Maybe the fact that I'm no writer makes me the writer that I am. I've always claimed that I loved hearing "non-singers." You don't suppose that maybe the fact that I can't carry a tune in a bucket has anything to do with that, do you?
Something in today's New York Times, I think it may have been in Maureen Dowd's column, reminded me that I'm like Donald Trump. I like people who like me and I don't like people who don't.
I leave no legacy. I have no fortune. It's hard to be pompous.
Nobody's knocking down the door. Now that I think about it, nobody's even knocking at the door. I don't care. If the Jehovah's Witness folks show up, I'm willing to join their protection program as long as I get to lead and sit at the grown up table. I'm not dancing backwards. In high heels or otherwise.
Who decides who gets to coin a phrase, cop a feel, crop a frock? Sometimes I worry that presidential politics has effectively done away with professional wrestling in our culture. To think that I was once surprised that any adult might believe any of that bunk was real. I don't know about any commander in chief stuff but wouldn't Chris Christie make a great new Haystacks Calhoun?
Yes, I know that I should be struggling with melodies and tales of heartbreak and debauchery. In fact, I'm busy here struggling with important issues of the day.
If I launch a cult, do I automatically qualify for tax exemption?
So much I have missed waiting for what comes next. I'm here now. Finally. I've got memories and I've got dreams. I cry easily and often but it's not sadness. It's more likely beauty, majesty and kindness.
Since I can't hold every baby, pet every dog and hear every unrecorded masterpiece, I'll spend my time letting the cosmos take me where it's going. Since I can't end all war, feed all the hungry or heal all the hearts that hurt, I'll just use the love I've got and sing the songs that I know.
They say you've never heard of the great sufis, only their teachings. It's the message, not the man, right? The humility makes the beauty all the more radiant.
Is the treasure at both ends of the rainbow? How do they know? When I let Jamaica out the front door she hunts for "treasure." To me it's just cat poop. Hardly seems crazier than self-important, young attorneys whoring themselves for green paper so that they can park their Audis in unmarked spaces at the country club where they can parade for each other in jackass slacks and ride around "nature" in their little electric buggies. To me? That's right; cat poop.
Oh, I don't mean to pick on attorneys. Wait- yes I do. Nobody has more insulting, degrading lawyer jokes than my lawyer.
It's really humans that I have a problem with.*
One man's cat poop is another man's treasure. Me? I go for eggplant parmesan, Little Richard, '32 Fords, robin's egg blue, crushed velvet and pretty girls. Just so you'll know that I'm not shallow, all girls are pretty. Well, maybe not Ann Coulter. All except Ann Coulter.
Let the content of today's little lesson serve to show you that my discovery that I'm a god, that we're all gods, has not gone to my head. I was already aware that we're all bozos.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
*I know, I know. I've ended another sentence with a preposition. It is my understanding that in this age of texting the rules of grammar have been relaxed, possibly overthrown. I shall attempt to end more sentences with propositions. Socially awkward am I?
Is it just me or are we way past time for combining science and religion? I'm not referring to some kind of scientology mashup here. It occurs to me that most of our heroes do not come from the ranks of our established faiths. Jesus was a jew and probably not a very devout jew at that.
There are miracles all around us. Most of them don't involve burning bushes or parting seas. How about life? Weather? Fire? In other words, science.
Those photos of the blue dot from NASA keep zooming until we have images from atomic force microscopy that show new particles that we have to keep naming. It's all energy. I call it love. Welcome to the Church Of The Living Swing.
Be wary of the ones who tell you that they can explain all the mysteries.
Lately I haven't had much to say. Now, here I am, up at 3:00 am with a mouthful. I'm not of this earth. I don't know that that's news. My discovery of it surely is. I suppose that I've joked about it since I was a kid. You know what they say: In the United States, if you profess to be a messiah, they'll lock you up. In India, if you make the announcement, you'll be welcomed into a very large club and a celebration will commence.
Oh, I'm nothing special. Well, let me rephrase that- I am special. We're all special.
This "discovery" or realization is subtle but it's dramatic. I have become the character that I've played for sixty eight, almost sixty nine, years.
No longer am I tied to the Democratic Party, the musicians' union, the New York Times, Wall Street, the United States of America, the Internal Revenue Service. Hey, I'm not gonna play loose with the laws here. I'm no anarchist. I mean I am by nature but I know that the neighborhood kids want to steal my bike. I tricked them. I gave it away.
I digress. Yeah, that's what I do.
Do I have a role here? I think so. If I can make any living thing happy, I'm succeeding. If I have ever relieved any suffering, I've done okay. I'm working with a limited toolbox here- love and rock'n'roll. I don't have a slide rule. That was Einstein's job.
Don't worry that I've lost my mind. I've finally found it. All at once I mean. I love you.
Maybe this is my century, boys. These are surely the most fascinating of times. It finally dawns on me that we will always have good and evil, dark and light. My gift is an open heart. The places that I've been and the love that I've known are treasures beyond description. I can tell you about the music that I've heard and I can describe the art that I've seen.
The love? Sometimes that's the hard part. I can be really shy around folks that I don't know. That's no excuse for withholding love. I'm lazy, I know, but I'm gonna get good at this.
