say? Cousins? Well, mine were, and are, the best. More like the brothers and sisters that I never had. The crown jewel in the family, we would all agree, was Grandma. Lottie was the kindest and wisest woman who ever lived.

Yeah, I learned to be nice. I was taught to be kind and polite and I learned all about good manners. My values remain pretty much the same as Grandma's and that's shameless bragging. She taught me all about standing up for what you believe, taking care of the ones who need it and the utter foolishness of war and conflict.

For whatever reason, though, it is just now becoming obvious to me that there is no scoreboard. From the new vantage point of geezerhood it suddenly occurs to me that life is no game. You don't look around to make certain that the other guy is playing fair with you. Don't misunderstand, there's really no reason to play the role of victim. Loving is all there is, though. You don't compete. There is never a reason to withhold love. 

I always heard that if you were crazy enough to crawl into the ring with one of those old timey, wrestling bears that you had to play fair. If you squeezed, they squeezed back. If the bear detected, however, that you were trying to hurt him, look out. Old Dakota would crack your ribs.

Now I look back and fret that I've spent far too much time and energy measuring the love and kindness and fairness of the other guys. None of my business, really. If a person isn't playing fair, well, that's his grandmother's problem and it's probably not something that you're gonna change. Get away if you need to, but don't play unfair yourself. Love harder. Be kinder. The pure joy of loving is the reward. I love you all.

Bam!

The ectoplasm reeks with hilarity and good cheer. Man, it feels so good to feel good. As I barrel through giddiness I glance in my soul's rear view mirror and I can't begin to figure out where life crossed the shoulder. I've blamed other folks and, as you are painfully aware, I have whined and called foul. The truth is always that we are in charge of our own game plan. I'm back and I am elated to be alive. I possess new songs and new spirit.

At this stage in life I can't afford to call in a show. Every opportunity to perform is holy. I cherish the folks that I get to play for and I want to make them happy.

I'm full of love and I'm packed with gratitude for all of the wonderful friends who put up with me for a long time.

Predicto and Mr. E

If I write my future in my songs, can't I just take the new ones and see what's coming? If I stop writing sad songs will my life get brighter? What if I stop writing altogether?

I've always been fascinated with the mentalists of the '20's and '30's. You see photographs of them at the beginning of their careers and they usually appear bright eyed and youthful like the upstarts starting out in movies or the music business. Often they would shave their hair into a widow's peak to appear mysterious and weird. Cigarette smoke always seemed to add an element of sophistication to a promotional photo or a poster. Frequently these guys seem to have morphed into the real deal. Those lines in their brows didn't need to be touched up as the really good ones worked their way up in the business. Lots of them ended up taking their own lives. You read of the ones who decided that maybe they really could catch a bullet in their teeth and decided to try it.

It has taken me a long, long time to figure out that I only want to be with the ones who love, love, love. They are truly the ones who light up the night like a cigarette. You can't get your heart broken if you don't love, but if you don't love what's the point?

I sit here, squirming at exposing everything once again, and I realize that I have a hole in both soles, a hole in my soul and a break in my heart that I can't seem to patch. I've got lots of new songs, not a happy one in the batch, and I've got melodies in my head and in my heart that are making me cry. I don't know about these new ones but I'm not gonna have to paint on tears.

                                                                 Love. It's worth it.

Peace Breaks Out

They say that our golden ages come between the wars. Now that war has become pretty much a perpetual force in our global society we were bound to bumble into a doozie of a beautiful period of peace and love. In my heart I knew that it was coming but, to be honest, I didn't see it blossoming full force with such a roar. We should have realized when the first kids took to the streets in Egypt and began to spread the word via facebook and twitter that the jig was up for the oppressors.

The 1% that we have come to consider the bad guys are the same ones who butted in line in the cafeteria and stole your lunch money from your pocket while you were dressed out for P.E. They never wanted a piece of the pie. They always wanted the pie.


Remind everyone who is too young to remember that Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman ruined the Chicago convention by pushing violence on a loving, caring mob, leaving room for the national press to write critically of the demonstrations. Sure, heads split open by billy sticks look good on the cover of Newsweek but violent kids taunting cops make up the fair and balanced reporting of the event. It really took years for our society to agree that the kids had it right.

This time around we already hear the claims that the protesters are losers who have never worked; misguided anarchists with no specific platform. I see folks who refuse to give up the dreams. Loving folks who want to stand up for their own rights and help take care of the ones too beaten down by an unjust society to stand up for themselves. Looks to me like we have gatherings all over the world demanding a voice for everyone; the poor, the sick, the soldiers, the uneducated, the prisoners and the disenfranchised.

I know in my heart that my time has come. From the earliest aptitude tests I was destined to be a preacher. Always baffled me because I don't generally subscribe to any specific dogma. As I have told you before, Grandma taught me to pray, "Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war."

All the divinity training I need, I suppose.

Welcome the opportunists who want to jump on the bandwagon. We need all the hearts and souls and bodies that we can muster. Keep it all about peace and love, however. That's our secret weapon. That's the one that they can't touch.

I love you all very, very much.