okay...let me get this straight...Senator John McCain is buggin' President Obama to grant a posthumus pardon to long-deceased boxing champion Jack Johnson...the same Senator McCain that voted against a holiday honoring the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

...the GOP is running scared...

...been away from here for a while because every time i sit down to write all that comes out is
fuck this and
fuck that
fuckityfuckityfuck...
so i've been keeping my bad attitude to myself...i know not from whence it sprung, but spring it did...could be the maddening socio-political times, or the even more maddening quest for economic stability (no easy task for a self-employed artist-type person)...it's not just a job, it's an adventure (to borrow a clever advertising phrase)...
...yesterday i was shopping for groceries and as i pulled myself away from oogling the Ben & Jerry's and Haagen-Daz, i noticed a young couple coming up the aisle toward me...they walked hand-in-hand, obviously enraptured, each with the other...she was wearing a t-shirt that exclaimed "I "heart" Rob!"...
...i then noticed that they both apparently have Downs Syndrome and it made my heart ache with joy that these two beautiful souls found each other and i turned and caught
my reflection in the freezer glass,
solitary.
and at that moment i felt entirely
alone
in the midst of millions of
souls...

let me begin by saying that i do not like "reality" television shows...in my humble opinion, and this is just my opinion, they are vapid and pointless and generally illustrate the worst in human nature, not to mention the number of writers, actors and other creative people whose lives are impacted by this type of programming...but i have been loaded with the "Final Straw"...
...on the upcoming season of Dancing With The Stars, one of the contestants is going to be former congressman Tom DeLay...this criminal piece of walking excrement is going to be having a jolly time dancing on the telly, when he should be in prison with a full dance card, with some hardcore motherfuckers that would LOVE taking his lily-white ass for a spin on the floor...

Kenny and the Socialist Piss Ant

...Facebook is an interesting bit of technology...in cyberspace, i have reconnected with long-lost friends and family members and it has generally been a fun thing...but it's distressing at times too...

...Kenny lived in a house across the street from ours when we were both still in elementary school...we played baseball and football together many, many times and his mother was my music teacher...Kenny recently told me that he remembers that i was always really hard to tackle...he also recently posted that people of my political proclivities are "socialist piss-ants" and that a government run health plan is going to drive insurance costs through the roof and pick his pockets...
...i guess Kenny must be really fuckin' rich or something and doesn't mind that the health insurance industry receives 177 Billion dollars a year in subsidies from the government...must not bug him that some of the CEOs of these companies make one hundred thousand dollars per hour...holy fuck!...i have to work three years at two jobs to come even close to that...
...but here's an important point...the CEO makes his obscene lucre capitalizing on the misery of the policy holders he is supposed to help...i make my money with the labor of my hands, the sweat of my brow, making music to make people smile and lift their burdens for a while and making musical instruments so that the sonic circle will remain unbroken...i am poor in pocket but wealthy beyond measure...

and Kenny, i'm still really hard to tackle (for a socialist piss-ant)

some days i just have to wonder
what the fuck?

i saw Ron Howard on the cover of
AARP magazine...Opie on the cover of
AARP magazine!?!?...Jesus Tap-Dancin' Christ...

where has the time gone?

Lester Willam Polfuss 1915 ~ 2009

....every bit as iconic as Leo Fender, Les Paul changed the face of modern music with his genius of invention and musicianship...rest well, Les...you did good.

Clarence Leonidas Fender

HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY LEO (wherever you are)

...if you play electric guitar and don't own at least one Fender, there's somethin' wrong with you.

...was just reading a piece in the news about a guy in Houston getting busted for selling bootlegged CDs...the alleged music pirate is a hefty individual to say the least, topping the scale at 500 pounds...whoa...that's a quarter of a ton where i come from...anyway, on his way through processing heading toward lockup, he was subjected to three, count 'em, three body searches...
...as he was about to be placed in the shower, he reached up under one of the numerous flaps of flab and pulled out a 9mm pistol (unloaded)...as if to say, "okay here's my piece, i don't wanna get it wet."
...further charges are pending...as are some concealed weapon jokes...

Sarah Texting Furiously

a few nights ago, i was across the street at the pub having a nosh and a pint, ensconced in one of my favorite corners, back by the array of two story tall brew tanks where magic occurs...but that's another story for another time...
...i was sipping and munching, munching and sipping and watching the evening's assortment of humanity when a young woman (early to mid-twenties, i would guess) walks into the section and begins to anxiously look about for a few seconds...a staff person asks if she needs help and she replies she's looking for her friends back by the brew tanks...okay...they are over twenty feet tall and shiny stainless steel...she thinks she's in the right place?...then out comes the phone and she begins to text furiously...i see a guy at a table about fifteen feet away look at his digital communicator and shout "Sarah!".

...fifteen feet...gone is the sense of adventure.

Dwight

Dwight, or Dee-White as i preferred to call him is off now to roll in the eternal catnip, gone cavorting to wherever good kitties go...when i would visit my friend Nick, Dee-White would let me share his couch with him and lie purring on my chest, keeping me warm on those cold Columbus nights in the bargain...he will be missed as much as he was loved...perhaps even a bit more...

shadow and light source both

How does a part of the world leave the world?
How does wetness leave water? Don't try to

put out a fire by throwing on more fire! Don't
wash a wound with blood. No matter how fast

you run, your shadow keeps up. Sometimes it's
in front! Only full overhead sun diminishes

your shadow. But that shadow has been serving
you. What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is

your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.
I could explain this, but it will break the

glass cover on your heart, and there's no
fixing that. You must have shadow and light

source both. Listen, and lay your head under
the tree of awe. When from that tree feathers

and wings sprout on you, be quieter than
a dove. Don't open your mouth for even a coo


~ Rumi ~

...one of my grannies used to tell me, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all."

and such it is...

Robert Edwin Stearman, Jr. 1958 - 2009

Bob was the fiery artistic sort of soul that one encounters only rarely...one of the best, if not the best drummer i ever played with...the union between a bassist and drummer is paramount in driving any band of any genre and Bob had a groove a mile wide and made making music with him easy and joyous...he brought a jazzy melodic feel to every song, be it hardcore bebop or pop ditty...i would be lying if i didn't say that Bob also had his demons, and they sometimes followed him onto the stage...but then again, there are few saints in this profession and i am certainly not one of them...but the great moments far outweigh the "oh no" moments and the sounds he made still echo in my head and through the cosmos...

see you on the other side, Brother Bob...

tiny steps

i used to think that Rush Limbaugh is a douche bag...then i came to think that he is the mouthpiece, the actual douche nozzle...i have never heard a single word uttered forth from his drug-addled brain that i have agreed with, and now i have come to consider that it is doing a disservice to douche bags to equate Limbaugh with being such...i mean, douche bags perform a valuable service, rendering their assigned areas to healthfulness and, dare i say, tastiness...and Rush does none of these things...he is just an ill-tempered blowhard...and his rant that i heard today pushed me over the edge...
...he actually had the balls to say that people who exercise, ride bikes, jog, hike, do weight training at the gym, rock climb, whatever, are part of the cause of the health care problem in our country because they hurt themselves and show up at the hospital and make the government pay for it...i can only hope that there were some conservative sort of folks at the gym or out on the bike trail with their iPods on listening to this bullshit and have a glimmer of awakening...

...tiny steps...

Doughnut Adendum

a photo of the Lerch's Bakery truck from the late 1930's...and hosanna and hallelujah, they are still in business!!...so, Pixie...are you still ready to drive for doughnuts?

Happy National Doughnut Day

...more than thirty years ago at the Wayne County Fair in Wooster, Ohio i encountered the best doughnut i have ever had...it was made by a company called Lerch's Doughnuts...they didn't have an actual storefront sort of building, just a few mobile units that they would take to fairs and festivals and such...and the doughnuts they produced were as manna from heaven...deep golden brown and crunchy on the outside and on the inside, a cloud that melted in one's mouth...they would sell as fast as they came out of the fryer and people would line up, anxiously awaiting the next batch and as soon as they were cool enough so as not to raise blisters, they would disappear in a frenzy of lip-smackin' and yummy noises...
...i remember the taste and aroma all these years later and wonder if these doughy delights are still around...perhaps and cross-continental doughnut run is in order...

slight sliver
of crescent moon
hangs low in western sky
two silver horns
point up to
unknown places
head
heart
home

i have always felt like a visitor here

always
more questions than answers
more war than peace
more noise than music
more hunger than sustenance
more lonliness than love

and never enough time
though it is the one thing
of which there is an infinite supply
this moment in time is here now
and then gone forever and the older
i become each second passes faster
than the one before as time folds in
on itself...

if you listen closely
there is music in the din
harmony within the discord
multitudes of stories seemingly
separate
woven together
in the telling
to create a single
global tapestry
we all need the same things
for our bodies to survive
food
water
shelter
oxygen
we all yearn for the same things
for our spirits to survive
compassion
respect
peace
love...

it puzzles me that these
eight simple things aren't
readily available
for every creature that
walks
runs
crawls
swims or
flys
on this rare blue and green rock...

Know Religion, Know War...No Religion, No War

it shouldn't surprise me by now that such ironic things happen...

...this weekend in Phoenix, there are two gatherings of folks at two of the major folk-gathering venues...one being a convention of the National Rifle Association (hey, does that include handguns, too?) and the other, some sort of fundamentalist Christian enclave, the name of which escapes me...admittedly, they all look and sound like used car salemen to me so i tend to hit the mute button when they come on the telly...

God and Guns...

...these two things being joined at the hip as they are would seem to fly in the face of reason, but there they are, walking hand and hand into oblivion...we have deluded young men being promised the favor of a mulitude of virgins in the afterlife for strapping on munitions and killing the infidel...we have other deluded young men, sent off to fight a rich man's war, some even sporting t-shirts saying "Yes, This Is A Crusade"...
...and we wonder why the world is crazier than a shit house rat...

...if your god tells you to kill
your god is a false god...

peace/out

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there
where would we be without you...

should one come looking
you can find me in Asheville...

...how can you see the light at the end of the tunnel
when you can't find the entrance to the tunnel?

vignettes

inspiration comes in brief, blinding flashes these days...

a young woman
seemingly not yet out of her teens
and obviously
extremely
pregnant
sits at a bus stop weeping
shoulders heaving up
and down
weeping
and my mind spins at the
myriad of possible causes
for these spilled tears...

Dale and Rochelle
are dear, dear friends
we played music at their wedding
even though we are not a "wedding band"...
it rained and no one seemed to mind,
such was the magic of the evening
and in the intervening years
they have opened their home to us
a friendly port in the storm
when we are out being
gypsy minstrels...
on the most recent trip
Rochelle and i were recalling tales
from music festivals
recent and historic
and the topic of toilet availability
came up and we both agreed that near
and abundant potties were an absolute must...
but Rochelle one-upped me with her further need
to be equipped with a headlamp and rubber gloves
when visiting the port-o-johns...

i must admit to laughing out loud
to the picture that popped into my mind...

back to the canyon
escaping the first
hundred degree days of
the summer...

will most likely return
with a new yarn or two

entirely yarn-less at the moment...

there are nuclear missiles called "Peacemaker"

...on the blog of my dearest friend Pixie, there was a recent comment from one of her readers stating that peacemaking/peacekeeping is very hard and constructive while pacifism is easy and often destructive...this offends me to the very core of my being...
...i have experienced the nightstick, the water cannon, the rubber bullet and the tear gas cannister all first hand and i can testify that it's not easy taking a beating and nearly dying for the sake of peace and love...it rises above nationalism and religious dogma...you can keep these things, you retarded tribalists, you fundementalist freaks...
...i hope that someday there will be a great awakening, but i'm not holding my breath...

...for the past four days, day has turned into night and night into day, sleep coming in brief drug induced snatches, filled with bizarre fevered dreams...woke up this afternoon, not knowing the time or even what day it is, having just had the most bizarre of all the dreams...
...in this hazy, surreal, Stanley Kubrick movie inside my head, my long-time bandmate Tom and i were mysteriously transformed into hitmen...not musical hit songwriters and performers, but actual high-powered rifle totin' killers...it was unclear in the dream who our targets were...when i told Tom of my codeine fueled visions, he postulated that perhaps we were out to get all the "weekend warrior" bands who are more than happy to play for shit wages and some free drinks and drive down the fees of all the full-time players who are still trying to make a living in a profession that's hard even in the best of fiscal times...i'm certain that news stories of the past weeks burrowed into my brain and gave birth to these troubling images...it seems that almost every day in this country, a disturbed person picks up a gun and kills his or her own family, or an office or school full of people, or waits in ambush and shoots police officers who are in harm's way every time they roll out onto the streets of Anytown, USA...
...and yet i have friends and aquaintances who support the agenda that there is way too much gun control and a stable person should be able to own whatever sort of weapon they want, short of a nuclear device...perhaps if every gun shop in the country had a psychiatrist on staff to weed out the weirdos or maybe even a psychic to predict who might nut-out in a year or two when he catches his wife fucking the pool guy...neither of these things will happen...
...what will happen is that americans will continue to blast the guts and the life out of other americans in ever-increasing numbers and the hardcore guns rights advocates will continue in their attempt turn this country into an armed camp, each house a personal fortress, each person peering in paranoia through gun slots in iron plates where windows used to be...

Willie's willy

"I have outlived my dick."

Willie Nelson on the occasion
of his 75th birthday

...several months back, i wrote a little piece here, riffing on the word "cowboy"...just that i thought it was funny word...didn't impune the job or character of the american cowboy or the argentinian gaucho for that matter, or of anyone in ranching or agri-business or any of the related fields...nonetheless, i took a good deal of heat for lampooning a sacred cow (pun intended)...
...well buckle in, boys and girls because this ride might get rougher than popping out of the chute on the back of a brahma bull that's just had 120 volts applied to his balls...tonight's topic is God...
...that is the most succinct name for a concept that has thousands of names, thousands of faces and yet is nameless and faceless...there is the loving god, the jealous god, the hairy thunderer and the soothing earth mother, gods of rain and wind and rock...there is probably somewhere in someone's theology a god of sensible footwear...a long time ago, somebody figured out that if the masses were told that there was this all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful invisible being judging every action, that said masses would be easier to control...and then civilizations the world over set about to codifying their mythologies in stone and parchment, coming up with a vast array of rules and regulations to live (and die) by...this is not to say that there are not good compassionate works done in the name of God... there are many; but i would submit that more people have been killed in the name of one god or another than have been killed for money...
...and that is a staggering, mind-numbing number...even the blind can see the misery, the deaf can hear the wailing that goes unheeded...trillions of dollars spent on bombs and mere pennies spent on bread, and we wonder why there are terrorists/freedom fighters who figure, "Fuck it, i have nothing left to lose"...and all the while we kneel and genuflect and rub our beads and face the east in prayer, the planet spins further and further into madness...
...if there is a supreme being in charge of all this, i think he, she or it has been on vacation for many millenia in some remote place, in some distant dimension, and left the loonies in control of the asylum...
...or we might just be on our own, to care for each other as best we can...

and thus far, we've done a piss poor job...

"you say you've lost your faith,
but that's not where it's at
you have no faith to lose
and you know it..."
Bob Dylan

urgh!...gak!...glowing green lung butter...made it all the way through winter with nary a sniffle and now i'm set upon by a nasty cold...
...maybe my body is just playing an April Fool's joke on me and this will all go away tomorrow...

yeah, right...

i am so ashamed...

this is close to where i was born

these are the people who i grew up with

this is why i left...

How do you turn a duck into a soul singer?

You put it in the oven until it's Bill Withers...

On Golden Pondering Nothing

on mornings when i have
the luxury of time
i start the day with meditation
cross-legged on the floor
in front of a white wall
making each breath
slow
deep
deliberate
cleansing
until i can hear
the faint echo
of creation...
and very rarely
for random milliseconds
i glimpse that place where
nothing and
everything
intertwine
then the spinning physical sphere
reminds me of it's gravity and
sounds and smells
and as the pure white light
blinks out
i think i hear God
laughing...

Dumb As A Post

Several Posts In One

Wiley Post

Emily Post

Spring

at long last...

John Weldon's Chickens

...every year around St. Paddy's Day we play a private party for a law firm...not too far from where the band sets up lives this collection of feathered friends...

Hey Marmy!...what d'ya think about these doodle birds?

in the desert southwest
in the month of March
the weather can be a
harsh mistress...two cases in point...


flashback seven years
St. Pat's 2002
a cold gloom had settled over
the valley of the sun
began the day of gigs by getting
soaked to the skin and stayed that way
pretty much the whole fucking day...
by the time we hit the stage
at the final venue for the final show
the temperature was 48 degrees
...the rain had stopped but a frigid fog
hung in the air and the drunken
Honorary Irishmen For A Day
didn't seem to notice...or care...
...remember...the mood of whole country-
-the whole world-
was weird because it was the eve of
the Iraqi incursion
and there were the usual two camps
those who were just fine with killing more brown people
and those who were not...

...for our last song, the band chose to play
Bullet The Blue Sky by U2
from atop the outdoor stage the scene was
almost gothic...stage lights flashed through the mist
the crowd leaped and undulated
the sound echoed across the urban landscape
and i could sense that people miles away were wondering
"What the fuck is that angry roar?"
myself and Martin the Guitarist
both being the staunchest of Peaceniks
were pummeling our instruments
in a futile effort to stave off
the carnage to come...


of course, it didn't work...


but we made our point
at that moment
at that place
and somewhere
someone in the universe was listening...



"Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for yesterday"
St. Pat's 2009
severe clear
not a cloud within five hundred miles
another outdoor stage
nearly 90 degrees
no cover on the stage and the band
and all the instruments were
melting in the bright desert sun
heat rippled from the asphalt
and i felt as if i were in a Dali painting
precious little shade for the crowd as well
and i thought for sure i would see some
fair freckled Irish Person spontaneously combust...
...but with the aid of copious amounts of
sunscreen and beer
everyone survived...


and that was just the first gig of the day....

...quickly packed the gear and piled into the
lovliness of an air-conditioned van
for our thirty mile jaunt across the valley
through rush hour traffic
a change of venue brought a change of band
Brid Dower group had given way to
smoot mahooty...most definitely not an Irish band...
most of the crowd had that figured out
when there weren't any fiddles or squeezeboxes in sight
and as the sun set
the music worked it's magic
as it most times does...
oddly enough though
well into the second set one besotted individual
kept yelling for us to play "Danny Boy"
after nearly two hours of music that would lead
a lucid person to the conclusion that such a song
is probably not in the repetoire...

i wonder if Mozart had to put up with people shouting,
"Hey Wolfie, you suck!...Play some Bach for fucks-sake!...

time is a coin that once tossed, never rolls your way again...

two days
three gigs
just gettin' warmed up
fingers will be tipped
with flame
by week's end...

found out that our drummer
is foresaking spiritous beverage,
having given up the sauce for Lent
so the drunkeness part of the triumvrate,
(ribaldry, debauchery and drunkeness)
might be slightly reduced...
we will try to make up for that
by increasing the output of
ribaldry and debauchery...

but for no amount of money will we play
the fool...

ok...well, it's friday night and i won't be onstage tonight and that would usually bug the shit out of me, but looking into the near future, there are two gigs tomorrow, one on sunday, rehearsal monday, two gigs on tuesday, one gig on wednesday, icing of the digits on thursday, and gigs friday and saturday... i will no doubt have tales to tell of ribaldry, debauchery and drunkeness...

i will attend services at St. Mattress of the Springs on sunday...

Old Farts at Play

...it has been bandied about in certain quarters that your Humble Narrator has been seen in the company of, running with, consorting and in cahoots with curmudgeons and old coots, and in fact might just be one himself...

...let me set the record straight...it's all true...there are those who think that once one crosses the half century mark one enters the Age of Irrelevancy...to them i say "Fuck you!"...

...it has been my goal, nay, my desire to become the Walter Matthau of rock & roll and when labeled a grumpy old fart, i take it as a compliment...it is my raison d'etre...

...pictured here are two illuminaries in the Pantheon of Grumpiness...who are some of your favourites...

on the injured reserve list...will be back when my back permits me to sit upright in a chair...

talk amongst yourselves...

Wolfgang Amadaeus Homeboy

...ok...the socks with the heart-on have been laundered and put away for another year, along side the socks with the reindeers, and the ones with Wyle E. Coyote and Taz...you'd think i would have some socks with pumpkins for Halloween, wouldn't you...

Love Stinks?

...nah...not really...that's just my socks...at least my feet are feeling romantic...

...a song for all the ghosts in my head (and heart) on St. Valentine's Day...

More News On The Panty Front

...i saw on today's news that in India "a consortium of pub-going, loose and forward women" plan to go bar-hopping on Valentine's Day and send hundreds of pink knickers to Sri Rama Sena, a radical Hindu sect that believes that pubs are for men and that women should stay home and cook for their husbands...they also contend that outgoing women are immoral and are being blamed for an attack on a group of women in a bar in the southern city of Mangalore...

...so...everyone get out yer pink bloomers...and on saturday wear 'em on the outside of your clothes...Solidarity Sisters!

(oh...and you dudes that are confident about your sexuality...)

Stump

...according to the Chinese calendar, 2009 is the Year of The Ox...but for me, it is the Year of the Old Dog...last evening, a ten-year old Sussex spaniel named Stump won Best In Show at the Westminster Kennel Club dog show...Stump made history in two ways, being the oldest dog and the first Sussex spaniel to take the top honors...

...and this after a nearly fatal mystery disease and a four year retirement...the minute i saw him trot out onto the floor i knew he was the winner...there was wisdom and love in every step...the crowd immediately took to him like he was some sort of doggie messiah...i found myself cheering out loud (though sitting by myself) when he won the sporting group and then yelling even louder when he took the top prize...

...i see this as a not-to-thinly-veiled metaphor for all of us Old Dogs out there who, though long in the tooth, can still hang tough with pups half our age...and half the wisdom...

...and here's the only canine related joke i can think of at the moment...

How do you get a dog to stop humping your leg?...........fake an orgasm.

i didn't see a single pair of the sail-sized bloomers that loomed in my head when i saw the headline about Granny's Panties...i was prepared to be deeply disturbed, but those little white cotton numbers are by no means orthopedic geriatric undergarments...they are the stuff of Elvis's kinky imaginings...

Let There Be Drums

turn your speakers up really loud...go ahead...annoy your neighbors...

...fifty years ago today
Buddy, Richie and the Big Bopper
plowed into a frozen Iowa corn field
and not with a tractor...

i'm a big fan of Buddy, and Richie
and to a lesser degree the Bopper
(he was actually a DJ with one fluke hit record)
but am i the only one who is tired of the phrase,
"the day the music died"?

a sad day to be sure
a day to revisit the music they created
to reflect on what sounds they might have made
had their young lives not been cut short...

the music changed but it did not die
it didn't die with Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Lennon
or even Glenn Miller or Wolfgang Mozart...
i'm sure, when Wolfie died at an early age,
some contemporary music wag exclaimed,
"Today, the music died"...
(but in German, Austrian or some other Euro tongue)

music will never die
it's like love
woven into the very fabric of the universe
it is found in birdsong
in waves thundering or gently caressing a rocky shore
in the laughter of children
in the rhythmic click of a car turn signal
in the pounding of a lover's heart

it is the primal reverberation of the big bang...

Post 200...From Pumpkin to Pixie

Squeak, Squeak I Tell You!

...this one squeaks, er, umm...speaks for itself...

...saw on the news yesterday that it snowed in Dubai for only the second time in recorded history...the folks native to that area don't even have a word for "snow"...

...perhaps they could borrow one from the Inuit Tribe...i understand they have dozens of them...

a remarkable voice and even more remarkable poet...

We grow too soon old and too late smart.

~ Pennsylvania Dutch proverb ~

...former President George W. Bush...those words taste like honey in the mouth before spilling out...

...should you happen to be watching the Inauguration tomorrow and catch a view of the dome of the capitol building, regard the statue placed on top...this work of art was cast at the Clark Mills foundry in Maryland and as the work was being started, the foreman of the foundry went on strike for higher wages and a man named Philip Reid was placed in charge of the casting, assembly and installation of the statue completed on Dec. 2, 1863...

Philip Reid was a slave owned by the owner of the foundry...

...the name of the statue is Freedom...

a song for Shell by my second favorite Irish singer...

...something Pixie said made me think of this song...most things in my life seem to relate to music directly or indirectly...

Great Aunt Cleo's Hat Pin.

I love you, Punkin. <3

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
...electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.

A world of made
is not a world of born...pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if....listen; there's a hell
of a nice universe next door; let's go


~ e.e. cummings~

...in the midst of such darkness, a little ray of light...

War

...this song has been running through my brain on a continuous loop for a couple weeks now and i felt compelled to put it here after i heard the story i'm about to relate...

...a few days ago in Gaza, amidst the horrors and privations of armed conflict, a twenty year old mother was able to secure food for her ten-month old baby after days of going without...as she was preparing the food, an Israeli airstrike took place and destroyed their home...the life of that tiny, innocent human being was snuffed out by high explosives easier than one blows out a candle...the mother survived and what she said tore out my heart and will stick with me for the rest of my days...she said what hurts most is knowing that her baby died hungry...all because we disagree on the name of the Supreme Being...a Supreme Being that apparently could give a flying fuck about ten month old babies in war zones...

know religion, know war

no religion, no war...

Grammy's Afghan

...this is more than just an assemblage of multi-colored yarns...it has travelled with me for over twenty five years...always on the foot of my bed when the weather grows cold, even on the road with the band, it has covered more miles than most humans...

...this afghan has connections to both of my grandmothers...when my paternal grandmother died, i went with my father to help pack up two lifetimes of stuff...my grandfather had passed several years before, so it was left to us to close up the house...in Grandma's sewing room was a tailor's and seamstress' treasure trove...boxes and coffee cans loaded with buttons of a thousand different hues, shapes and sizes...a rack with hundreds of spools of thread arrayed in a rainbow from black all the way to white...bolt after bolt of cloth, cotton, courderoy, satin, silk, polyester, and numerous bags stuffed with balls of yarn...

...my maternal grandmother, Grammy, was given all of these balls of yarn and set to crocheting and knitting them into afghans and such...

...there is love and magic in every stitch...