Tuesday, November 25, 2014

I Recall Leonard.....


Take Me To Your Leader

How often have you felt like you were the odd duck of the bunch?  Like you were an alien on your own planet?  Lately I feel kind of invisible - I look in the mirror with shock that I can see myself, because I'm convinced no one else can.
Okay, here we go...this must be another old age phase.  Wait, not "old" just old-ER.
I wonder how long THIS one will hang around?  So many things happen as we age, at least they happen to me.  Damn, I don't want to be the center of my life so why am I blogging again? 
I think I'm...just feeling alien.  That's all.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Question Everything


Did you make plans for the next life? I'm going to hope for the best and just show up, see what happens. There's one area of concern people talk about that makes me wonder about the myriad of possibilities I'll encounter once I shed this mortal coil.
Don't most people, including atheists, believe "something" incredible or just transcendent of human will occur? Most do, I'd say. We'll "see God" (not sure how) or "have wisdom" (still not sure how) Take the next step. Continue our journey. Some believe seeing a power beyond comprehension IS the journey. Anything's possible. God may be something directly out of us.  It may indeed, BE us.
Then again, it may be wearing space boots. You know the theory - God is actually our first ancestor, alien from another galaxy. Or we made "Him" up, gave it a gender (male) a species (human) an age (about 80?) to explain the thunderous roaring sounds our ancestors heard from the darkness as they huddled in caves. You can't discount anything, can you. And it's great because we're free to chose.

Certainly our ancient ancestors continued to create many gods and goddesses to explain the hard, harsh conditions, the fright of seeing a thunderbolt set fire to a primeval forest, or many millions of years later, watching a great river overflow its banks destroying a year's crops. As we evolved over millions of years, becoming more cosmopolitan and building our cities and pyramids, we created even more gods for everything we saw, good or bad. Humans are amazingly well-adapted to creating answers for our questions (fears?). It's rare to find someone who just admits "I have no idea". Everyone has them, crazed or sane. Everyone has an idea.
Just food for thought (always hungry) but what if some ancient civilization from another galaxy, whose home planet was dying, having mastered inter-stellar travel came to earth and perhaps about 3 billion years ago started to seed the earth, once it had cooled and stopped shifting? Could earth have been the new home of a race of advanced beings which have evolved into what we see in each other today? Don't laugh, THINK! Ok laugh, THEN think.

Is eart
h suited for life, or is life what causes earth to be suitable? O yeah, I already wrote about this. (Sorry, off-topic lol)
Back to us, when out bodies won't function anymore for whatever reason at whatever age, don't you wonder were all your wonderment goes? Your consciousness of things? How you see the world, your opinions, your dreams and feelings, beliefs? Are all these meant to be part of our physicality? If so, why do we bother thinking and dreaming, if it's all for naught?

Because living is all we know. Hence, the Mona Lisa.  See the connection?

If you can bring me irrefutable pr
oof exactly what will become of a life once it ceases, please email at once.
Being ALIVE is our first, best talent!! And part of it is using our brains to THINK to learn to be different artistic funny sad real pleasing stubborn generous loving questioning ... human.

Since that's all I really know, I'll leave the "afterlife" (what a misnomer) to the folks with letters after their names. I have my beliefs it's what makes me human, like you. I cannot affect death, only life. So I guess my one responsib
ility is TO LIVE.
Fully.




A Chance To Dance

"The onset of Hell when you feel like Dancing...."
I recently awarded myself a VIP pass to a great concert of a band I really admire. The pain in my legs would just have to be dealt with, or better yet, ignored. I took the #62 bus to Penn Station, made my way to Greenwich Village (yes, THAT Village) and all went well. Starting very early to compensate for my snail-like pace, I knew I had the time needed to rest on my cane here and there.
I have suffered from chronic clinical depression for many years. It's dark and unholy, filled with visions of spurting blood and violent death. Other than mutilated bodies and smashing your head into a concrete wall, it's not so bad. This familiar demon never announces itself and the day before the concert, it made a visit.


Ignoring it is impossible. You just have to fake it with others, smile, meet peoples' eyes, give a cheery hello, and hate yourself for being hypocritical.


I could deal with it if not for having intense pain in my legs, with part of my left foot being dead, the rest overly alive. It's called neuropathy and no treatment works to rid one of constant pain; you can only “make a bargain” with it. I did.


So here I am, on my way to NYC on the PATH while a kindly man talked about his days in Jersey City, how he missed it all and now was living in Brooklyn. I wanted to hear about the bridge, and we had a charming time. My stop came up too quickly – off I went.


At the 9th Avenue station at 33rd St I somehow made the climb up 3 sets of about 15 hard-steel steps each, constantly turning to the right. My heart beat faster as it all started to look familiar. I started taking in the smells of downtown, and when I reached the outside my eyes were stunned to see nothing but yuppies. YUPPIES! Where were all my old folkie buds, my hippie compadres? Where was Lou Reed? Bobby Dylan? Back in the 60s everyone knew each other on sight. We had a cause (end the war) we had youth (arrogant) we had pot (illegal). It was heaven, no one needed money, and everyone shared what they had. Something illogical in me thought it might all be the same, so being hit with this upper-class snobby, no eyes-meeting kind of elegance threw me for a loop. I was not happy and my legs were furious.


Time to get my bearings. I looked at people, chose carefully, and asked a lady which direction East 11th Street between 3rd and 4th Aves was. She showed me, I started off, and soon realized it was MILES away! I caught a bus. Now the good part makes it appearance: as I struggled up the 3 steps, the driver waved me past, “forget the fare”.  He said I looked like I had a bad day and was I alright, then as we drove along he made small talk which eased my disgust at what I was seeing in the streets. Too many cars, too many well-dressed Yups, too many impossibly beautiful humans, and not a single tye-dyed shirt in sight. High-heels everywhere.


I “hopped” off at my stop and went to an outdoor bistro to read the paper and kill time before seeing this incredible band “james” which as I say, was the only band for me at the time. I think after that day I've become a life-long fan, but more on that later. Patience.

I stopped drinking beer in the late 1980s, but I decided I needed a “short one” as we used to say. Some things never change, as the too-beautiful barman knew what I meant and asked what kind; I said you choose. He smiled like the model he probably was. Sipping that beer, reading the paper, all at this outdoor little round table with awning, people walking by, a beautiful old church across the street, I had to start taking pictures. This was heaven. I could almost imagine when I closed my eyes that it was 1964 again and a too-young runaway was singing folk-songs with hippies in the park. In my reverie I realized how rich my life had been, to be alive in that time when music poured into the streets from everyone, new singers were becoming “known” singers, artists were starving happily in their attics painting incredible works that eventually would sell for thousands.


Time to go. I attempted to move my legs, knowing this would take a few minutes. When I found my “sea legs” I went inside to leave the model a tip. I found a dollar coin in my pocket and gave it to him, he thanked me with teeth far too white, and off I limped. A bit later I realized I had given him, not a dollar, but my special “travelers coin” my brother gave me! It was bronze, small and easily mistaken for money. Perhaps it was meant to be, and I hope that young man realizes what a gift he received, as I once did.


Pending rain clouds didn't scare me, I walked around the corner and saw it plain as mid-day: Webster Hall “JAMES” (and the other act which was a country western horror, poor girl). Security saw me get in line and for some reason, soon pulled me out and set me right in front. I showed them my ticket, they put a band on me and said I could go in with the people in front – I didn't realize we VIPs were being allowed in early, I thought it just meant we'd have front row views. They gave me an ID to wear once inside, and I walked over to the stage where the band was setting up, just doing little “band” things. I found my niche and stood there, taking it all in.  Turns out this was their sound check and a kind of Q & A for the band.  
                                                                      
Tim Booth was front and center, playing with something, and Saul Davies was frowning – probably because they didn't sell out. For some idiotic reason, this country hasn't come to terms with the gift this band brings, in poetry and melody. Well, I did and I was there to absorb it.
           

Mr. Booth looked around, talked to us awhile, Saul made a few jokes I couldn't understand because I hear things with an American accent (it surely couldn't be HIS accent!) Yes, they're a British band.  He asked where I was from, I said “New Joisey” and he said something about “what they say about Joisey girls” and said o yeah, sure, I know...didn't want to seem uncool. Then he made a really x-rated joke which, only hearing part of it - well..once again that accent, and Tim looked my way and said “Don't worry he was born pornographic”. I laughed and someone handed me the microphone, so I asked if I could say something, I think they expected me to ask a question as others had done. All I did was mention I was “new to james” and how I was taken with the poetry and music, etc., that this phase they're in was excellent – all the things you say when you want to compliment someone but not make them feel overly special. Tim asked very softly, TOO softly, what phase I thought they were in, he smiled and I felt at ease but I didn't want to hog up the mic so I passed it off to some girl who was very eager for me to shut up. What did she ask? Get ready, she goes: “If you could be any superhero, which would it be!?” She was overly excited, bouncing and gibbering. I remember thinking how Saul looked like he wanted to knock her out with one punch, but he took true advantage of a perfect come-back and yelled “COCK MAN, OF COURSE!!” Everyone laughed and clapped, I was SO glad to be there, no one pushing, but this guy to my left was completely out of his mind. He kept yelling “I love you Tim!” and throughout this sound-check, Q & A time, he just stared up at Tim as if he saw the next coming.  I smiled like a child.
                  
After a bit, they said they had to go, and would be back soon. I had made friends with two sisters on my right, and we chatted and laughed, danced. After a few minutes a security guy came over to me with a chair, saying it was from “someone”. I was very impressed with how nicely they took care of me – there wasn't that many people in the room yet because it was VIP time, so I assumed the building people wanted to make sure I didn't fall – or something. While it was true my legs were falling out from under me, I would've stood anyway just to get this music and poetry live. I took the chair of course, and the silly illogical thoughts in my mind decided to believe the band sent it – like Saul maybe, or Tim. It's amazing how we can make ourselves believe whatever feels right, isn't it?


Watching the top act was almost as bad as listening to her. Poor girl, she was a country-western slutty kind of red-mouthed leather jacketed, booted continual cough-er who sang the exact same song 10 times. Her dress was too short so up front we could see she wasn't wearing much under there. By the time she said “This is my last song” everyone clapped and I really felt bad. Someone misguided her into thinking she had talent I suppose, but honestly, they lied. Her last song was about “Colonel Angus”, that old stand-by being the opposite of fellatio, and she used the word “pussy” so many times I felt nauseous. If she had been at least a little talented...but no.   

                         
When “james” came out the place roared in unison. These were obviously die-hard fans, like the nutty guy to my left. He smiled and laughed, looked at me and said “Cool huh!” I liked him right away – he even helped straighten my chair so I was closer to the stage – any closer and I would've been on it. The lights came up....
                                                        
Tim said a few words about the anniversary of a friend's demise, explained a few things, and started singing. It was uplifting, fascinating, purely poetic and each word hit me like it was the first time I heard it. THIS is REAL music, I know it I've been a musician all my life, and when you hear a unique sound there's no question but to take it all in. I did.
                                 
At one point, Tim wanted to sing an old tune but forgot the beginning lyrics. It was a touching moment.  He looked at me with expectation and I had to shake my head, but the sister next to me knew them and he gave her the mic. What a voice! Everyone applauded her, I thought Tim was going to get her on the stage. He then sang a beautiful song, and all the time I was absorbing this great sound, I kept my eyes on Saul and his electric violin. His guitar work went beyond description, but that string sound took me away. He really pulled everything he could out of it, and people knew it – they went wild.
                                                 
Andy on trumpet tied a lot of it together nicely, and I gave him thumbs up while he was taking a breather. He thumbed me back, so I thought “Good, he knows he's being listened to closely.” In fact, I watched each one, Mark on keyboards, Larry on guitar, Dave on drums (incredible!) It made it nice for me to grab the lyrics of Tim's poetry being so close to where he stood. The man has such a soft speaking voice, yet when he sang those words it ripped through your soul loudly, clearly, like a tidal wave of passion.

                                  

I knew I wouldn't be able to stay longer than 11, maybe 11:30 pm because the last PATH to Jersey was midnight according to their schedule. Also, I had to factor in my slow walking. Wouldn't you know, I found out later that the PATH was running straight through that night, so I could've stayed if I wanted. Well, such is life when you think it's something else. I gave my chair to the sister next to me, waved bye to the band, and squeezed myself out toward the stairs. Here was the tricky part: they were DOWN stairs. Even though a little easier gravitationally, it makes you feel with each step that you're going to fall over your head. Frightening. You MUST go slow. I've bargained with this, as I said.


It hurt to leave, but if I didn't make the train I'd be stuck in the Village with money in my shoe. This wasn't the Village I knew as a kid, a teen, a know-nothing youth. It was a horrid morph of something ugly, greedy, high-priced and isolated. The people who helped me here and there I had to chose very carefully.
                          

The New York PATH connected me to the NJ PATH and I was soon back at Newark Penn Station, HOME. Anyone else would've probably been uneasy but I felt completely safe and secure. I got the #62 bus right back to my building, grabbed the elevator, put my “james” cup on the bed and fell into a magically deep, semi-sleep filled with the sights and sounds of the depth and passion of a bunch of guys with such talent it stuns you. Then you get used to being stunned and it feels wonderfully familiar. I had the day and night of my life. My legs took days to shut up and calm down, and I can't wait to do this again. If not for music, I would whither away. If not for “james” I'd need a map to the nearest nirvana.  Thank you, guys.  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQsa6IAyRQc   

Thursday, September 25, 2014

The Milky Way Mentality and Other Human Oddities

Repost of September 18, 2007
These human traits first came to me years ago having nothing to do with Milky Ways, but that seemed the best analogy. Goes something like this: If one Milky Way is good, then two must be better which makes three best and that's why I'm going to eat four. Small Example: Two ladies shopping for hubby's new fancy handkerchief.
"Oh look Mildred, this one's nice. I'll get it."
"Yes, I agree Fran. But get two."
"Two?"
"Oh yes, Fran, one for show, one for blow."
Fran looks pensive. "Well..."
"You know, Fran? Just get three. One for show, one for blow and one for you-never-know. Best be sure!"
The Milky Way Mentality means: If a little is good, a little more must be better and the whole lot must be best.
There's another one, The Trump in a Teapot. Very common. A guy has exactly what he needs - not alot, not a little, just what he needs to live. Pay rent, food. His "oldish" clothes still look just fine and he has friends he can trust. Wants for nothing more.
Then he wins a million bucks. First thing he does is look for a way to MAKE MORE!! He's got more but somehow feels he now needs to increase it, now that he HAS more. Yeah! More than more! He can't even imagine spending a million bucks so he surrounds himself with "people who know" what? Why? Yet the human impulse says, "Make it work for you, invest, diversify, expand, etc."
The Trump in a Teapot means: You may think you're happy with "just enough" but what you really want is more more more.
Here's another: Porcupine Promises. At some time you find a need to elicit a favor from a friend, let's say a promise to help you move in two weeks time. "No problem!" you get. Two weeks go by, you call your friend. He starts:
"Oh no, you mean to DAY??"
"Well, I did say in two weeks, and its...."
"You meant this COMING two weeks?? Oh no I thought you meant, well I didn't think you meant two weeks from that exact DAY now, I mean...O dear..."
"I was counting on you, pal."
"Yes, but something sticky has come up, very prickly situation here, I misunderstood what you meant, oh this is really a mess, I have so much to DO!" (Here comes the transfer of guilt): "What am I going to do NOW?? O no, this is awful...." making you feel somehow it's your fault.
The Procupine Promise means: Always made with "barbs" attached, surely meant well at the time, but get too close and they start shooting darts..
Here's a good one: The Narcissistic Navigator. This is the guy who steers his life-ship through those rough seas we all do, meeting other "sailors" in this great and glorious adventure we're on, but whose basic philosophy is: If I don't agree with it, it can't be right. Smug sob.
This one is crafty, they disguise their words in platitudes of "That's a good point" or "Oh yes, I can see how that could happen" or "maybe so, maybe so..." but inside, silently, and with unattractive smugness, they are convinced the only answers that matter are the ones they've arrived at, however the method.
The Narcissistic Navigator means: He will never learn anything of import in life, as he believes he already knows it all. And should he pick up a bit of sound wisdom, he can't digest it because he's too full of himself.
Now we have The "I Paid For It Anyway" Shoplifter. I'm shamefully familiar with this thinking. This is an adult who'll polish off a bag of candy while shopping, or pop in a few grapes (which ends up being a dozen) or eat something from a package already opened, etc. When they look at the bill they feel perfectly justified having that can of salmon in each pocket (or a few Milky Ways) Anyway it's pretty much the same mode of thought: I really paid for his over and over with these high prices, so I don't feel bad.
The "I Paid For It Anyway" Shoplifter means: It's a feeling of entitlement, since we all pay for things that used to cost half as much. We're told we're making more, so it should even out. "Trickle down" theory was a horrendous sham we all fell for.  This type makes it seem fair.
Aren't we humans wonderful? We find ways to deal with life's incongruities, judgments, unfair tactics, and all the general everyday mess we're forced to confront. It's heartening to see how diverse our choices are in dealing with this, the Great Experiment of Life!

Monday, June 23, 2014

AGING FAST

I came here to say something, and forgot what it was.  I am now leaving but can't remember why, since I want to say something!!  Wtf?  It's been so long since I talked to myself here, and what I have cooking in my brain is completely unspeakable.  I should leave now but I like to type.  I like to read too, but I'm not tired enough to do that.  Back to Facebook.