Weird stuff is only useful when it's needed

Title quote comes from Neil Young on the CD Mirrorball. I found it very profound, and profundity is not exactly my middle name. In fact, it's not even partly my middle name.

I liked her red hair, in the sun, beneath a scraggly assed pine tree near the corner of the parking lot. She was smoking, which normally I don't care for, but in this case the cigarette's butt was not the one that had my attention. I could hear The Dixie Chicks singing "Landslide" from somewhere, probably a car radio, although the lot was mostly full of pickup trucks. She sat down on the bench nearby, and the sun shone even brighter through her hair. The dragonflies flitting thisaway and that in the line of sight between us as they did whatever it is that they do when it appears they are doing not much of nothing really. It gave the scene its summery feel.

I was thinking out of the corner of my brain that I wish I knew how much a dentist charges for a root canal BEFORE it appears on my credit card statement. Not that I will, but as Yoda would say, "Nice it be would." Luckily we... well, actually the way things have gone lately, none of my stories begin with any favorable derivitive of the word "luck". However, a lot of them do start with a word that begins with the letter 6 places to the left. And exclamation points. Lots of exclamation points.

Still, one of life's complex perplexities has been the inclusion of Peter Criss' makeup scheme in KISS (KI backards Z backards Z for thse who can visualize them things). They were a super group and, honest engine parts, the first concert I ever saw that was not The Killer (Jerry Lee Lewis) or Willie Nelson. The first record I ever owned was "Counting Flowers on the Wall" (B-side "Billy Christian") by The Statler Brothers and the first record I ever bought, if you count asking dad to get it for you on his way home from work to be buying a record, was "Dizzy" by Tommy Roe. Yes, I am truely aged. But I am listening to Cindy Lauper singing about girls just wanting to have fu-un, so I believe I am considerably less dusty internally. I'm guessing 19-ish or so, but it's hard to gauge.

I really did write to Neil Young and that really was the e-mail I sent. And he really did not answer me back so far. What that tells me, and you too if you are keeping score, is that things are pretty much right on track. I mean, as a rock n' roll diplomat to the world, or at least the free world in which he's rockin' in, he's gotta be far too busy to answer unsolicited e-mails concerning crap that is equally unsolicited. Even if I did spend 26 minutes or so of my life that I'll never get back slaving over lyrics that nearly rhyme. KnowaddImeenrokstarratbassdard ?

If you're lost you can look and you will find me time after time. Hmmm. Still scintillatingly Cindy. But Bowie's "Young Americans" is queued up and it contains the super cool, all time slickest outro, which includes the line "Pimp's got a Caddy and the lady's got a Chrysler".
I do feel like I am all ready to bust out of my skin if I don't get some excitement SOOOOOOOON! I am not made for inaction like this. I was afeared that trying to settle down was going to be against my natural instincts and I am mostly correct, which is an indirect way of saying that I was completely correct, in being afearedsome of that. "Have you been the un-American? Just you and your idol singing falsetto?" See, the grass is mowed and, except for the one's that don't, the neighbors all seem to like me. I enjoy the cigar tree and the weather suits me OK. But I still have a pretty big aaarrrgggghhhhh factor going here. I need to move more. To follow the yellow sticked road. Wal-Marts and Dentists and Cars...oh my!

Just added some Dean Martin into the mix. I like the silk voice and the horns. "You're nobody til somebody loves you, so find yourself somebody to love". I have been working with my partner in sublime in writing a song. All the parts like instruments and voices and echos and such. He is a self-taught piano man. He needed piano in the music and making new friends, say one who perchance played piano, was out of the question since he had one friend already and what's to be gained, really, by overdong it? I thought to post the lyrics here, but he worries a lot more about copyrights and stuff than I do.Then again, I know there ain't no one out there anymore but some drive by blogger friends. Suits. Me. Just. Fine. Most of the time. Sometimes I wish I were popular, and when that happens I just remind myself that even if I'm not wildly popular, I am not exceedingly interesting either. These things seem to have a commonality, a common thread or something, but I am not sure yet what it is. Sometimes the truth hurts, but sometimes, like now, the truth is like a commercial garbage truck headed off premises at a high rate of speed. And that's just what this is. A premises. Or a premise. Or, perhaps, a preemie. Not sure/don't care. I do know that if you add an "s" to piano, you get "pisano". Well, unless you put it at the end. Then you just get "pianos".

Since forgiveness is easier to get than permission, I will post the lyrics we wrote here. It's a communal effort, this here songwriting. Not communal like playing naked in the mud at Woodstock communal, but communal as in both of us working together. Or maybe that's "colloboration". Ever what. So read the words that appear below. I am off to LimeWire the Ben Folds Five song "Battle Of Who Could Care Less". It occurs to me that it would make a righteous theme song. Ja!

A bottle of white. A bottle of red. Perhaps a bottle of Rose instead, out
Like army ants in giant pants, out
Wooden leg and rubber titty, I met her down in Ybor City, out

Ramblin' Ed

morning [revision one: 10/2/2006 ]

like a fire in the east there's a new sunrise
feeling it's promise, rub the sleep from my eyes
morning, and everything seems so clear

blue. deep like the lake, like the sky in her eyes
there next to the woods where we kissed until light
morning, I wake. I know that she's near

eyes meet lips part
hearts beat love starts
touching her slowly, needles and pins
she so easily smiles
beginning again

my heart's like a flame she holds in her hand
her warmth like the spring in my cold winterland
morning I reach out and I touch her hair
as she's sleeping there

(in her underwear
with yogi the bear
and her german au pair.)