My advice, don't let your daughter marry a poet. They don't make any money and they don't have much of a station in life. On the positive side, wait... maybe it is the positive side, they love. They love relentlessly and they love with all they have.
I don't have a daughter. I suppose that if I did I would hope that she fell in love with a poet. Make sure that you invest heavily in love for your retirement fund.
You hear it from the time that you're a kid: "First thing you know, you're old. You can't believe that a lifetime has slipped away." Yeah. It's fast. Gets faster.
There aren't many benefits, not that I can see. My beloved rock'n'roll was built for kids. I have to say, though, that I always knew that Big Joe Turner knew more than we did. I thought the young John Lee Hooker was good. The old John Lee was phenomenal!
Now I'm hard at work putting away all anger. Wish I could say the same for heartache and heartbreaks and regrets. Maybe I should write a book.
The walls in my house are chartreuse and pink and other colors that don't move off of the Sherwin Williams shelves all that often. When I was a kid I sometimes "layered" my baseball caps, too. Who says that you have to wear them one at a time? They're not the boss of me.
Have you ever noticed that we go to the islands and gasp at the beauty of the brightly colored shacks and shanties. We come home and paint our fortresses beige or taupe or some other shade approved by the neighborhood association.
Life's too short as it is. Don't wear black just because some self-appointed hipster in Brooklyn got the idea from some self-important bore from Germany who found an old photo of a beatnik in the village.
In 1965 I was sent out by the band with all of our money to bring home material for our new outfits to be made. I came home with yards and yards of fuchsia crushed velvet. I'm pretty sure that they huddled to consider a new bass player. Wouldn't have gotten their money back. Well, those suits were a bigger hit than the band. I wish I had mine back.
Don't wait for St. Patty's. Wear green today. Chartreuse, in fact. Pair it up with two caps, one fuchsia. Wait til you see how good you feel. Tell everyone you see how special they are and love with all your heart.
It's always been easier to acquire junk than to part with it. I look at pictures of my old hot rods and wonder, "Would I like to have that back?" Yeah. I could sell it again. It's time to get rid of everything that has accumulated. If I kicked the bucket tomorrow somebody would be stuck with a major headache.
Seems to me that I need a guitar, a pen and some paper and a couple of dishes and cups. Oh, I guess I should keep a couple of chairs, towels and my I Pod, too. You don't have to tell me that it's not gonna happen. I know. I am moving in the right direction, though. From now on more going out than coming in.
Give your love away in great big doses. You'll never run out.
Ol' Sisyphus and that rock. It's finally starting to make sense to me. Starting over is life. I guess we struggle for comfort and stability. It always seems that security is just around that next corner. Poor Otis sang about needing it. Suddenly he was rich, famous. The folks adored him all over the world. Then that stupid plane went down in that big old lake and the big man was gone. He had his first number one record right after he died.
My quest for something meaningful consumes me. It's always just over that hill. I always destroy it. I'm not even sure what I'm chasing. There's never been a hellhound on my trail. I always hear the siren calling. Nobody ever said I was smart. Well, my mom did but she thought I sang pretty, too.
If show business isn't built almost entirely on the narcissistic principle of taking yourself seriously, then what is it? If I don't promote myself I won't work. If I don't work I'll starve. Well, I may not literally starve but I'll be a drag on someone else.
I don't want to promote myself. I never have. On the other hand I want to work. I want to play my songs for folks who will come and listen. I want my songs played on the radio so that I can communicate my thoughts.
Somewhere in history Jerry Lewis made his living falling down, speaking in a fingernails on the blackboard Brooklyn accent and crossing his eyes while tugging at Dean Martin's lapels. I loved him. All six year old boys loved him. Then he and Dino split. The French decided that he was a genius. He hasn't been funny for a long time.
When Elvis changed the world as a skinny white kid at Sun he was as surprised as the rest of us. He quickly became the first Elvis impersonator and eventually died of a broken heart, estranged from even most of the sycophants.
Never burdened with even a hint of success I never know whether to be ashamed of my work or to consider myself above the fray and try to convince myself that I'm an artist. Even writing this dribble sets me up to invite kind folks to write me and tell me that I'm swell.
I am special. I learned that from listening to Lord Buckley. Everybody's special. That's what he said. I'm gonna write more of these songs and I'm hoping to play them for you. That's what I do. That's who I am. I do even worse at the other parts of life.
Nostalgia is not big business for me. Oh, my past melds pretty well with my life and I have great memories going all the way back to my earliest years. It's just that I choose to live here, now.
I have a warehouse in my head of memories and I can bore you half to death with stories from my past. Regrets? Yeah, plenty. I try to run that tape back just to make sure that I don't keep reliving my past.
The notion of working hard to remain obscure and avoiding any prolonged success was pointed out to me a long time ago. What can you do? Oh well. Keeps me humble, I suppose.
My advice, don't let your daughter marry a poet. They don't make any money and they don't have much of a station in life. On the positive side, wait... maybe it is the positive side, they love. They love relentlessly and they love with all they have.
You hear it from the time that you're a kid: "First thing you know, you're old. You can't believe that a lifetime has slipped away." Yeah. It's fast. Gets faster.
The walls in my house are chartreuse and pink and other colors that don't move off of the Sherwin Williams shelves all that often. When I was a kid I sometimes "layered" my baseball caps, too. Who says that you have to wear them one at a time? They're not the boss of me.
It's always been easier to acquire junk than to part with it. I look at pictures of my old hot rods and wonder, "Would I like to have that back?" Yeah. I could sell it again. It's time to get rid of everything that has accumulated. If I kicked the bucket tomorrow somebody would be stuck with a major headache.
Ol' Sisyphus and that rock. It's finally starting to make sense to me. Starting over is life. I guess we struggle for comfort and stability. It always seems that security is just around that next corner. Poor Otis sang about needing it. Suddenly he was rich, famous. The folks adored him all over the world. Then that stupid plane went down in that big old lake and the big man was gone. He had his first number one record right after he died.
If show business isn't built almost entirely on the narcissistic principle of taking yourself seriously, then what is it? If I don't promote myself I won't work. If I don't work I'll starve. Well, I may not literally starve but I'll be a drag on someone else.
Nostalgia is not big business for me. Oh, my past melds pretty well with my life and I have great memories going all the way back to my earliest years. It's just that I choose to live here, now.