Bezos and His Partner Holding Hands

It was on Google Headline News this morning.

I scrolled down to find out “some good news from Social Security” and how to “put the REAL back into cereal.”

Hey, Mr. Algo Rithm…how bout putting some REAL back into your offerings?

I haven’t cared about William Shatner since the first episode of Star Trek was first broadcast on Network Television.

I’ve enjoyed listening and singing along with more than one David Crosby song, but that doesn’t mean I want him to advise me on all matters pertaining to sex, interpersonal relationships, drug use, weapons, financial freedom and aging.

Though I’m surprised he wasn’t featured in Fashionable Braless Moments Over The Years.

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Tow Me Away

I see “Private Property” posted on a tree and I want to sing, “Sign, sign, everywhere a sign.” And, sometimes, I do.

But today, I parked in front of the leafy sentry and fell asleep.

I was tired.

I woke up early today and spent most of the morning talking to friends.

Nothing done….

Except a bit of writing…

An itty bitty bit.

That’s how it comes to me most of the time…

about the size of a virus spore…

I wear a mask to keep it in till it gets to my brain and wants to find a way out through my mouth or my writing hand.

I guess I’m gonna make like Little Stevie Wonder and perform a live version of “Fingertips”…

Before the cops show up to cite me for trespass and…

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, Blues, eighties, humor, Memoir, Parenting, Poetry, Recovery, song, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Work In Progress

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A Good Night

Folks wanted to hear the Blues last night.

Yes, with the exception of the

two hipsters making their monthly sit down at the bar to drink, smug smile and go on about how I’m “okay” but they prefer “good music,”

everyone seemed to enjoy my brand of down home boogie.

Though I went deep with some dark, “keep my grave clean” whiskey drinkin’ shit hoping it would take my critics down into their cups.

It did.

It worked.

Everything seemed to work last night

Like magic.

My final set closed with a bit of New Orleans R&B vampin’ to a small crowd of active duty air force folk ready to stay up late coz “Monday’s a federal holiday.”

Closing time, I pulled the money out of my ‘Tip Hat’ and counted the pile of bills.

I smiled and I wanted to out loud acknowledge my gratitude for a night of enhanced

creativity and profit so I lifted the cash up

toward the ceiling and whispered,

“Thank you.”

It’s not often both happen at the same time.

Not for me anyways.

Posted in Blues, humor, Love, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, song, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Live Life

I can’t hear a word she’s saying

But she looks like she knows what she’s talking about

Nodding her head

Looking me square in the eye

Patting, sometimes pounding, hand on the table for emphasis

Then she shouts, “Live. Life. Live. Life.”

I understand.

I’m glad I didn’t turn her ramble off.

Didn’t dismiss as another street crazy responding to “voices.”

Another mumbler letting the wisdom of the ages spill from her mouth like water splashing concrete.

Just lucky a couple of drops bounced from the hard surface high enough to hit my ears

It wasn’t much, just exactly what I needed.

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Surrender

This is it

The blue sky dabbed with clouds

And cars passing steady stream on the street

I remember when Sunday’s outside were as quiet as I am inside

Still…

My spirit is

Still…

Calm…

Steady

There is no more fight in me…

Even if I have to say the same thing over and over again…

I will say it without reservation because

It’s the only thing on my mind

And it must be said over and over till it’s nothing but spittle on my lips and chin whiskers requiring a wash cloth to wipe me clean…

Say it…

Live it…

Give it

Up…

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, aging, Blues, Co-Dependency, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships | 5 Comments

Heard Is The Word

My throat is clear again.

I can hear my voice.

It tells me the truth.

Simple

Plain

Clear…

“Use me.”

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Certain

Today I’m certain

My path is certain

My method certain

I know who I am

I know what I’ve squandered

I know what I’ve sacrificed

I know who I’ve helped

I know who I’ve hurt

Today I’m certain

I am standing in the spot I am standing in today because everything I have ever done has put me here…

And everything I have yet to do will take me there…

Where ever I’m supposed to be…

at 10am…

at 7pm…

Tonight…

Tomorrow…

That is my path…

Here and there…

Then and now…

Now and…

Now and…

Now…

I love you

Now…I love you

Now…

I love you

Now…

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Why I Host The Hump Day, F-Dub Blues Jam Every Week

Last night, at The Blues Jam, the *harp player said, “I told your horn guy to quit pacing the stage and bleating his horn.”

I said, “I like the guy. He can do what he wants, with certain exceptions. And I alone decide those boundaries. So back off from my friend.”

“Jesus,” I thought. “Pains in the ass constant gripin’ bout pains in the ass.”

I’ve hosted this jam for years. Years.

I started doing it for the 50 bucks offered to keep things running halfway smooth and almost on time.

I had no idea it was going to last this long. It’s still goin strong, Wednesday after Wednesday.

And I’m still gettin’ **half a yard for the gig.

But that’s okay. I’m not doin’ it for the money.

I’m doin it for the perks: the bleaters who strut and fart and pace the stage.

The 19 year old guitar players who turns it up to 11. Or is it the 11 year old guitar players who…oh, nevermind.

The guy who says, “What do you mean you won’t play Nirvana? If anybody ever had the blues, it was Cobain.”

The half drunk singer who wows the audience with her 4 octave vocal range of high volume screaming through Etta James’ ‘I’d Rather Go Blind.’

Oh, when I say, “wows,” I’m not being sarcastic nor hyperbolic.

The patrons of Music Hall Tavern are not Blues purists, most of them prefer Rap, Hip Hop, Punk or Heavy Metal. And they dig anybody screaming, deep throated, possessed by demos, roaring, wailing banshee like from the stage.

And they got it last night.

And I think that’s why Blues Jam Night has grown these past few months.

I mean, the Blues is not their music but, to most most folks in this F-Dub town, everyday, everyday, it is their life.

And it’s my life, too.

*harp = blues harmonica **half a yard = $50

Posted in Blues, Co-Dependency, humor, Love, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, song, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A Celebration of Freedom and a Cry for Help

The title of this post came about when I was improvising lyrics on top of a blues groove. I didn’t notice it till later, when I was playing the rehearsal recording of that particular song.

The other lyrics were blah. Drivel bleated in order to have syllables to work out the melody.

But this line stood out immediately. Thrown in on the “turn around” from one verse to another, I thought, “These words belong in a better song.

But they were born amongst the mediocre lyrics of this humdrum tune.

So they belong here, too.

Just like they belong in every song I’ve ever written…

in every thing I have ever written…

in every word I have ever said, every thought I have ever…”

You get the idea.

And so do I.

And so do I

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