Thursday, December 14, 2017

Bruised Fruit Makes Wine






This has been one of those grand days where my life has changed dramatically in tiny increments since I woke up this morning. At this late stage of life I haven't lost much hair or many teeth. I never had big muscles so that's no worry. Worries and anxieties and guilt are dropping like flies, though.

Slowly it dawns on me that love is the ultimate form of communication. I've written, sung, preached, ranted and raved for most of my life. I'm shy. Sometimes I need a running start. It hit me like a ton of bricks while Jamaica and I walked in the park early today- love is the only surefire means of expressing anything at all.

Keep an eye on me, will ya? If I veer off on the negative path, remind me of this promise. I deal in love. That's what I do.







Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Up On Blocks






All my life I've traded rubies for roosters. Why on earth would I quit now. I'm with the ones who swapped Manhattan for some glass beads. I love glass beads. I'm not like the others. Sometimes it hurts.

One time, a long time ago, a girl was in love with me. I'm pretty sure.

You can choose to be happy or you can choose to be sad. It won't change a thing, though. Not a thing. The good songs are the sad ones. I like the fast ones.



                                 

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

On The Fringe Of Reason






Win, lose or draw- no wonder I never much cared. I don't even like to play. Good stuff happens and sometimes it's hard to stay out of the way. Man is not fit to be the steward of this planet and nobody appointed him to any such role.

The time has come for me to hunker down and count memories.

These really are the good old days.




Monday, December 11, 2017

How Far To Nowhere?






If it weren't for a sliver of some vestigial Christian work ethic I might just sit here and starve. On the other hand, without some fear of the shame of sloth I might overdose on egg nog or key lime pie and die. Maybe it's the equilibrium of stumbling down that path between the two that keeps me a barely productive member of society.

I can read your future but not until tomorrow.

I'm taking bets on final gasps. U.S.A. or rock'n'roll?




Sunday, December 10, 2017

Wait For It





You're a work in progress. 'Till you're not. Dying, I suppose, is easy if you're not in love. I have been relying on the stars to show me the way and I don't really know when I started. I do know this- nobody has power over you that you don't give them. 

New medicines make new chances and new poisons smash them like 7 Up bottles on rocks. On a good day it's two steps forward and two steps sideways. I stagger, drunk on moon juice, down a crooked path.

If I could afford it I would pay a therapist to listen to me for a couple of hours a day and pretend she was my best friend. I can't. I'll have to keep pasting my head on travel posters and hiding behind the door while you read my confessions. If I carried a notebook I would scrawl her initials in a heart and flash it so that she might see it.




Saturday, December 9, 2017

Hep Cats In Sunday School






The story goes that when asked about the best lyric that he ever wrote, John Lennon volunteered without hesitation, "All you need is love." Once you've painted the chapel ceiling, there's no need to push it.

Some days I'm not sure if I need a guru or a hairdresser. There's no such thing as the "wrong" person. Sometimes it's just not the lesson you had in mind. I may be slow and goodness knows I'm stubborn but I can be made to drink. Try and stop me.

To quote the hillbillies, "Don't let the stars get in your eyes, don't let the moon break your heart."







Friday, December 8, 2017

Alley Treasure






Reality is so overrated. I've said it before. My imagination, on the other hand, overflows with fantasies that get me through. Green Kool Aid helps.

Here's to the ones who have tried to ride along with me.

I'll keep your secrets but don't forget to tell me that they are secrets.

Here's to the ones who have hurt my feelings.

Don't gloat. I'm a pushover.