Saturday, March 24, 2018

How Long?

For twelve years I never picked up a crumb. Not once did I have to lean over for a wayward peanut shell or an ice cube that slipped away. Now I drop a cracker and it just rests on the kitchen floor and my heart breaks.

The windows in the back of my car are smudged and the back seat is covered with fur. I don't know if I'll ever be able to clean it up.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Have A Seat

All bets are off, I suppose. Somehow we're gonna have to get back to the music. At least I am. I have grown weary of wringing my hands. If I were going to starve or freeze to death it would have happened a long time ago. 

Those vermin in DC have nothing to do with me. Do you suppose that there is a scoundrel in Moscow who cares less about me that Paul Ryan does?

Oh, you know not to take me very seriously here. I'll be marching on Saturday and I'm not missing the bright light shining from Parkland. In the meantime let's sing.

Come on, rock'n'roll, save us again.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Pluto and Heaven

Hoodwinked by the system? Don't play. Take a look at those self-important lackeys sucking up to criminaloids in government and organized religion, big business, entertainment and professional sports. 

Those voices in your head, your own drum- listen to them. 

Joy hides in books and in the woods. There are dogs and cats in the shelters who will show you where it is. Music is chock full of it, especially the sad stuff.

Love just as hard as you can. Don't worry about love coming back. That's not what it's about.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Above All, Kindness

Do you suppose that fifty percent of the populace is smarter than you are? Of course not. None of us accept average. Well, sir, half of you would be sorely disappointed if you were bright enough to understand. 

By that same logic I guess that we have to consider that half of the folks out there are kinder than you. Ouch! Now, that one hurts. Don't forget that there are some mean, mean people out there.

Now, I've met a few rock'n'roll stars. I'm here to remind you of this: Elvis was probably the sweetest, kindest person I ever met.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Are You Gonna Eat That?

My smile is my invitation. Here's intimacy. You want a peek into my soul? Here's all I've got. I'm shy, sometimes painfully. On the other hand I'm dying to be your blood brother. This password culture goes against my nature. You want my social security number? I'll give you that and my mantra for Transcendental Meditation, too. My locker combination, my most embarrassing moment and my blood type if you have any interest.

Oh, now I can keep a secret, boys. You just have to let me know that it's a secret. I wouldn't give away your social security number. 

The blues spend way too much time around here. I smile, though. That's what I do.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Bobbleheads and Boobies

Sometimes memories are all you have. As I sit here trying to organize a few random thoughts, it dawns on me that all thoughts are random. At least all of mine are.

For starters, I really hate to brag, but I think I'm gonna make a pretty good old guy. I wasn't much at childhood. My mom told me that I was special so I didn't really know until later in life. I really failed as an adult. I questioned everything. Sex; politics; inequality based on race, economics and gender; neckties; religion.

Whatta' ya rebelling against, Ronny?

Now, I realize that I learned all that I know about love from dogs.

I seem to have rambled here.

Saturday, March 17, 2018

Some Folks Work Hard

Somehow it's just not art for me once you re-do it. If it doesn't rhyme the first go 'round, maybe it's just not meant to rhyme. Occasionally I fix a mistake. Usually, they're my favorite part. You know, like on Dee Clark's record, "Hey Little Girl," when the guitar player goes to the chorus too soon. I listen to that song and wait with glee for that part to come along. Man!

The purpose of art should be to make me laugh and make me cry. Teach me something about truth. Remind me to feel. Maybe offer me an alternative to this world they call real.

Looks like I exist for a living and I live for existence. Look around and you're alone.